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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dac194b --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #54274 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54274) diff --git a/old/54274-8.txt b/old/54274-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 364d703..0000000 --- a/old/54274-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8309 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Shakespeare's Christmas and other stories, by -A. T. Quiller-Couch - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. 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 www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Shakespeare's Christmas and other stories - -Author: A. T. Quiller-Couch - -Release Date: March 3, 2017 [EBook #54274] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHAKESPEARE'S CHRISTMAS *** - - - - -Produced by Graeme Mackreth and The Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - - SHAKESPEARE'S CHRISTMAS - - AND OTHER STORIES - -[Illustration: "UNBAR THE DOOR!" SHE COMMANDED. - - _Frontispiece._ _See p. 286_] - - - - - SHAKESPEARE'S - CHRISTMAS - - AND OTHER STORIES - - BY - "Q" - (A.T. QUILLER-COUCH) - - - _WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_ - - - LONDON - SMITH, ELDER & CO., 15, WATERLOO PLACE - 1905 - - (_All rights reserved_) - - - - - Copyright, 1904 - In the United States of America - By A.T. QUILLER-COUCH - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - SHAKESPEARE'S CHRISTMAS 1 - - YE SEXES, GIVE EAR! 65 - - CAPTAIN WYVERN'S ADVENTURES 115 - - FRENCHMAN'S CREEK 157 - - THE MAN BEHIND THE CURTAIN 207 - - RAIN OF DOLLARS 243 - - THE LAMP AND THE GUITAR 291 - - - - -LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS - - - "UNBAR THE DOOR!" SHE COMMANDED. _Frontispiece_ - - WHIRLED DOWN THE LENGTH OF THE ROOM - - LANDLORD OKE GAVE A FLOURISH WITH HIS CHALK AND WROTE - - THE LITTLE OFFICER HAD TURNED WHITE AS A SHEET - - "'TIS TOO LATE, MY MASTER!" TRECARREL CALLED CHEERFULLY DOWN THE TRAP - - "IN THE NAME OF H.M. KING GEORGE III. I CHARGE YOU TO COME ALONG QUIET" - - "GET DOWN FROM YOUR HORSE, SIR" - - SHE CAUGHT UP A GUITAR AND CHIMED IN - - - - -SHAKESPEARE'S CHRISTMAS - - "_And moreover, at this Fair there is at all times to be seen - Jugglings, Cheats, Games, Plays, Fools, Apes, Knaves, and Rogues, - and that of every kind.... Now, as I said, the way to the Celestial - City lies just through this town, where this lusty Fair is kept; - and he that will go to the City, and yet not go through this Town, - must needs go out of the World._"--BUNYAN. - - -I - -At the theatre in Shoreditch, on Christmas Eve, 1598, the Lord -Chamberlain's servants presented a new comedy. Never had the Burbages -played to such a house. It cheered every speech--good, bad, or -indifferent. To be sure, some of the _dramatis personæ_--Prince Hal and -Falstaff, Bardolph and Mistress Quickly--were old friends; but this -alone would not account for such a welcome. A cutpurse in the twopenny -gallery who had been paid to lead the applause gave up toiling in the -wake of it, and leaned back with a puzzled grin. - -"Bravo, master!" said he to his left-hand neighbour a burly, red-faced -countryman well past middle age, whose laughter kept the bench -rocking. "But have a care, lest they mistake you for the author!" - -"The author? Ho-ho!"----but here he broke off to leap to his feet and -lead another round of applause. "The author?" he repeated, dropping -back and glancing an eye sidelong from under his handkerchief while he -mopped his brow. "You shoot better than you know, my friend: the bolt -grazes. But a miss, they say, is as good as a mile." - -The cutpurse kept his furtive grin, but was evidently mystified. -A while before it had been the countryman who showed signs of -bewilderment. Until the drawing of the curtains he had fidgeted -nervously, then, as now, mopping his forehead in despite of the raw -December air. The first shouts of applause had seemed to astonish as -well as delight him. When, for example, a player stepped forward and -flung an arm impressively towards heaven while he recited-- - - _When we mean to build, - We first survey the plot, then draw the model_-- - -and so paused with a smile, his voice drowned in thunder from every -side of the house, our friend had rubbed his eyes and gazed around -in amiable protest, as who should say, "Come, come, ... but let us -discriminate!" By-and-by, however, as the indifferent applause grew -warmer, he warmed with it. At the entrance of Falstaff he let out a -bellowing laugh worthy of Olympian Jove, and from that moment led the -house. The fops on the sixpenny stools began to mimic, the pit and -lower gallery to crane necks for a sight of their fugleman; a few -serious playgoers called to have him pitched out; but the mass of the -audience backed him with shouts of encouragement. Some wag hailed -him as "Burbage's Landlord," and apparently there was meaning, if -not merit, in the jest. Without understanding it he played up to it -royally, leaning forward for each tally-ho! and afterwards waving his -hat as a huntsman laying on his hounds. - -The pace of the performance (it had begun at one o'clock) dragged -sensibly with all this, and midway in Act IV., as the edge of a grey -river-fog overlapped and settled gradually upon the well of the -unroofed theatre, voices began to cough and call for lanterns. Two -lackeys ran with a dozen. Some they hung from the balcony at the back, -others they disposed along both sides of the stage, in front of the -sixpenny stools, the audience all the while chaffing them by their -Christian names and affectionately pelting them with nuts. Still -the fog gathered, until the lantern-rays criss-crossed the stage in -separate shafts, and among them the actors moved through Act V. in a -luminous haze, their figures looming large, their voices muffled and -incredibly remote. - -An idle apprentice, seated on the right of the cutpurse, began for a -game to stop and unstop his ears. This gave the cutpurse an opportunity -to search his pockets. _Cantat vacuus_: the apprentice felt him at it -and went on with his game. Whenever he stopped his ears the steaming -breath of the players reminded him of the painted figures he had seen -carried in my Lord Mayor's Show, with labels issuing from their mouths. - -He had stopped his ears during the scene of King Henry's reconciliation -with Chief Justice Gascoigne, and unstopped them eagerly again when -his old friends reappeared--Falstaff and Bardolph and Pistol, all -agog and hurrying, hot-foot, boot-and-saddle, to salute the rising -sun of favour. "Welcome these pleasant days!" He stamped and clapped, -following his neighbours' lead, and also because his feet and hands -were cold. - -Eh? What was the matter? Surely the fog had taken hold of the rogues! -What was happening to Mistress Quickly and Doll Tearsheet? Poor souls, -they were but children: they had meant no harm. For certain this plaguy -fog was infecting the play; and yet, for all the fog, the play was -a play no longer, but of a sudden had become savagely real. Why was -this man turning on his puppets and rending them? The worst was, they -bled--not sawdust, but real blood. - -The apprentice cracked a nut and peeled it meditatively, with a glance -along the bench. The countryman still fugled; the cutpurse cackled, -with lips drawn back like a wolf's, showing his yellow teeth. - -"Hist, thou silly knave!" said the apprentice. "Canst not see 'tis a -tragedy?" - -The rascal peered at him for a moment, burst out laughing, and nudged -the countryman. - -"Hi, master! Breeds your common at home any such goose as this, that -cannot tell tickling from roasting?" - -The apprentice cracked another nut. "Give it time," he answered. "I -said a tragedy. Yours, if you will, my friend; _his_ too, may be"--with -a long and curious stare at the countryman. - - -II - - "_My tongue is weary: when my legs are too, I will bid you - good-night: and so kneel down before you; but indeed to pray for - the Queen._" - -Play, epilogue, dance, all were over; the curtains drawn, the lanterns -hidden behind them. The cutpurse had slipped away, and the countryman -and apprentice found themselves side by side waiting while the gallery -dissolved its crowd into the fog. - -"A brisk fellow," remarked the one, nodding at the vacant seat as he -stowed away his handkerchief. "But why should he guess me a rustic?" - -"The fellow has no discernment," the apprentice answered dryly. "He -even took the play for a merry one." - -The countryman peered forward into the young-old face silhouetted -against the glow which, cast upward and over the curtain-rod across the -stage, but faintly reached the gallery. - -"I love wit, Sir, wherever I meet it. For a pint of sack you shall -prove me this play a sad one, and choose your tavern!" - -"I thank you, but had liefer begin and discuss the epilogue: and the -epilogue is 'Who's to pay?'" - -"A gentleman of Warwickshire, Master What-d'ye-lack--will that content -you? A gentleman of Warwickshire, with a coat-of-arms, or the College's -promise--which, I take it, amounts to the same thing." The countryman -puffed his cheeks. - -"So-so?" The apprentice chuckled. - - "_When we mean to build - We first survey the plot, then search our pockets._ - -How goes it? Either so, or to that effect." - -"The devil!" The countryman, who had been fumbling in his breek -pockets, drew forth two hands blankly, spreading empty fingers. - -"That was your neighbour, Sir: a brisk fellow, as you were clever -enough to detect, albeit unserviceably late. I wish we had made -acquaintance sooner: 'twould have given me liberty to warn you." - -"It had been a Christian's merest duty." - -"La, la, master! In London the sneaking of a purse is no such rarity -that a poor 'prentice pays twopence to gape at it. I paid to see the -play, Sir, and fought hard for my seat. Before my master gave over -beating me, in fear of my inches and his wife (who has a liking for -me), he taught me to husband my time. For your purse, the back of my -head had eyes enough to tell me what befalls when a lean dog finds -himself alongside a bone." - -He seated himself on the bench, unstrapped a shoe, slipped two fingers -beneath his stocking, and drew forth a silver piece. "If a gentleman of -Warwickshire will be beholden to a poor apprentice of Cheapside?" - -"Put it up, boy; put it up! I need not your money, good lad: but I -like the spirit of that offer, and to meet it will enlarge my promise. -A pint of sack, did I say? You shall sup with me to-night, and of -the best, or I am a Dutchman. We will go see the town together, the -roaring, gallant town. I will make you free of great company: you shall -hear the talk of gods! Lord, how a man rusts in the country!--for, I -will confess it to you, lad, the rogue hit the mark: the country is my -home." - -"I cannot think how he guessed it." - -"Nor I. And yet he was wrong, too: for that cannot be called home where -a man is never at his ease. I had passed your years, lad, before ever I -saw London; and ever since, when my boots have been deepest in Midland -clay, I have heard her bells summon me, clear as ever they called to -Whittington, 'London, thou art of townes _a per se_.' Nay, almost on -that first pilgrimage I came to her as a son. _Urbem quam dicunt -Romam_--I was no such clodpate as that rustic of Virgil's. I came -expecting all things, and of none did she disappoint me. Give me the -capital before all! 'Tis only there a man measures himself with men." - -"And cutpurses?" the apprentice interjected. - -"Good and bad, rough and smooth," the countryman assented, with a large -and catholic smile. "'Tis no question of degrees, my friend, but of -kind. I begin to think that, dwelling in London, you have not made her -acquaintance. But you shall. As a father, lad,--for I like you,--I -will open your eyes and teach your inheritance. What say you to the -Bankside, for example?" - -"The Bankside--hem!--and as a father!" scoffed the youth, but his eyes -glistened. He was wise beyond his opportunities, and knew all about -the Bankside, albeit he had never walked through that quarter but in -daylight, wondering at the histories behind its house-fronts. - -"As a father, I said; and evil be to him who evil thinks." - -"I can tell you of one who will think evil; and that is my master. I -can tell you of another; and that will be the sheriff, when I am haled -before him." - -"You said just now--or my hearing played a trick--that your mistress -had a liking for you." - -"And _you_ said, 'Evil be to him that evil thinks.' She hath a double -chin, and owns to fifty-five." - -"What, chins!" - -"Years, years, master. Like a grandmother she dotes on me and looks -after my morals. Nathless when you talk of Bankside----" The apprentice -hesitated: in the dusk his shrewd young eyes glistened. "Say that I -risk it?" He hesitated again. - -"Lads were not so cautious in my young days. I pay the shot, I tell -you--a gentleman of Warwickshire and known to the College of Arms." - -"It standeth on Paul's Wharf and handy for the ferry to Bankside: but -the College closes early on Christmas Eve, and the Heralds be all at -holiday. An you think of pawning your coat-of-arms with them to raise -the wind, never say that I let you take that long way round without -warning." - -"Leave the cost to me, once more!" The countryman gazed down into the -well of the theatre as if seeking an acquaintance among the figures -below. "But what are they doing? What a plague means this hammering? A -man cannot hear himself speak for it." - -"'Tis the play." - -"The play?" - -"The true play--the play you applauded: and writ by the same Will -Shakespeare, they tell me--some share of it at least. Cometh he not, by -the way, from your part of the world?" - -The countryman's eyes glistened in their turn: almost in the dusk they -appeared to shine with tears. - -"Ay, I knew him, down in Warwickshire: a good lad he was, though his -mother wept over him for a wild one. Hast ever seen a hen when her -duckling takes to water? So it is with woman when, haply, she has -hatched out genius." - -The apprentice slapped his leg. "I could have sworn it!" - -"Hey?" - -"Nay, question me not, master, for I cannot bring it to words. You tell -me that you knew him: and I--on the instant I clapped eyes on you it -seemed that somehow you were part of his world and somehow had belonged -to him. Nearer I cannot get, unless you tell me more." - -"I knew him: to be sure, down in Warwickshire: but he has gone somedel -beyond my ken, living in London, you see." - -"He goes beyond any man's kenning: he that has taught us to ken the -world with new eyes. I tell you, master,"--the apprentice stretched out -a hand,--"I go seeking him like one seeking a father who has begotten -him into a new world, seeking him with eyes derived from him. Tell -me----" - -But the countryman was leaning over the gallery-rail and scanning the -pit again. He seemed a trifle bored by a conversation if not of less, -then certainly of other, wit than he had bargained for. Somebody had -drawn the curtains back from the stage, where the two lackeys who had -decked the balcony with lanterns were busy now with crowbars, levering -its wooden supports from their sockets. - -"Sure," said he, musing, "they don't lift and pack away the stage every -night, do they? Or is this some new law to harass players?" He brought -his attention back to the apprentice with an effort. "If you feel that -way towards him, lad," he answered, "why not accost him? He walks -London streets; and he has, if I remember, a courteous, easy manner." - -"If the man and his secret were one! But they are not, and there lies -the fear--that by finding one I shall miss the other and recover it -never. I cannot dare either risk: I want them both. You saw, this -afternoon, how, when the secret came within grasp, the man slipped -away; how, having taught us to know Falstaff as a foot its old shoe, he -left us wondering on a sudden why we laughed! And yet 'twas not sudden, -but bred in the play from the beginning; no, nor cruel, but merely -right: only he had persuaded us to forget it." - -The countryman put up a hand to hide a yawn: and the yawn ended in a -slow chuckle. - -"Eh? that rogue Falstaff was served out handsomely: though, to tell the -truth, I paid no great heed to the last scene, my midriff being sore -with laughing." - -The apprentice sighed. - -"But what is happening below?" the other went on impatiently. "Are they -taking the whole theatre to pieces?" - -"That is part of the play." - -"A whole regiment of workmen!" - -"And no stage-army, neither. Yet they come into the play--not the play -you saw without understanding, but the play you understood without -seeing. They call it _The Phoenix_. Be seated, master, while I unfold -the plot: this hammering deafens me. The Burbages, you must know----" - -"I knew old James, the father. He brought me down a company of players -to our town the year I was High Bailiff; the first that ever played in -our Guildhall. Though a countryman, I have loved the arts--even to the -length of losing much money by them. A boon fellow, old James! and yet -dignified as any alderman. He died--let me see--was it two year agone? -The news kept me sad for a week." - -"A good player, too,"--the apprentice nodded,--"though not a patch upon -his son Richard. Cuthbert will serve, in ripe sententious parts that -need gravity and a good memory for the lines. But Richard bears the -bell of the Burbages. Well, Sir, old James being dead, and suddenly, -and (as you say) these two years come February, his sons must go suing -to the ground landlord, the theatre being leased upon their dad's life. -You follow me?" - -The countryman nodded in his turn. - -"Very well. The landlord, being a skinflint, was willing to renew -the lease, but must raise the rent. If they refuse to pay it, the -playhouse fell to him. You may fancy how the Burbages called gods and -men to witness. Being acquainted with players, you must know how little -they enjoy affliction until the whole town shares it. Never so rang -Jerusalem with all the woes of Jeremy as did City and suburb,--from -north beyond Bishopsgate to south along the river, with the cursings -of this landlord, who--to cap the humour of it--is a precisian, and -never goes near a playhouse. Nevertheless, he patched up a truce for -two years ending to-night, raising the rent a little, but not to the -stretch of his demands. To-morrow--or, rather, the day after, since -to-morrow is Christmas--the word is pay or quit. But in yielding this -he yielded our friends the counterstroke. They have bought a plot -across the water, in the Clink Liberty: and to-morrow, should he pass -this way to church, no theatre will be here for him to smack his -Puritan lips over. But for this hammering and the deep slush outside -you might even now hear the rumbling of wagons; for wagons there be, a -dozen of them, ready to cart the Muses over the bridge before midnight. -'Tis the proper vehicle of Thespis. See those dozen stout rascals -lifting the proscenium----" - -The countryman smote his great hands together, flung back his head, and -let his lungs open in shout after shout of laughter. - -"But, master----" - -"Oh--oh--oh! Hold my sides, lad, or I start a rib.... Nay, if you keep -st-staring at me with that s-sol-ol-ol-emn face. Don't--oh, _don't_!" - -"Now I know," murmured the apprentice, "what kind of jest goes down in -the country: and, by'r Lady, it goes deep!" - -But an instant later the man had heaved himself upon his feet; his eyes -expanded from their creases into great O's; his whole body towered and -distended itself in gigantic indignation. "The villain! The nipcheese -curmudgeonly villain! And we tarry here, talking, while such things are -done in England! A Nabal, I say. Give me a hammer!" He heaved up an -enormous thigh and bestrode the gallery-rail. - -"Have a care, master: the rail----" - -"A hammer! Below there. A hammer!" He leaned over, bellowing. The gang -of workmen lifting the proscenium stared up open-mouthed into the foggy -gloom--a ring of ghostly faces upturned in a luminous haze. - -Already the man's legs dangled over the void. Twelve, fifteen feet -perhaps, beneath him projected a lower gallery, empty but for three -tiers of disordered benches. Plumb as a gannet he dropped, and an -eloquent crash of timber reported his arrival below. The apprentice, -craning over, saw him regain his feet, scramble over the second rail, -and vanish. Followed an instant's silence, a dull thud, a cry from the -workmen in the area. The apprentice ran for the gallery stairs and -leapt down them, three steps at a time. - -It took him, maybe, forty seconds to reach the area. There already, -stripped to the shirt, in a whirl of dust and voices, stood his friend -waving a hammer and shouting down the loudest. The man was possessed, -transformed, a Boanerges; his hammer, a hammer of Thor! He had caught -it from the hand of a douce, sober-looking man in a plum-coloured -doublet, who stood watching but taking no active share in the work. - -"By your leave, Sir!" - -"With or without my leave, good Sir, since you are determined to have -it," said the quiet man, surrendering the hammer. - -The countryman snatched and thrust it between his knees while he -stripped. Then, having spat on both hands, he grasped the hammer and -tried its poise. "'Tis odd, now," said he, as if upon an afterthought, -staring down on the quiet man, "but methinks I know your voice?" - -"Marry and there's justice in that," the quiet man answered; "for 'tis -the ghost of one you drowned erewhile." - - -III - -"Tom! What, Tom! Where be the others? I tell thee, Tom, there have been -doings...." - -"Is that Dick Burbage?" A frail, thin windle-straw of a man came -coughing across the foggy courtyard with a stable-lantern, holding -it high. Its rays wavered on his own face, which was young but -extraordinarily haggard, and on the piles of timber between and over -which he picked his way--timbers heaped pell-mell in the slush of the -yard or stacked against the boundary wall, some daubed with paint, -others gilded wholly or in part, and twinkling as the lantern swung. -"Dick Burbage already? Has it miscarried, then?" - -"Miscarried? What in the world was there to miscarry? I tell thee, -Tom--but where be the others?" - -The frail man jerked a thumb at the darkness behind his shoulder. "Hark -to them, back yonder, stacking the beams! Where should they be? and -what doing but at work like galley-slaves, by the pace you have kept us -going? Look around. I tell you from the first 'twas busy-all to get the -yard clear between the wagons' coming, and at the fifth load we gave -it up. My shirt clings like a dish-clout; a chill on this will be the -death o' me. What a plague! How many scoundrels did you hire, that they -take a house to pieces and cart it across Thames faster than we can -unload it?" - -"That's the kernel of the story, lad. I hired the two-score rogues -agreed on, neither more nor less: but one descended out of heaven and -raised the number to twelve-score. Ten-score extra, as I am a sinner; -and yet but one man, for I counted him. His name, he told me, was -Legion." - -"Dick," said the other sadly, "when a sober man gives way to -drinking--I don't blame you: and your pocket will be the loser more -than all the rest if you've boggled to-night's work; but poor Cuthbert -will take it to heart." - -"There was a man, I tell you----" - -"Tut, tut, pull yourself together and run back across bridge. Or let me -go: take my arm now, before the others see you. You shall tell me on -the way what's wrong at Shoreditch." - -"There is naught wrong with Shoreditch, forby that it has lost a -theatre: and I am not drunk, Tom Nashe--no, not by one-tenth as drunk -as I deserve to be, seeing that the house is down, every stick of it, -and the bells scarce yet tolling midnight. 'Twas all this man, I tell -you!" - -"Down? The Theatre down? Oh, go back, Dick Burbage!" - -"Level with the ground, I tell you--his site a habitation for the -satyr. _Cecidit, cecidit Babylon illa magna!_ and the last remains of -it, more by token, following close on my heels in six wagons. Hist, -then, my Thomas, my Didymus, my doubting one!--Canst not hear the -rumble of their wheels? and--and--oh, good Lord!" Burbage caught his -friend by the arm and leaned against him heavily. "_He's_ there, and -following!" - -The wagons came rolling over the cobbles of the Clink along the roadway -outside the high boundary-wall of the yard: and as they came, clear -above their rumble and the slow clatter of hoofs a voice like a trumpet -declaimed into the night-- - - "_Above all ryvers thy Ryver hath renowne, - Whose beryall streamys, pleasaunt and preclare, - Under thy lusty wallys renneth downe, - Where many a swan doth swymme with wyngis fair, - Where many a barge doth sail and row with are_---- - -We had done better--a murrain on their cobbles!--we had done better, -lad, to step around by Paul's Wharf and take boat.... This jolting ill -agrees with a man of my weight.... - - _Where many a barge doth sail aund row with are_-- - -Gr-r-r! Did I not warn thee beware, master wagoner, of the kerbstones -at the corners? We had done better by water, what though it be dark.... -Lights of Bankside on the water ... no such sight in Europe, they -tell me.... My Lord of Surrey took boat one night from Westminster -and fired into their windows with a stone-bow, breaking much glass -... drove all the long-shore queans screaming into the streets in -their night-rails.... He went to the Fleet for it ... a Privy Council -matter.... I forgive the lad, for my part: for only think of it--all -those windows aflame on the river, and no such river in Europe!-- - - _Where many a barge doth sail and row with are; - Where many a ship doth rest with top-royall. - O towne of townes! patrone and not compare, - London, thou art the flow'r of Cities all!_ - -Who-oop!" - -"In the name of----" stammered Nashe, as he listened, Burbage all the -while clutching his arm. - -"He dropped from the top gallery, I tell you--clean into the pit from -the top gallery--and he weighs eighteen stone if an ounce. 'Your -servant, Sir, and of all the Muses,' he says, picking himself up; -and with that takes the hammer from my hand and plays Pyrrhus in -Troy--Pyrrhus with all the ravening Danai behind him: for those hired -scoundrels of mine took fire, and started ripping out the bowels of the -poor old theatre as though it had been the Fleet and lodged all their -cronies within! It went down before my eyes like a sand-castle before -the tide. Within three hours they had wiped the earth of it. The Lord -be praised that Philip Gosson had ne'er such an arm, nor could command -such! Oh, but he's a portent! Troy's horse and Bankes's bay gelding -together are a fool to him: he would harness them as Samson did the -little foxes, and fire brushwood under their tails...." - -"Of a certainty you are drunk, Dick." - -"Drunk? I?" Burbage gripped the other's thin arm hysterically. "If you -want to see a man drunk come to the gate. Nay, then, stay where you -are: for there's no escaping him." - -Nor was there. Between them and the wagoners' lanterns at the gate a -huge shadow thrust itself, the owner of it rolling like a ship in a -sea-way, while he yet recited-- - - "_Strong be thy wallis that about thee standis_, - -(meaning the Clink, my son), - - _Wise be the people that within thee dwellis_, - -(which you may take for the inhabitants thereof), - - _Fresh is thy ryver with his lusty strandis, - Blith be thy chirches, wele sowning be thy bellis._" - -"Well sounding is my belly, master, any way," put in a high, thin -voice; "and it calls on a gentleman of Warwickshire to redeem his -promise." - -"He shall, he shall, lad--in the fullness of time: 'but before dining -ring at the bell,' says the proverb. Grope, lad, feel along the -gate-posts if this yard, this courtlage, this base-court, hath any such -thing as bell or knocker. - - _And when they came to mery Carleile - All in the mornyng tyde-a, - They found the gates shut them until - About on every syde-a._ - - _Then Adam Bell bete on the gates - With strokes great and stronge-a_ - -Step warely, lad. Plague of this forest! Have we brought timber to -Sherwood? - - _With strokes great and stronge-a - The porter marveiled who was thereat, - And to the gates he thronge-a._ - - _They called the porter to counsell, - And wrange his necke in two-a, - And caste him in a depe dungeon, - And took hys keys hym fro-a._ - -Within! You rascal, there, with the lantern!... Eh? but these be two -gentlemen, it appears? I cry your mercy, Sirs." - -"For calling us rascals?" Nashe stepped forward. "'T hath been done to -me before now, in print, upon as good evidence; and to my friend here -by Act of Parliament." - -"But seeing you with a common stable-lantern----" - -"Yet Diogenes was a gentleman. Put it that, like him, I am searching -for an honest man." - -"Then we are well met. I' faith we are very well met," responded the -countryman, recognising Burbage's grave face and plum-coloured doublet. - -"Or, as one might better say, well overtaken," said Burbage. - -"Marry, and with a suit. I have some acquaintance, Sir, with members -of your honourable calling, as in detail and at large I could prove to -you. Either I have made poor use of it or I guess aright, as I guess -with confidence, that after the triumph will come the speech-making, -and the supper's already bespoken." - -"At Nance Witwold's, by the corner of Paris Garden, Sir, where you -shall be welcome." - -"I thank you, Sir. But my suit is rather for this young friend of -mine, to whom I have pledged my word." - -"He shall be welcome, too." - -"He tells me, Sir, that you are Richard Burbage. I knew your father -well, Sir--an honest Warwickshire man: he condescended to my roof and -tasted my poor hospitality many a time; and belike you, too, Sir, being -then a child, may have done the same: for I talk of prosperous days -long since past--nay, so long since that 'twould be a wonder indeed -had you remembered me. The more pleasure it gives me, Sir, to find -James Burbage's sappy virtues flourishing in the young wood, and by the -branch be reminded of the noble stock." - -"The happier am I, Sir, to have given you welcome or ever I heard your -claim." - -"Faith!" said the apprentice to himself, "compliments begin to fly -when gentlefolks meet." But he had not bargained to sup in this high -company, and the prospect thrilled him with delicious terror. He -glanced nervously across the yard, where some one was approaching with -another lantern. - -"My claim?" the countryman answered Burbage. "You have heard but a part -of it as yet. Nay, you have heard none of it, since I use not past -hospitalities with old friends to claim a return from their children. -My claim, Sir, is a livelier one----" - -"Tom Nashe! Tom Nashe!" called a voice, clear and strong and masculine, -from the darkness behind the advancing lantern. - -"Anon, anon, Sir," quoted Nashe, swinging his own lantern about and -mimicking. - -"Don't tell me there be yet more wagons arrived?" asked the voice. - -"Six, lad--six, as I hope for mercy: and outside the gate at this -moment." - -"There they must tarry, then, till our fellows take breath to unload -'em. But--six? How is it managed, think you? Has Dick Burbage called -out the train-bands to help him? Why, hullo, Dick! What means----" -The newcomer's eyes, round with wonder as they rested a moment on -Burbage, grew rounder yet as they travelled past him to the countryman. -"Father?" he stammered, incredulous. - -"Good evening, Will! Give ye good evening, my son! Set down that -lantern and embrace me, like a good boy: a good boy, albeit a man of -fame. Didst not see me, then, in the theatre this afternoon? Yet was I -to the fore there, methinks, and proud to be called John Shakespeare." - -"Nay, I was not there; having other fish to fry." - -"Shouldst have heard the applause, lad; it warmed your old father's -heart. Yet 'twas no more than the play deserved. A very neat, pretty -drollery--upon my faith, no man's son could have written a neater!" - -"But what hath fetched you to London?" - -"Business, business: a touch, too, maybe, of the old homesickness: but -business first. Dick Quiney----But pass me the lantern, my son, that I -may take a look at thee. Ay, thou hast sobered, thou hast solidified: -thy beard hath ta'en the right citizen's cut--'twould ha' been a -cordial to thy poor mother to see thee wear so staid a beard. Rest her -soul! There's nothing like property for filling out a man's frame, -firming his eye, his frame, bearing, footstep. Talking of property, -I have been none so idle a steward for thee. New Place I have made -habitable--the house at least; patched up the roof, taken down and -rebuilt the west chimney that was overleaning the road, repaired the -launders, enlarged the parlour-window, run out the kitchen passage to a -new back-entrance. The garden I cropped with peas this summer, and have -set lettuce and winter-kale between the young apple-trees, whereof the -whole are doing well, and the mulberry likewise I look for to thrive. -Well, as I was saying, Dick Quiney----" - -"--Is in trouble again, you need not tell." - -"None so bad but it could be mended by the thirty pounds whereof I -wrote. Mytton will be security with him, now that Bushell draws back. -He offers better than those few acres at Shottery you dealt upon in -January." - -"Land is land." - -"And ale is ale: you may take up a mortgage on the brewhouse. Hast ever -heard, Mr. Burbage"--John Shakespeare swung about--"of a proverb we -have down in our Warwickshire? It goes-- - - _Who buys land buys stones, - Who buys meat buys bones, - Who buys eggs buys shells, - But who buys ale buys nothing else._ - -And that sets me in mind, Will, that these friends of yours have bidden -me to supper: and their throats will be dry an we keep 'em gaping at -our country discourse. Here come I with Thespis, riding on a wagon: -but where tarries the vintage feast? Where be the spigots? Where be -the roasted geese, capons, sucking-pigs? Where the hogs-puddings, the -trifles, the custards, the frumenties? Where the minstrels? Where the -dancing girls? I have in these three hours swallowed as many pecks -of dust. I am for the bucket before the manger and for good talk -after both--high, brave translunary talk with wine in the veins of -it--Hippocras with hippocrene: with music too--some little kickshaw -whatnots of the theorbo or viol da gamba pleasantly thrown in for -interludes. 'Tis a fog-pated land I come from, with a pestilent rheumy -drip from the trees and the country scarce recovered from last year's -dearth----" - -"Dick Quiney should have made the better prices for that dearth," put -in his son, knitting his great brow thoughtfully. "With wheat at fifty -shillings, and oats----" - -"The malt, lad, the malt! His brewhouse swallowed malt at -twenty-eight or nine which a short two years before had cost him -twelve-and-threepence the quarter. A year of dearth, I say. It took -poor Dick at unawares. But give him time: he will pull round. Sure, we -be slow in the country, but you have some in this town that will beat -us. How many years, lad, have I been battering the doors of Heralds' -College for that grant of arms, promised ere my beard was grey and -yours fully grown?" - -"Malt at twenty-eight, you say?" - -"Last year, lad--a year of dearth. Call it a good twenty in these -bettering times, and wheat anything under forty-five shillings." - -"Well, we will talk it over." His son seemed to come out of a brown -study. "We will talk it over," he repeated briskly, and added, "How? -The chimney overleaning the road? 'Twas a stout enough chimney, as I -remember, and might have lasted another twenty years. Where did you -draw the bricks?" - -Nashe glanced at his friend with a puzzled smile. Burbage--better used, -no doubt, to the businesslike ways of authors--betrayed no surprise. -The apprentice stared, scarcely believing his ears. Was this the talk -of Shakespeare? Nay, rather the talk of Justice Shallow himself--"How a -good yoke of bullocks at Stamford Fair?" "How a score of ewes now?" - -A heavy tread approached from the gateway. - -"Are we to bide here all night, and on Christmas morn, too?" a gruff -voice demanded. "Unpack, and pay us our wage, or we tip the whole load -of it into Thames." Here the wagoner's shin encountered in the darkness -with a plank, and he cursed violently. - -"Go you back to your horses, my friend," answered Burbage. "The -unloading shall begin anon. As for your wage, your master will tell you -I settled it at the time I bargained for his wagons--ay, and paid. I -hold his receipt." - -"For tenpence a man--mowers' wages," growled the wagoner. - -"I asked him his price and he fixed it. 'Tis the current rate, I -understand, and a trifle over." - -"Depends on the job. I've been talkin' with my mates, and we don't like -it. We're decent labouring men, and shifting a lot of play-actors' -baggage don't come in our day's work. I'd as lief wash dirty linen -for my part. Therefore," the fellow wound up lucidly, "you'll make it -twelvepence a head, master. We don't take a groat less." - -"I see," said Burbage blandly: "twopence for salving your conscience, -hey? And so, being a decent man, you don't stomach players?" - -"No, nor the Bankside at this hour o' night. I live clean, I tell you." - -"'Tis a godless neighbourhood and a violent." Burbage drew a silver -whistle from his doublet and eyed it. "Listen a moment, master wagoner, -and tell me what you hear." - -"I hear music o' sorts. No Christmas carols, I warrant." - -"Aught else?" - -"Ay: a sound like a noise of dogs baying over yonder." - -"Right again: it comes from the kennels by the Bear-Pit. Have you a -wish, my friend, to make nearer acquaintance with these dogs? No? With -the bears, then? Say the word, and inside of a minute I can whistle up -your two-pennyworth." - -The wagoner with a dropping jaw stared from one to another of the ring -of faces in the lantern-light. They were quiet, determined. Only the -apprentice stood with ears pricked, as it were, and shivered at the -distant baying. - -"No offence, Sir; I meant no offence, you'll understand," the wagoner -stammered. - -"Nay, call your mates, man!" spoke up William Shakespeare, sudden -and sharp, and with a scornful ring in his voice which caused our -apprentice to jump. "Call them in and let us hear you expound Master -Burbage's proposal. I am curious to see how they treat you--having an -opinion of my own on crowds and their leaders." - -But the wagoner had swung about surlily on his heel. - -"I'll not risk disputing it," he growled. "'Tis your own dung-hill, and -I must e'en take your word that 'tis worse than e'er a man thought. But -one thing I'll not take back. You're a muck of play-actors, and a man -that touches ye should charge for his washing. Gr-r!" he spat--"ye're -worse than Patty Ward's sow, and _she_ was no lavender!" - - -IV - -The Bankside was demure. But for the distant baying of dogs which kept -him shivering, our apprentice had been disappointed in the wickedness -of it. - -He had looked to meet with roisterers, to pass amid a riot of taverns, -to happen, belike, upon a street scuffle, to see swords drawn or -perchance to come upon a body stretched across the roadway and hear the -murderers' footsteps in the darkness, running. These were the pictures -his imagination had drawn and shuddered at: for he was a youth of small -courage. - -But the Bankside was demure; demure as Chepe. The waterside lanes -leading to Mistress Witwold's at the corner of Paris Gardens differed -only from Chepe in this--that though the hour was past midnight, every -other door stood open or at least ajar, showing a light through the -fog. Through some of these doorways came the buzz and murmur of voices, -the tinkling of stringed instrument. Others seemed to await their -guests. But the lanes themselves were deserted. - -From the overhanging upper storeys lights showed here and there through -the chinks of shutters or curtains. Once or twice in the shadows -beneath, our apprentice saw, or thought he saw, darker shadows draw -back and disappear: and gradually a feeling grew upon him that all -these shadows, all these lidded upper windows, were watching, following -him with curious eyes. Again, though the open doorways were bright -as for a fęte, a something seemed to subdue the voices within--a -constraint, perhaps an expectancy--as though the inmates whispered -together in the pauses of their talk and between the soft thrumming of -strings. He remarked, too, that his companions had fallen silent. - -Mother Witwold's door, when they reached it, stood open like the rest. -Her house overhung a corner where from the main street a short alley -ran down to Paris Garden stairs. Nashe, who had been leading along -the narrow pavement, halted outside the threshold to extinguish his -lantern; and at the same moment jerked his face upward. Aloft, in one -of the houses across the way, a lattice had flown open with a crash of -glass. - -"Jesu! help!" - -The cry ended in a strangling sob. The hands that had thrust the -lattice open projected over the sill. By the faint foggy light of -Mother Witwold's doorway our apprentice saw them out-stretched for a -moment; saw them disappear, the wrists still rigid, as some one drew -them back into the room. But what sent the horror crawling through the -roots of his hair was the shape of these hands. - -"You there!" called Nashe, snatching the second lantern from Burbage's -hand and holding it aloft towards the dim house-front. "What's wrong -within?" - -A woman's hand came around the curtain and felt for the lattice -stealthily, to close it. There was no other answer. - -"What's wrong there?" demanded Nashe again. - -"Go your ways!" The voice was a woman's, hoarse and angry, yet -frightened withal. The curtain still hid her. "Haven't I trouble enough -with these tetchy dwarfs, but you must add to it by waking the streets?" - -"Dwarfs?" Nashe swung the lantern so that its rays fell on the -house-door below: a closed door and stout, studded with iron nails. -"Dwarfs?" he repeated. - -"Let her be," said Burbage, taking his arm. "I know the woman. She -keeps a brace of misbegotten monsters she picked up at Wapping off a -ship's captain. He brought 'em home from the Isle of Serendib, or -Cathay, or some such outlandish coast, or so she swears his word was." - -"Swears, doth she? Didst hear the poor thing cry out?" - -"Ay, like any Christian; as, for aught I know, it may be. There's -another tale that she found 'em down in Gloucestershire, at a country -fair, and keeps 'em pickled in walnut juice. But monsters they be, -whether of Gloucester or Cathay, for I have seen 'em; and so hath the -Queen, who sent for them the other day to be brought to Westminster, -and there took much delight in their oddity." - -While the others hesitated, William Shakespeare turned on his heel and -walked past them into Mother Witwold's lighted doorway. - -His father glanced after him. "Well, to be sure, the poor thing cried -out like a Christian," he said. "But dwarfs and monsters be kittle -cattle to handle, I am told." As the lattice closed on their debate -he linked his arm in the apprentice's, and they too passed into the -doorway. - -From it a narrow passage led straight to a narrow staircase; and at -the stairs' foot the apprentice had another glimpse into the life of -this Bankside. A door stood wide there upon an ill-lighted room, and -close within the door sat two men--foreigners by their black-avised -faces--casting dice upon a drumhead. In a chair, beyond, a girl, -low-bodiced, with naked gleaming shoulders, leaned back half asleep; -and yet she did not seem to sleep, but to regard the gamesters with a -lazy scorn from under her dropped lashes. A tambourine tied with bright -ribbons rested in the lap of her striped petticoat, kept from sliding -to the floor by the careless crook--you could see it was habitual--of -her jewelled fingers. The two men looked up sharply, almost furtively, -at the company mounting the stairs. The girl scarcely lifted her eyes. -Scornful she looked, and sullen and infinitely weary, yet she was -beautiful withal. The apprentice wondered while he climbed. - -"Yes," his patron was saying, "'tis the very mart and factory of -pleasure. Ne'er a want hath London in that way but the Bankside can -supply it, from immortal poetry down to--to----" - -"--Down to misshapen children. Need'st try no lower, my master." - -"There be abuses, my son: and there be degrees of pleasure, the -lowest of which (I grant you) be vile, sensual, devilish. Marry, I -defend not such. But what I say is that a great city should have -delights proportionate to her greatness; rich shows and pageants -and processions by land and water; plays and masques and banquets -with music; and the men who cater for these are citizens as worthy -as the rest. Take away Bankside, and London would be the cleaner of -much wickedness: yet by how much the duller of cheer, the poorer in -all that colour, that movement which together be to cities the spirit -of life! Where would be gone that glee of her that lifts a man's -lungs and swells his port when his feet feel London stones? Is't of -her money the country nurses think when to wondering children they -fable of streets all paved with gold? Nay, lad: and this your decent, -virtuous folk know well enough--your clergy, your aldermen--and use -the poor players while abusing them. Doth the parish priest need a -miracle-play for his church? Doth my Lord Mayor intend a show? To the -Bankside they hie with money in their purses: and if his purse be long -enough, my Lord Mayor shall have a fountain running with real wine, -and Mass Thomas a Hell with flames of real cloth-in-grain, or at least -a Lazarus with real sores. Doth the Court require a masque, the Queen -a bull-baiting, the City a good roaring tragedy, full of blood and -impugned innocence----Will! Will, I say! Tarry a moment!" - -They had reached the landing, and looked down a corridor at the end -of which, where a lamp hung, Shakespeare waited with his hand on a -door-latch. From behind the door came a buzz of many voices. - -"Lad, lad, let us go in together! Though the world's applause weary -thee, 'tis sweet to thine old father." - -As he pressed down the latch the great man turned for an instant with a -quick smile, marvellously tender. - -"He _can_ smile, then?" thought the apprentice to himself. "And I was -doubting that he kept it for his writing!" - -Within the room, as it were with one shout, a great company leapt to -its feet, cheering and lifting glasses. Shakespeare, pausing on the -threshold, smiled again, but more reservedly, bowing to the homage as -might a king. - - -V - -Three hours the feast had lasted: and the apprentice had listened -to many songs, many speeches, but scarcely to the promised talk of -gods. The poets, maybe, reserved such talk for the Mermaid. Here they -were outnumbered by the players and by such ladies as the Bankside -(which provided everything) furnished to grace the entertainment; and -doubtless they subdued their discourse to the company. The Burbages, -Dick and Cuthbert, John Heminge, Will Kempe--some half-a-dozen of -the crew perhaps--might love good literature: but even these were -pardonably more elate over the epilogue than over the play. For months -they, the Lord Chamberlain's servants, had felt the eyes of London -upon them: to-night they had triumphed, and to-morrow London would -ring with appreciative laughter. It is not every day that your child -of pleasure outwits your man of business at his own game: it is not -once in a generation that he scores such a hit as had been scored -to-day. The ladies, indeed, yawned without dissembling, while Master -Jonson--an ungainly youth with a pimply face, a rasping accent, and -a hard pedantic manner--proposed success to the new comedy and long -life to its author; which he did at interminable length; spicing -his discourse with quotations from Aristotle, Longinus, Quintilian, -the _Ars Poetica_, Persius, and Seneca, authors less studied than -the Aretine along Bankside. He loved Will Shakespeare.... A comedy -of his own (as the company might remember) owed not a little to his -friend Will Shakespeare's acting.... Here was a case in which love -and esteem--yes, and worship--might hardly be dissociated.... In -short, speaking as modestly as a young man might of his senior, Will -Shakespeare was the age's ornament and, but for lack of an early -gruelling in the classics, might easily have been an ornament for any -age. Cuthbert Burbage--it is always your quiet man who first succumbs -on these occasions--slid beneath the table with a vacuous laugh and lay -in slumber. Dick Burbage sat and drummed his toes impatiently. Nashe -puffed at a pipe of tobacco. Kempe, his elbows on the board, his chin -resting on his palms, watched the orator with amused interest, mischief -lurking in every crease of his wrinkled face. Will Shakespeare leaned -back in his chair and scanned the rafters, smiling gently the while. -His speech, when his turn came to respond, was brief, almost curt. He -would pass by (he said) his young friend's learned encomiums, and come -to that which lay nearer to their thoughts than either the new play or -the new play's author. Let them fill and drink in silence to the demise -of an old friend, the vanished theatre, the first ever built in London. -Then, happening to glance at Heminge as he poured out the wine--"Tut, -Jack!" he spoke up sharply: "keep that easy rheum for the boards. -Brush thine eyes, lad: we be all players here--or women--and know the -trade." - -It hurt. If Heminge's eyes had begun to water sentimentally, they -flinched now with real pain. This man loved Shakespeare with a dog's -love. He blinked, and a drop fell and rested on the back of his hand as -it fingered the base of his wine-glass. The apprentice saw and noted it. - -"And another glass, lads, to the Phoenix that shall arise! A toast, -and this time not in silence!" shouted John Shakespeare, springing up, -flask in one hand and glass in the other. Meat or wine, jest or sally -of man or woman, dull speech or brisk--all came alike to him. His -doublet was unbuttoned; he had smoked three pipes, drunk a quart of -sack, and never once yawned. He was enjoying himself to the top of his -bent. "Music, I say! Music!" A thought seemed to strike him; his eyes -filled with happy inspiration. Still gripping his flask, he rolled to -the door, flung it open, and bawled down the stairway-- - -"Ahoy! Below, there!" - -"Ahoy, then, with all my heart!" answered a voice, gay and youthful, -pat on the summons. "What is't ye lack, my master?" - -"Music, an thou canst give it. If not----" - -"My singing voice broke these four years past, I fear me." - -"Your name, then, at least, young man, or ever you thrust yourself upon -private company." - -"William Herbert, at your service." A handsome lad--a boy, -almost--stood in the doorway, having slipped past John Shakespeare's -guard: a laughing, frank-faced boy, in a cloak slashed with -orange-tawny satin. So much the apprentice noted before he heard a -second voice, as jaunty and even more youthfully shrill, raised in -protest upon the stairhead outside. - -"And where the master goes," it demanded, "may not his page follow?" - -John Shakespeare seemingly gave way to this second challenge as to the -first. "Be these friends of thine, Will?" he called past them as a -second youth appeared in the doorway, a pretty, dark-complexioned lad, -cloaked in white, who stood a pace behind his companion's elbow and -gazed into the supper-room with eyes at once mischievous and timid. - -"Good-evening, gentles!" The taller lad comprehended the feasters and -the disordered table in a roguish bow. "Good-evening, Will!" He singled -out Shakespeare, and nodded. - -"My Lord Herbert!" - -The apprentice's eye, cast towards Shakespeare at the salutation given, -marked a dark flush rise to the great man's temples as he answered the -nod. - -"I called thee 'Will,'" answered Herbert lightly. - -"You called us 'gentles,'" Shakespeare replied, the dark flush yet -lingering on either cheek. "A word signifying bait for gudgeons, bred -in carrion." - -"Yet I called thee Will," insisted Herbert more gently. "'Tis my name -as well as thine, and we have lovingly exchanged it before now, or my -memory cheats me." - -"'Tis a name lightly exchanged in love." With a glance at the -white-cloaked page Shakespeare turned on his heel. - -"La, Will, where be thy manners?" cried one of the women. "Welcome, my -young Lord; and welcome the boy beside thee for his pretty face! Step -in, child, that I may pass thee round to be kissed." - -The page laughed and stepped forward with his chin defiantly tilted. -His eyes examined the women curiously and yet with a touch of fear. - -"Nay, never flinch, lad! I'll do thee no harm," chuckled the one who -had invited him. "Mass o' me, how I love modesty in these days of -scandal!" - -"Music? Who called for music?" a foreign voice demanded: and now in -the doorway appeared three newcomers, two men and a woman--the same -three of whom the apprentice had caught a glimpse within the room at -the stairs' foot. The spokesman, a heavily built fellow with a short -bull-neck and small cunning eyes, carried a drum slung about his -shoulders and beat a rub-a-dub on it by way of flourish. "Take thy -tambourine and dance, Julitta-- - - _Julie, prends ton tambourin; - Toi, prends ta flute, Robin_," - -he hummed, tapping his drum again. - -"So? So? What foreign gabble is this?" demanded John Shakespeare, -following and laying a hand on his shoulder. - -"A pretty little carol for Christmas, Signore, that we picked up on our -way through Burgundy, where they sing it to a jargon I cannot emulate. -But the tune is as it likes you-- - - _Au son ces instruments-- - Turelurelu, patapatapan-- - Nous dirons Noël gaîment!_ - -Goes it not trippingly, Signore? You will say so when you see my -Julitta dance to it." - -"Eh--eh? Dance to a carol?" a woman protested. "'Tis inviting the earth -to open and swallow us." - -"Why, where's the harm on't?" John Shakespeare demanded. "A pretty -little concomitant, and anciently proper to all religions, nor among -the heathen only, but in England and all parts of Christendom-- - - _In manger wrapped it was-- - So poorly happ'd my chance-- - Between an ox and a silly poor ass - To call my true love to the dance! - Sing O, my love, my love, my love...._ - -There's precedent for ye, Ma'am--good English precedent. Zooks! I'm a -devout man, I hope; but I bear a liberal mind and condemn no form of -mirth, so it be honest. The earth swallow us? Ay, soon or late it will, -not being squeamish. Meantime, dance, I say! Clear back the tables -there, and let the girl show her paces!" - -Young Herbert glanced at Burbage with lifted eyebrow, as if to demand, -"Who is this madman?" Burbage laughed, throwing out both hands. - -"But he is gigantic!" lisped the page, as with a wave of his two great -arms John Shakespeare seemed to catch up the company and fling them -to work pell-mell, thrusting back tables, piling chairs, clearing the -floor of its rushes. "He is a whirlwind of a man!" - -[Illustration: WHIRLED DOWN THE LENGTH OF THE ROOM.] - -"Come, Julitta!" called the man with the drum. "Francisco, take thy -pipe, man!-- - - _Au son de ces instruments-- - Turelurelu, patapatapan_--" - -As the music struck up, the girl, still with her scornful, impassive -face, leapt like a panther from the doorway into the space cleared -for her, and whirled down the room in a dance the like of which our -apprentice had never seen nor dreamed of. And yet his gaze at first was -not for her, but for the younger foreigner, the one with the pipe. For -if ever horror took visible form, it stood and stared from the windows -of that man's eyes. They were handsome eyes, too, large and dark and -passionate: but just now they stared blindly as though a hot iron had -seared them. Twice they had turned to the girl, who answered by not so -much as a glance; and twice with a shudder upon the man with the drum, -who caught the look and blinked wickedly. Worst of all was it when -the music began, to see that horror fixed and staring over a pair of -cheeks ludicrously puffing at a flageolet. A face for a gargoyle! The -apprentice shivered, and glanced from one to other of the company: but -they, one and all, were watching the dancer. - -It was a marvellous dance, truly. The girl, her tambourine lifted high, -and clashing softly to the beat of the music, whirled down the length -of the room, while above the pipe's falsetto and rumble of the drum the -burly man lifted his voice and trolled-- - - "_Turelurelu, patapatapan-- - Au son de ces instruments - Faisons la nique ā Satan!_" - -By the barricade of chairs and tables, under which lay Cuthbert Burbage -in peaceful stupor, she checked her onward rush, whirling yet, but -so lazily that she seemed for the moment to stand poised, her scarf -outspread like the wings of a butterfly: and so, slowly, very slowly, -she came floating back. Twice she repeated this, each time narrowing -her circuit, until she reached the middle of the floor, and there began -to spin on her toes as a top spins when (as children say) it goes to -sleep. The tambourine no longer clashed. Balanced high on the point -of her uplifted forefinger, it too began to spin, and span until its -outline became a blur. Still, as the music rose shriller and wilder, -she revolved more and more rapidly, yet apparently with less and less -of effort. Her scarf had become a mere filmy disc rotating around a -whorl of gleaming flesh and glancing jewels. - -A roar of delight from John Shakespeare broke the spell. The company -echoed it with round upon round of hand-clapping. The music ceased -suddenly, and the dancer, dipping low until her knees brushed the -floor, stood erect again, dropped her arms, and turned carelessly to -the nearest table. - -"Bravo! bravissimo!" thundered John Shakespeare. "A cup of wine for -her, there!" - -The girl had snatched up a crust of bread and was gnawing it -ravenously. He thrust his way through the guests and poured out wine -for her. She took the glass with a steady hand, scarcely pausing in her -meal to thank him. - -"But who is your master of ceremonies?" demanded the page's piping -voice. - -William Shakespeare heard it and turned. "He is my father," said he -quietly. - -But John Shakespeare had heard also. Wheeling about, wine-flask in -hand, he faced the lad with a large and mock-elaborate bow. "That, -young Sir, must be my chief title to your notice. For the rest, I am -a plain gentleman of Warwickshire, of impaired but (I thank God) -bettering fortune; my name John Shakespeare; my coat, or, a bend sable, -charged with a lance proper. One of these fine days I may bring it to -Court for you to recognise: but, alas! says Skelton-- - - _Age is a page - For the Court full unmeet, - For age cannot rage - Nor buss her sweet sweet._ - -I shall bide at home and kiss the Queen's hand, through my son, more -like." - -"Indeed," said the page, "I hear reports that her Majesty hath already -a mind to send for him." - -"Is that so, Will?" His father beamed, delighted. - -"In some sort it is," answered Herbert, "and in some sort I am her -messenger's forerunner. She will have a play of thee, Will." - -"The Queen?" Shakespeare turned on him sharply. "This is a fool's trick -you play on me, my Lord." Yet his face flushed in spite of himself. - -"I tell thee, straight brow and true man, I heard the words fall from -her very lips. 'He shall write us a play,' she said; 'and this Falstaff -shall be the hero on't, with no foolish royalties to overlay and clog -his mirth.'" - -"And, you see," put in the page maliciously, "we have come express to -the Boar's Head to seek him out." - -"That," Herbert added, "is our suit to-night." - -"Will, lad, thy fortune's made!" John Shakespeare clapped a hand on his -son's shoulder. "I shall see thee Sir William yet afore I die!" - -If amid the general laughter two lines of vexation wrote themselves for -a moment on Shakespeare's brow they died out swiftly. He stood back a -pace, eyed his father awhile with grave and tender humour, and answered -the pair of courtiers with a bow. - -"Her Majesty's gracious notion of a play," said he, "must needs be her -poor subject's pattern. If then I come to Court in motley, you, Sirs, -at least will be indulgent, knowing how much a suit may disguise." The -page, meeting his eye, laughed uneasily. "'Tis but a frolic----" he -began. - -"Ay, there's the pity o't," interrupted a deep voice--Kempe's. - -The page laughed again, yet more nervously. "I should have said the -Queen--God bless her!--desires but a frolic. And I had thought"--here -he lifted his chin saucily and looked Kempe in the face--"that on -Bankside they took a frolic less seriously." - -"Why, no," answered Kempe: "they have to take it seriously, and the -cost too,--that being their business." - -"'Tis but a frolic, at any rate, that her Majesty proposes, with a -trifling pageant or dance to conclude, in which certain of the Court -may join." - -A harsh laugh capped this explanation. It came from the dancing-girl, -who, seated at the disordered table, had been eating like a hungry -beast. She laid down her knife, rested her chin on her clasped hands, -and, munching slowly, stared at the page from under her sullen, -scornful brows. - -"Wouldst learn to dance, child?" she demanded. - -"With thee for teacher," the page answered modestly. "I have no skill, -but a light foot only." - -"A light foot!" the woman mimicked and broke into a laugh horrible to -hear. "Wouldst achieve such art as mine with a light foot? I tell thee -that to dance as I dance thy feet must go deep as hell!" She pushed -back her plate, and, rising, nodded to the musicians. "Play, you!" she -commanded. - -This time she used no wild whirl down the room to give her impetus. She -stood in the cleared space of floor, her arms hanging limp, and at the -first shrill note of the pipe began to revolve on the points of her -toes, her eyes, each time as they came full circle, meeting the gaze of -the page, and slowly fascinating, freezing it. As slowly, deliberately, -her hand went up, curved itself to the armpit of her bodice; and lo! as -she straightened it aloft, a snake writhed itself around her upper arm, -lifting its head to reach the shining bracelets, the jewelled fingers. -A curving lift of the left arm, and on that too a snake began to coil -and climb. Effortless, rigid as a revolving statue, she brought her -finger-tips together overhead and dipped them to her bosom. - -A shriek rang out, piercing high above the music. - -"Catch her! She faints!" shouted Kempe, darting forward. But it was -Shakespeare who caught the page's limp body as it dropped back on his -arm. Bearing it to the window, he tore aside the curtain and thrust -open a lattice to the dawn. The unconscious head drooped against his -shoulder. - -"My Lord"--he turned on Herbert as though the touch maddened him--"you -are a young fool! God forgive me that I ever took you for better! Go, -call a boat and take her out of this." - -"Nay, but she revives," stammered Herbert, as the page's lips parted in -a long, shuddering sigh. - -"Go, fetch a boat, I say!--and make way there, all you by the door!" - - -VI - -"Tut! tut!--the wench will come to fast enough in the fresh air. A -dare-devil jade, too, to be sparking it on Bankside at this hour! -But it takes more than a woman, they say, to kill a mouse, and with -serpents her sex hath an ancient feud. What's her name, I wonder?" - -The candles, burning low and guttering in the draught of the open -window, showed a banquet-hall deserted, or all but deserted. A small -crowd of the guests--our apprentice among them--had trooped downstairs -after Shakespeare and his burden. Others, reminded by the grey dawn, -had slipped away on their own account to hire a passage home from the -sleepy watermen before Paris Garden Stairs. - -"Can any one tell me her name, now?" repeated John Shakespeare, rolling -to the table and pouring himself yet another glass of wine. But no -one answered him. The snake-woman had folded back her pets within her -bodice and resumed her meal as though nothing had happened. The burly -drummer had chosen a chair beside her and fallen to on the remains of a -pasty. Both were eating voraciously. Francisco, the pipe-player, sat -sidesaddle-wise on a form at a little distance and drank and watched -them, still with the horror in his eyes. One or two women lingered, and -searched the tables, pocketing crusts--searched with faces such as on -battlefields, at dawn, go peering among the dead and wounded. - -"But hullo!" John Shakespeare swung round, glass in hand, as the -apprentice stood panting in the doorway. "Faith, you return before I -had well missed you." - -The lad's eyes twinkled with mischief. - -"An thou hasten not, master, I fear me thou may'st miss higher game; -with our hosts--your son amongst 'em--even now departing by boat and, -for aught I know, leaving thee to pay the shot." - -"Michael and all his angels preserve us! I had forgot----" - -John Shakespeare clapped a hand on his empty pocket, and ran for the -stairhead. "Will!" he bawled. "Will! My son Will!" - -The apprentice laughed and stepped toward the window, tittuping -slightly; for (to tell the truth) he had drunk more wine than agreed -with him. Standing by the window, he laughed again vacuously, drew a -long breath, and so spun round on his heels at the sound of a choking -cry and a rush of feet. With that he saw, as in a haze--his head being -yet dizzy--the heavy man catch up his drum by its strap and, using -it as a shield, with a backward sweep of the arm hurl off the youth -Francisco, who had leapt on him knife in hand. Clutching the curtain, -he heard the knife rip through the drum's parchment and saw the young -man's face of hate as the swift parry flung him back staggering, -upsetting a form, against the table's edge. He saw the glasses there -leap and totter from the shock, heard their rims jar and ring together -like a peal of bells. - -The sound seemed to clear his brain. He could not guess what had -provoked the brawl; but in one and the same instant he saw the drummer -reach back an arm as if to draw the dancing woman on his knee; heard -his jeering laugh as he slipped a hand down past her bare shoulder; saw -her unmoved face, sullenly watching; saw Francisco, still clutching his -knife, gather himself up for another spring. As he sprang the drummer's -hand slid round from behind the woman's back, and it too grasped a -knife. An overturned chair lay between the two, and the rail of it as -Francisco leapt caught his foot, so that with a clutch he fell sideways -against the table. Again the glasses jarred and rang, and yet again -and more loudly as the drummer's hand went up and drove the dagger -through the neck, pinning it to the board. The youth's legs contracted -in a horrible kick, contracted again and fell limp. There was a gush of -blood across the cloth, a sound of breath escaping and choked in its -escape: and as the killer wrenched out his knife for a second stroke, -the body slid with a thud to the floor. - -The apprentice had feasted, and feasted well; yet throughout the feast -(he bethought himself of this later), no serving-man and but one -serving-maid had entered the room. Wines and dishes had come at call to -a hatch in the wall at the far end of the room. One serving-maid had -done all the rest, moving behind the guests' chairs with a face and -mien which reminded him of a tall angel he had seen once borne in a car -of triumph at a City show. But now as he left his curtain, twittering, -crazed with fear, spreading out both hands toward the stain on the -tablecloth, a door beside the hatch opened noiselessly, and swift and -prompt as though they had been watching, two men entered, flung a dark -coverlet over the body, lifted and bore it off, closing the door behind -them. They went as they had come, swiftly, without a word. He had seen -it as plainly as he saw now the murderer sheathing his knife, the -woman sullenly watching him. The other women, too, had vanished--they -that had been gleaning among the broken crusts. Had they decamped, -scurrying, at the first hint of the brawl? He could not tell: they had -been, and were not. - -He stretched out both hands towards the man, the woman--would they, -too, vanish?--and the damning stain? A cry worked in his throat, but -would not come. - -"Gone!" a voice called, hearty at once and disconsolate, from the -doorway behind him. "Gone--given me the slip, as I am a Christian -sinner. What? You three left alone here? But where is our friend the -piper?" - -The apprentice made a snatch at a flask of wine, and, turning, let its -contents spill wildly over the bloodied tablecloth. - -"Art drunk, lad--shamefully drunk," said John Shakespeare, lurching -forward. "They have given me the slip, I say, and ne'er a groat have I -to redeem my promises." - -"They paid the score below--I saw them; and this thy son charged me to -hand to thee." The apprentice drew a full purse from his pocket and -flung it on the table. "I--I played thee a trick, master: but let me -forth into fresh air. This room dizzies me...." - -"Go thy ways--go thy ways, child. For my part I was ever last at a -feast to leave it, and would crack one more cup with these good folk. -To your health, Madam!" He reached a hand for the wine-flask as the -apprentice set it down and went forth, tottering yet. - - -VII - -Dawn was breaking down the river; a grey dawn as yet, albeit above the -mists rolling low upon the tideway a clear sky promised gold to come--a -golden Christmas Day. The mist, however, had a chill which searched the -bones. The red-eyed waterman pulled as though his arms were numb. Tom -Nashe coughed and huddled his cloak about him, as he turned for a last -backward glance on Bankside, where a few lights yet gleamed, and the -notes of a belated guitar tinkled on, dulled by the vapours, calling -like a thin ghost above the deeper baying of the hounds. - -"Take care of thyself, lad," said Shakespeare kindly, stretching out a -hand to help his friend draw the cloak closer. - -"Behoved me think of that sooner, I doubt," Nashe answered, glancing up -with a wry, pathetic smile, yet gratefully. He dropped his eyes to the -cloak and quoted-- - - "_Sometime it was of cloth-in-grain, - 'Tis now but a sigh-clout, as you may see; - It will hold out neither wind nor rain_-- - -and--and--I thank thee, Will---- - - _But I'll take my old cloak about me._ - -There's salt in the very warp of it, good Yarmouth salt. Will?" - -"Ay, lad?" - -"Is't true thou'rt become a landowner, down in thy native shire?" - -"In a small way, Tom." - -"A man of estate? with coat-of-arms and all?" - -"Even that too, with your leave." - -"I know--I know. _Nescio qua natale solum_--those others did not -understand: but I understood. Yes, and now I understand that fifth act -of thine, which puzzled me afore, and yet had not puzzled me; but I -fancied--poor fool!--that the feeling was singular in me. 'Twas a vile -life, Will." He jerked a thumb back at Bankside. - -"Ay, 'tis vile." - -"My cough translates it into the past tense; but--then, or now, or -hereafter--'tis vile. Count them up, Will--the lads we have drunk with -aforetime. There was Greene, now----" - -Shakespeare bent his head for tally. - -"--I can see his poor corse staring up at the rafters: there on the -shoemaker's bed, with a chaplet of laurel askew on the brow. The woman -meant it kindly, poor thing!... She forgot to close his eyes, though. -With my own fingers I closed 'em, and borrowed two penny pieces of her -for weights. 'Twas the first dead flesh I had touched, and I feel it -now.... But George Peele was worse, ten times worse. I forget if you -saw him?" - -Again Shakespeare bent his head. - -"And poor Kit? You saw Kit, I know ... with a hole below the eye, -they told me, where the knife went through. And that was our Kit, our -hope, pride, paragon, our Daphnis. Damnation, and this is art! Didst -hear that blotch-faced youngster, that Scotchman, how he prated of it, -laying down the law?" - -"That Jonson, Tom, is a tall poet, or will be." - -"The devil care I! Tall poet or not, he is no Englishman and -understands not the race. Art is not for us. We have dreamed dreams, -thou and I: and thy dreams are coming to glory. But the last dream of a -true Englishman is to own a few good English acres and die respected in -a dear, if narrow, round. Dear Will, there is more in this than greed. -There is the call of the land, which is home. For me--thou knowest--I -had ne'er the gift of saving. My bolt is shot, or almost: two years -at farthest must see the end of me. But when thou rememberest, bethink -thee that I understood the call. Wilt guess what I am writing, now at -the last? A great book--a sound book--and all of the red-herring! Ay, -the red-herring, staple of my own Yarmouth. Canst never, as an inland -man, rise to the virtues of that fish nor to the merit of my handling. -But I have read some pages of it to my neighbours there and I learn -from their approving looks that I shall die respected. Yet I, too, -forgot and dreamed of art...." - - * * * * * - -On the Bankside at the foot of Paris Garden Stairs, deserted now of -watermen, a youth sat with his teeth chattering. - -Above, while he tried to clench his teeth, a window opened stealthily. -There was a heavy splash on the tideway, and the window shut to, softly -as it had opened. He watched. He was past fear. The body bobbed once to -the surface, half a furlong below the spreading, fading circles thrown -to the foot of Paris Garden Stairs. It did not rise again. The Bankside -knew its business. - -A heavy footfall came down the steps to the landing-stage. - -"A glorious night!" - -The apprentice watched the river. - -"A glorious night! A night to remember! Tell me, lad, have I made good -my promises, or have I not?" - -"They rise thrice before sinking, I have always heard," twittered the -lad. - -"What the devil art talking of? Here, take my cloak, if thou feelest -the chill. The watermen here ply by shifts, and we shall hail a boat -anon to take us over. Meanwhile, if thou hast eyes, boy, look on the -river--see the masts there, below bridge, the sun touching them!--see -the towers yonder, in the gold of it! - - _London, thou art the flower of cities all!_ - ---Eh, lad?" - -The sun's gold, drifted through the fog, touched the side of a small -row-boat nearing the farther shore. Behind, and to right and left along -Bankside, a few guitars yet tinkled. Across the tide came wafted the -voices of London's Christmas bells. - - - - -YE SEXES, GIVE EAR! - -A STORY FROM A CHIMNEY-CORNER - - -A good song, and thank 'ee, Sir, for singing it! Time was, you'd never -miss hearing it in these parts, whether 'twas feast or harvest-supper -or Saturday night at the public. A virtuous good song, too; and the -merry fellow that made it won't need to cast about and excuse himself -when the graves open and he turns out with his fiddle under his arm. -My own mother taught it to me; the more by token that she came from -Saltash, and "Ye sexes, give ear" was a terrible favourite with the -Saltash females by reason of Sally Hancock and her turn-to with the -press-gang. Hey? You don't tell me, after singing the song, that you -never heard tell of Sally Hancock? Well, if----I Here, take and fill my -mug, somebody! - -'Tis an instructive tale, too.... This Sally was a Saltash fishwoman, -and you must have heard of _them_ at all events. There was Bess Rablin, -too, and Mary Kitty Climo, and Thomasine Oliver, and Long Eliza that -married Treleaven the hoveller, and Pengelly's wife Ann; these made up -the crew Sally stroked in the great race. And besides these there was -Nan Scantlebury--she took Bess Rablin's oar the second year, Bess being -a bit too fond of lifting her elbow, which affected her health--and -Phemy Sullivan, an Irishwoman, and Long Eliza's half-sister Charlotte -Prowse, and Rebecca Tucker, and Susan Trebilcock, that everybody called -"Apern," and a dozen more maybe: powerful women every one, and proud of -it. The town called them Sally Hancock's Gang, she being their leader, -though they worked separate, shrimping, cockling, digging for lug and -long-lining, bawling fish through Plymouth streets, even a hovelling -job at times--nothing came amiss to them, and no weather. For a trip -to Plymouth they'd put on sea-boots belike, or grey stockings and -clogs: but at home they went bare-legged, and if they wore anything -'pon their heads 'twould be a handkerchief, red or yellow, with a man's -hat clapped a-top; coats too, and guernseys like men's, and petticoats -a short few inches longer; for I'm telling of that back-along time -when we fought Boney and while seafaring men still wore petticoats--in -these parts at any rate. Well, that's how Sally and her mates looked -on week-a-days, and that's how they behaved: but you must understand -that, though rough, they were respectable; the most of them Wesleyan -Methodists; and on Sundays they'd put on bonnet and sit in chapel, -and drink their tea afterwards and pick their neighbours to pieces -just like ordinary Christians. Sal herself was a converted woman, and -greatly exercised for years about her husband's condition, that kept -a tailor's shop half-way down Fore Street and scoffed at the word -of Grace; though he attended public worship, partly to please his -customers and partly because his wife wouldn't let him off. - -The way the fun started was this. In June month of the year 'five -(that's the date my mother always gave) the Wesleyans up at the London -Foundry sent a man down to preach a revival through Cornwall, starting -with Saltash. He had never crossed the Tamar before, but had lived the -most of his life near Wolverhampton--a bustious little man, with a -round belly and a bald head and high sense of his own importance. He -arrived on a Saturday night, and attended service next morning, but -not to take part in it: he "wished to look round," he said. So the -morning was spent in impressing everyone with his shiny black suit of -West-of-England broadcloth and his beautiful neckcloth and bunch of -seals. But in the evening he climbed the pulpit, and there Old Nick -himself, that lies in wait for preachers, must have tempted the poor -fellow to preach on Womanly Perfection, taking his text from St. Paul. - -He talked a brave bit about subjection, and how a woman ought to submit -herself to her husband, and keep her head covered in places of public -worship. And from that he passed on to say that 'twas to this beautiful -submissiveness women owed their amazing power for good, and he, for his -part, was going through Cornwall to tackle the women-folk and teach 'em -this beautiful lesson, and he'd warrant he'd leave the whole county a -sight nearer righteousness than he found it. With that he broke out -into axtempory prayer for our dear sisters, as he called them, dusted -his knees, and gave out the hymn, all as pleased as Punch. - -Sal walked home from service alongside of her husband, very thoughtful. -Deep down in the bottom of his heart he was afraid of her, and she knew -it, though she made it a rule to treat him kindly. But knowing him for -a monkey-spirited little man, and spiteful as well as funny, you could -never be sure when he wouldn't break out. To-night he no sooner gets -inside his own door than says he with a dry sort of a chuckle-- - -"Powerful fine sermon, this evenin'. A man like that makes you _think_." - -"Ch't!" says Sally, tossing her bonnet on to the easy-chair and groping -about for the tinder-box. - -"Sort of doctrine that's badly needed in Saltash," says he. "But I'd -ha' bet 'twould be wasted on you. Well, well, if you can't understand -logic, fit and fetch supper, that's a good soul!" - -"Ch't!" said Sally again, paying no particular attention, but wondering -what the dickens had become of the tinder-box. She couldn't find it on -the chimney-piece, so went off to fetch the kitchen one. - -When she came back, there was my lord seated in the easy-chair--that -was hers by custom--and puffing away at his pipe--a thing not allowed -until after supper. You see, he had collared the tinder-box when he -first came in, and had hidden it from her. - -Sal lit the lamp, quiet-like. "I s'pose you know you're sittin' 'pon my -best bonnet?" said she. - -This took him aback. He jumped up, found the bonnet underneath him -sure enough, and tossed it on to the table. "Gew-gaws!" said he, -settling himself down again and puffing. "Gew-gaws and frippery! That -man'll do good in this country; he's badly wanted." - -Sal patted the straw of her bonnet into something like shape and -smoothed out the ribbons. "If it'll make you feel like a breadwinner," -said she, "there's a loaf in the bread-pan. The cold meat and pickles -are under lock and key, and we'll talk o' them later." She fitted the -bonnet on and began to tie the strings. - -"You don't tell me, Sarah, that you mean to go gadding out at this time -of the evening?" cries he, a bit chapfallen, for he knew she carried -the keys in an under-pocket beneath her skirt. - -"And you don't suppose," answers she, "that I can spare the time to -watch you play-actin' in my best chair? No, no, my little man! Sit -there and amuse yourself: what _you_ do don't make a ha'porth of odds. -But there's others to be considered, and I'm going to put an end to -this nonsense afore it spreads." - -The time of the year, as I've told you, was near about midsummer, when -a man can see to read print out-of-doors at nine o'clock. Service over, -the preacher had set out for a stroll across the hayfields towards -Trematon, to calm himself with a look at the scenery and the war-ships -in the Hamoaze and the line of prison-hulks below, where in those days -they kept the French prisoners. He was strolling back, with his hands -clasped behind him under his coat-tails, when on the knap of the hill, -between him and the town, he caught sight of a bevy of women seated -among the hay-pooks--staid middle-aged women, all in dark shawls and -bonnets, chattering there in the dusk. As he came along they all rose -up together and dropped him a curtsey. - -"Good evenin', preacher dear," says Sally, acting spokeswoman; "and a -very fine night for the time of year." - -I reckon that for a moment the preacher took a scare. Monstrous fine -women they were to be sure, looming up over him in the dimmety light, -and two or three of them tall as Grenadiers. But hearing himself -forespoken so pleasantly, he came to a stand and peered at them through -his gold-rimmed glasses. - -"Ah, good evening, ladies!" says he. "You are, I presoom, members -of the society that I've just had the privilege of addressin'?" And -thereupon they dropped him another curtsey altogether. "Like me, I dare -say you find the scent of the new-mown hay refreshingly grateful. And -what a scene! What a beautiful porch, so to speak, to the beauties of -Cornwall!--beauties of which I have often heard tell." - -"Yes, Sir," answers Sal demurely. "Did you ever hear tell, too, why Old -Nick never came into Cornwall?" - -"H'm--ha--some proverbial saying, no doubt? But--you will excuse me--I -think we should avoid speaking lightly of the great Enemy of Mankind." - -"He was afraid," pursued Sal, "of being put into a pie." She paused at -that, giving her words time to sink in. The preacher didn't notice yet -awhile that Long Eliza Treleaven and Thomasine Oliver had crept round a -bit and planted themselves in the footpath behind him. - -After a bit Sal let herself go in a comfortable smile, and says she, in -a pretty, coaxing voice, "Sit yourself down, preacher, that's a dear: -sit yourself down, nice and close, and have a talk!" - -The poor fellow fetched a start at this. He didn't know, of course, -that everyone's "my dear" in Cornwall, and I'm bound to say I've seen -foreigners taken aback by it--folks like commercial travellers, not -given to shyness as a rule. - -"You'll excuse me, Madam." - -"No, I won't: not if you don't come and sit down quiet. Bless the man, -I'm not going to eat 'ee--wouldn't harm a hair of your dear little -head, if you had any! What? You refuse?" - -"How dare you, Madam!" The preacher drew himself up, mighty dignified. -"How dare you address me in this fashion!" - -"I'm addressin' you for your good," answered Sally. "We've been -talkin' over your sermon, me and my friends here--all very respectable -women--and we've made up our minds that it won't do. We can't have it -'pon our conscience to let a gentleman with your views go kicking up -Jack's delight through the West. We owe something more to our sex. -'Wrestlin'' with 'em--that was one of your expressions--'wrestlin' with -our dear Cornish sisters'!" - -"In the spirit--a figure of speech," explained the poor man, -snappy-like. - -Sal shook her head. "They know all about wrestlin' down yonder. -I tell you, 'twon't do. You're a well-meaning man, no doubt; but -you're terribly wrong on some points. You'd do an amazing amount -of mischief if we let you run loose. But we couldn't take no such -responsibility--indeed we couldn't: and the long and short of it is, -you've got to go." - -She spoke these last words very firmly. The preacher flung a glance -round and saw he was in a trap. - -"Such shameless behaviour----" he began. - -"You've got to go back," repeated Sally, nodding her head at him. "Take -my advice and go quiet." - -"I can only suppose you to be intoxicated," said he, and swung round -upon the path where Thomasine Oliver stood guard. "Allow me to pass, -Madam, if you please!" - -But here the mischief put it into Long Eliza to give his hat a flip by -the brim. It dropped over his nose and rolled away in the grass. "Oh, -what a dear little bald head!" cried Long Eliza; "I declare I must kiss -it or die!" She caught up a handful of hay as he stooped, and--well, -well, Sir! Scandalous, as you say! Not a word beyond this would any of -them tell: but I do believe the whole gang rolled the poor man in the -hay and took a kiss off him--"making sweet hay," as 'tis called. 'Twas -only known that he paid the bill for his lodging a little after dawn -next morning, took up his bag, and passed down Fore Street towards the -quay. Maybe a boat was waiting for him there: at all events, he was -never seen again--not on this side of Tamar. - -Sal went back, composed as you please, and let herself in by the -front-door. In the parlour she found her man still seated in the -easy-chair and smoking, but sulky-like, and with most of his -monkey-temper leaked out of him. - -"What have you been doin', pray?" asks he. - -Sal looked at him with a twinkle. "Kissin'," says she, untying her -bonnet: and with that down she dropped on a chair and laughed till her -sides ached. - - * * * * * - -Her husband ate humble pie that night before ever he set fork in the -cold meat: and for some days after, though she kept a close eye on -him, he showed no further sign of wanting to be lord of creation. -"Nothing like promptness," thought Sally to herself. "If I hadn't -taken that nonsense in hand straight off, there's no telling where it -wouldn't have spread." By the end of the week following she had put all -uneasiness out of her head. - -Next Saturday--as her custom was on Saturdays--she traded in Plymouth, -and didn't reach home until an hour or more past nightfall, having -waited on the Barbican for the evening fish-auction, to see how prices -were ruling. 'Twas near upon ten o'clock before she'd moored her -boat, and as she went up the street past the Fish and Anchor she heard -something that fetched her to a standstill. - -She stood for a minute, listening; then walked in without more ado, -set down her baskets in the passage, and pushed open the door of the -bar-room. There was a whole crowd of men gathered inside, and the place -thick with tobacco-smoke. And in the middle of this crew, with his back -to the door, sat her husband piping out a song-- - - _Ye sexes, give ear to my fancy; - In the praise of good women I sing, - It is not of Doll, Kate, or Nancy, - The mate of a clown nor a King-- - With my fol-de-rol, tooral-i-lay!_ - - _Old Adam, when he was creyated, - Was lord of the Universe round; - Yet his happiness was not complated - Until that a helpmate he'd found._ - - _He had all things for food that was wanting, - Which give us content in this life; - He had horses and foxes for hunting, - Which many love more than a wife,-- - With my fol-de-rol, tooral-i-lay!_ - -He had sung so far and was waving his pipestem for the chorus when the -company looked up and saw Sal straddling in the doorway with her fists -on her hips. The sight daunted them for a moment: but she held up a -finger, signing them to keep the news to themselves, and leaned her -shoulder against the door-post with her eyes steady on the back of her -husband's scrag neck. His fate was upon him, poor varmint, and on he -went, as gleeful as a bird in a bath-- - - _He'd a garden so planted by natur' - As man can't produce in this life; - But yet the all-wise great Creaytor - Perceived that he wanted a wife. - With his fol-de-rol, tooral-i-lay!_ - -"You chaps might be a bit heartier with the chorus," he put in. "A man -would almost think you was afraid of your wives overhearin'-- - - _Old Adam was laid in a slumber, - And there he lost part of his side; - And when he awoke in great wonder - He beyeld his beyeautiful bride._ - -_With_ my fol-de-rol, tooral--why, whatever's wrong with 'ee all? -You're as melancholy as a passel of gib-cats." [And with that he caught -the eye of a man seated opposite, and slewed slowly round to the door.] - -I tell you that even Sal was forced to smile, and the rest, as you may -suppose, rolled to and fro and laughed till they cried. But when the -landlord called for order and they hushed themselves to hear more, the -woman had put on a face that made her husband quake. - -"Go ahead, Hancock!" cried one or two. "'With transport he gazčd----' -Sing away, man!" - -"I will not," said the tailor, very sulky. "This here's no fit place -for women: and a man has his feelin's. I'm astonished at you, Sarah--I -reely am. The wife of a respectable tradesman!" But he couldn't look -her straight in the face. - -"Why, what's wrong with the company?" she asks, looking around. "Old, -young, and middle-aged, I seem to know them all for Saltash men: -faults, too, they have to my knowledge: but it passes me what I need -to be afeared of. And only a minute since you was singing that your -happiness wouldn't be completed until that a helpmate you'd found. -Well, you've found her: so sing ahead and be happy." - -"I will not," says he, still stubborn. - -"Oh, yes you will, my little man," says she in a queer voice, which -made him look up and sink his eyes again. - -"Well," says he, making the best of it, "to please the missus, -naybours, we'll sing the whole randigal through. And after that, -Sarah"--here he pretended to look at her like one in command--"you'll -walk home with me straight." - -"You may lay to that," Sal promised him: and so, but in no very firm -voice, he pitched to the song again-- - - _With transport he gazčd upon her, - His happiness then was complate; - And he blessčd the marvellous forethought - That on him bestowed such a mate_-- - -"I reckon, friends, we'll leave out the chorus!" - -They wouldn't hear of this, but ri-tooralled away with a will, Sal -watching them the while from the doorway with her eyebrows drawn down, -like one lost in thought. - - _She was not took out of his head, - To reign or to triumph o'er man; - She was not took out of his feet, - By man to be tramped upon._ - - _But she was took out of his side, - His equal and partner to be: - Though they be yunited in one, - Still the man is the top of the tree! - With my fol-de-rol, tooral-i-lay!_ - -"Well, and what's wrong wi' that?" Hancock wound up, feeling for his -courage again. - -"Get along with 'ee, you ninth-part-of-a-man! _Me_ took out of _your_ -side!" - -"Be that as it may, the Fish and Anchor is no place for discussing of -it," the man answered, very dignified. "Enough said, my dear! We'll be -getting along home." He stood up and knocked the ashes out of his pipe. - -But Sally was not to be budged. "I knew how 'twould be," she spoke up, -facing the company. "I took that preacher-fellow on the ground hop, as -I thought, and stopped his nonsense; but something whispered to me that -'twas a false hope. Evil communications corrupt good manners, and now -the mischief's done. There's no peace for Saltash till you men learn -your place again, and I'm resolved to teach it to 'ee. You want to know -how? Well, to start with, by means of a board and a piece o' chalk, -same as they teach at school nowadays." - -She stepped a pace further into the room, shut home the door behind -her, and cast her eye over the ale-scores on the back of it. There were -a dozen marks, maybe, set down against her own man's name; but for the -moment she offered no remark on this. - -"Mr. Oke," says she, turning to the landlord, "I reckon you never go -without a piece o' chalk in your pocket. Step this way, if you -please, and draw a line for me round what these lords of creation owe -ye for drink. Thank'ee. And now be good enough to fetch a chair and -stand 'pon it; I want you to reach so high as you can--Ready? Now take -your chalk and write, beginning near the top o' the door: 'I, Sarah -Hancock----'" - -[Illustration: LANDLORD OKE GAVE A FLOURISH WITH HIS CHALK AND WROTE.] - -Landlord Oke gave a flourish with his chalk and wrote, Sally -dictating,-- - -'I, Sarah Hancock--do hereby challenge all the men in Saltash -Borough--that me and five other females of the said Borough--will row -any six of them any distance from one to six statute miles--and will -beat their heads off--pulling either single oars or double paddles or -in ran-dan--the stakes to be six pound aside. And I do further promise, -if beaten, to discharge all scores below.' - -"Now the date, please--and hand me the chalk." - -She reached up and signed her name bold and free, being a fair scholar. -"And now, my little fellow," says she, turning to her husband, "put -down that pipe and come'st along home. The man's at the top of the -tree, is he? You'll wish you were, if I catch you at any more tricks!" - -Well, at first the mankind at the Fish and Anchor allowed that Sal -couldn't be in earnest; this challenge of hers was all braggadoshy; -and one or two went so far as to say 'twould serve her right if she -was taken at her word. In fact, no one treated it seriously until four -days later, at highwater, when the folks that happened to be idling -'pon the Quay heard a splash off Runnell's boat-building yard, and, -behold! off Runnell's slip there floated a six-oared gig, bright as -a pin with fresh paint. 'Twas an old condemned gig, that had lain in -his shed ever since he bought it for a song off the _Indefatigable_ -man-o'-war, though now she looked almost too smart to be the same boat. -Sally had paid him to put in a couple of new strakes and plane out a -brand-new set of oars in place of the old ashen ones, and had painted a -new name beneath the old one on the sternboard, so that now she was the -_Indefatigable Woman_ for all the world to see. And that very evening -Sally and five of her mates paddled her past the Quay on a trial spin, -under the eyes of the whole town. - -There was a deal of laughing up at the Fish and Anchor that night, the -most of the customers still treating the affair as a joke. But Landlord -Oke took a more serious view. - -"'Tis all very well for you fellows to grin," says he, "but I've been -trying to make up in my mind the crew that's going to beat these -females, and, by George! I don't find it so easy. There's the boat, -too." - -"French-built, and leaks like a five-barred gate," said somebody. "The -Admiralty condemned her five year' ago." - -"A leak can be patched, and the Admiralty's condemning goes for nothing -in a case like this. I tell you that boat has handsome lines--handsome -as you'd wish to see. You may lay to it that what Sal Hancock doesn't -know about a boat isn't worth knowing." - -"All the same, I'll warrant she never means to row a race in that -condemned old tub. She've dragged it out just for practice, and painted -it up to make a show. When the time comes--if ever it do--she'll fit -and borrow a new boat off one of the war-ships. We can do the same." - -"Granted that you can, there's the question of the crew. Sal has her -thwarts manned--or womanned, as you choose to put it--and maybe a -dozen reserves to pick from in case of accident. She means business, -I tell you. There's Regatta not five weeks away, and pretty fools we -shall look if she sends round the crier on Regatta Day 'O-yessing' to -all the world that Saltash men can't raise a boat's crew to match a -passel of females, and two of 'em"--he meant Mary Kitty Climo and Ann -Pengelly--"mothers of long families." - -They discussed it long and they discussed it close, and this way and -that way, until at last Landlord Oke had roughed-out a crew. There was -no trouble about a stroke. That thwart went _nem. con._ to a fellow -called Seth Ede, that worked the ferry and had won prizes in his day -all up and down the coast: indeed, the very Plymouth men had been -afraid of him for two or three seasons before he gave up racing, which -was only four years ago. Some doubted that old Roper Retallack, who -farmed the ferry that year, would spare Seth on Regatta-day: but Oke -undertook to arrange this. Thwart No. 4 went with no more dispute to -a whackin' big waterman by the name of Tremenjous Hosken, very useful -for his weight, though a trifle thick in the waist. As for strength, he -could break a pint mug with one hand, creaming it between his fingers. -Then there was Jago the Preventive man, light but wiry, and a very -tricky wrestler: "a proper angle-twitch of a man," said one of the -company; "stank[1] 'pon both ends of 'en, he'll rise up in the middle -and laugh at 'ee." So they picked Jago for boat-oar. For No. 5, after -a little dispute, they settled on Tippet Harry, a boat-builder working -in Runnell's yard, by reason that he'd often pulled behind Ede in the -double-sculling, and might be trusted to set good time to the bow-side. -Nos. 2 and 3 were not so easily settled, and they discussed and put -aside half a score before offering one of the places to a long-legged -youngster whose name I can't properly give you: he was always called -Freckly-Faced Joe, and worked as a saddler's apprentice. In the end he -rowed 2: but No. 3 they left vacant for the time, while they looked -around for likely candidates. - -[Footnote 1: Stank = tread.] - -Landlord Oke made no mistake when he promised that Sally -meant business. Two days later she popped her head in at his -bar-parlour--'twas in the slack hours of the afternoon, and he happened -to be sitting there all by himself, tipping a sheaf of churchwarden -clays with sealing-wax--and says she-- - -"What's the matter with your menkind?" - -"Restin'," says Oke with a grin. "I don't own 'em, missus; but, from -what I can hear, they're restin' and recoverin' their strength." - -"I've brought you the stakes from our side," says Sally, and down she -slaps a five-pound note and a sovereign upon the table. - -"Take 'em up, missus--take 'em up. I don't feel equal to the -responsibility. This here's a public challenge, hey?" - -"The publicker the better." - -"Then we'll go to the Mayor about it and ask his Worship to hold the -stakes." Oke was chuckling to himself all this while, the reason being -that he'd managed to bespeak the loan of a six-oared galley belonging -to the Water-Guard, and, boat for boat, he made no doubt she could show -her heels to the _Indefatigable Woman_. He unlocked his strong-box, -took out and pocketed a bag of money, and reached his hat off its peg. -"I suppose 'twouldn't do to offer you my arm?" says he. - -"Folks would talk, Mr. Oke--thanking you all the same." - -So out they went, and down the street side by side, and knocked at the -Mayor's door. The Mayor was taking a nap in his back-parlour with a -handkerchief over his face. He had left business soon after burying his -wife, who had kept him hard at work at the cheesemongering, and now he -could sleep when he chose. But he woke up very politely to attend to -his visitors' business. - -"Yes, for sure, I'll hold the stakes," said he: "and I'll see it put in -big print on the Regatta-bill. It ought to attract a lot of visitors. -But lor' bless you, Mr. Oke!--if you win, it'll do _me_ no good. -She"--meaning his wife--"has gone to a land where I'll never be able to -crow over her." - -"Your Worship makes sure, I see, that we women are going to be beat?" -put in Sal. - -"Tut-tut!" says the Mayor. "They've booked Seth Ede for stroke." And -with that he goes very red in the gills and turns to Landlord Oke. "But -perhaps I oughtn't to have mentioned that?" says he. - -"Well," says Sal, "you've a-let the cat out of the bag, and I see that -all you men in the town are in league. But a challenge is a challenge, -and I mustn't go back on it." Indeed, in her secret heart she was -cheerful, knowing the worst, and considering it none so bad: and after -higgling a bit, just to deceive him, she took pretty well all the -conditions of the race as Oke laid 'em down. A tearing long course it -was to be, too, and pretty close on five miles: start from nearabouts -where the training-ship lays now, down to a mark-boat somewheres off -Torpoint, back, and finish off Saltash Quay. - -"My dears," she said to her mates later on, "I don't mind telling you I -was all of a twitter, first-along, wondering what card that man Oke was -holding back--he looked so sly and so sure of hisself. But if he've no -better card to play than Seth Ede, we can sleep easy." - -"Seth Ede's a powerful strong oar," Bess Rablin objected. - -"_Was_, you mean. He've a-drunk too much beer these four years past to -last over a five-mile course; let be that never was his distance. And -here's another thing: they've picked Tremenjous Hosken for one th'art." - -"And he's as strong as a bullock." - -"I dessay: but Seth Ede pulls thirty-eight or thirty-nine to the -minute all the time he's racing--never a stroke under. I've watched -him a score o' times. If you envy Hosken his inside after two miles o' -_that_, you must be like Pomery's pig--in love with pain. They've hired -or borrowed the Preventive boat, I'm told; and it's the best they could -do. She's new, and she looks pretty. She'll drag aft if they put their -light weights in the bows: still, she's a good boat. I'm not afeared of -her, though. From all I can hear, the _Woman_ was known for speed in -her time, all through the fleet. You can _feel_ she's fast, and _see_ -it, if you've half an eye: and the way she travels between the strokes -is a treat. The Mounseers can build boats. But oh, my dears, you'll -have to pull and stay the course, or in Saltash the women take second -place for ever!" - -"Shan't be worse off than other women, even if that happens," said -Rebecca Tucker, that was but a year married and more than half in love -with her man. Sally had been in two minds about promoting Rebecca to -the bow-oar in place of Ann Pengelly, that had been clipping the stroke -short in practice: but after that speech she never gave the woman -another thought. - -Next evening the men brought out their opposition boat--she was called -the _Nonpareil_--and tried a spin in her. They had found a man for No. -3 oar--another of the Water-Guard, by name Mick Guppy and by nation -Irish, which Sal swore to be unfair. She didn't lodge any complaint, -however: and when her mates called out that 'twas taking a mean -advantage, all she'd say was: "Saltash is Saltash, my dears; and I -won't go to maintain that a Saltash crew is anyways improved by a chap -from Dundalk." - -So no protest was entered. I needn't tell you that, by this time, news -of the great race had spread to Plymouth, and north away to Callington -and all the country round. Crowds came out every evening to watch -the two boats at their practising; and sometimes, as they passed one -another, Seth Ede, who had the reputation for a wag, would call out to -Sal and offer her the odds by way of chaff. Sal never answered. The -woman was in deadly earnest, and moreover, I daresay, a bit timmersome, -now that the whole Borough had its eyes on her, and defeat meant -disgrace. - -She never showed a sign of any doubt, though; and when the great day -came, she surpassed herself by the way she dressed. I daresay you've -noticed that when women take up a man's job they're inclined to overdo -it; and when Sal came down that day with a round tarpaulin-hat stuck -on the back of her head, and her hair plaited in a queue like a Jack -Tar's, her spiteful little husband fairly danced. - -"'Tis onwomanly," said he. "Go upstairs and take it off!" - -"Ch't," said she, "if you're so much upset by a tarpaulin-hat, you've -had a narra escape; for 'tis nothing to the costume I'd a mind to -wear--and I'd a mind to make you measure the whole crew for it." - -And as it was, I'm told, half the sightseers that poured into Saltash -that day in their hundreds couldn't tell the women's crew from the -men's by their looks or their dress. And these be the names and -weights, more or less-- - -The _Indefatigable Woman_: Bow, Ann Pengelly, something under eleven -stone; No. 2, Thomasine Oliver, ditto; No. 3, Mary Kitty Climo, eleven -and a half; No. 4, Long Eliza, thirteen and over, a woman very heavy -in the bone; No. 5, Bess Rablin, twelve stone, most of it in the ribs -and shoulders; Stroke, Sarah Hancock, twelve stone four; Coxswain, Ann -Pengelly's fourth daughter Wilhelmina, weight about six stone. The -_Indefatigable Woman_ carried a small distaff in the bows, and her crew -wore blue jerseys and yellow handkerchiefs. - -The _Nonpareil_: Bow, T. Jago, ten stone and a little over; No. 2, -Freckly-faced Joe, twelve stone; No. 3, M. Guppy, twelve stone and -a half; No. 4, Tremenjous Hosken, eighteen stone ten; No. 5, Tippet -Harry, twelve stone eight; Stroke, Seth Ede, eleven six. And I don't -know who the boy was that steered. The _Nonpareil_ carried a red, -white, and blue flag, and her crew wore striped jerseys, white and blue. - -They were started by pistol; and Seth Ede, jumping off with a stroke of -forty to the minute, went ahead at once. In less than twenty strokes -he was clear, the _Nonpareil_ lifting forward in great heaves that made -the spectators tell each other that though 'twas no race they had seen -something for their money. They didn't see how sweetly the other boat -held her way between the strokes, nor note that Sally had started at a -quiet thirty-four, the whole crew reaching well out and keeping their -blades covered to the finish--coming down to the stroke steadily, too, -though a stiffish breeze was with them as well as the tide. - -I suppose the longest lead held by the _Nonpareil_ during the race -was a good forty yards. She must have won this within four minutes -of starting, and for half a mile or so she kept it. Having so much -in hand, Ede slowed down--for flesh and blood couldn't keep up such -a rate of striking over the whole course--and at once he found out -his mistake. The big man Hosken, who had been pulling with his arms -only, and pulling like a giant, didn't understand swinging out; tried -it, and was late on stroke every time. This flurried Ede, who was -always inclined to hurry the pace, and he dropped slower yet--dropped -to thirty-five, maybe, a rate at which he did himself no justice, -bucketting forward fast, and waiting over the beginning till he'd -missed it. In discontent with himself he quickened again; but now -the oars behind him were like a peal of bells. By sheer strength -they forced the boat along somehow, and with the tide under her she -travelled. But the _Indefatigable Woman_ by this time was creeping up. - -They say that Sally rowed that race at thirty-four from the start to -within fifty yards of the finish; rowed it minute after minute without -once quickening or once dropping a stroke. Folks along shore timed her -with their watches. If that's the truth, 'twas a marvellous feat, and -the woman accounted for it afterwards by declaring that all the way she -scarcely thought for one second of the other boat, but set her stroke -to a kind of tune in her head, saying the same verse over and over-- - - _But she was took out of his side, - His equal and partner to be: - Though they be yunited in one, - Still the man is the top of the tree! - With my fol-de-rol, tooral-i-lay--We'll see about_ that! - -The _Indefatigable Woman_ turned the mark not more than four lengths -astern. They had wind and tide against them now, and with her crew -swinging out slow and steady, pulling the stroke clean through -with a hard finish, she went up hand-over-fist. The blades of the -_Nonpareil_ were knocking up water like a moorhen. Tremenjous Hosken -had fallen to groaning between the strokes, and I believe that from the -markboat homeward he was no better than a passenger--an eighteen-stone -passenger, mind you. The only man to keep it lively was little Jago at -bow, and Seth Ede--to do him justice--pulled a grand race for pluck. He -might have spared himself, though. Another hundred yards settled it: -the _Indefatigable Woman_ made her overlap and went by like a snake, -and the Irishman pulled in his oar and said-- - -"Well, Heaven bless the leddies, anyway!" - -Seth Ede turned round and swore at him vicious-like, and he fell to -rowing again: but the whole thing had become a procession. "Eyes in the -boat!" commanded Sal, pulling her crew together as they caught sight of -their rivals for the first time and, for a stroke or two, let the time -get ragged. She couldn't help a lift in her voice, though, any more -than she could help winding up with a flourish as they drew level with -Saltash town, a good hundred yards ahead, and heard the band playing -and the voices cheering. "Look out for the quicken!"--and up went a -great roar as the women behind her picked the quicken up and rattled -past the Quay and the winning-gun at forty to the minute! - -They had just strength enough left to toss oars: and then they leaned -forward with their heads between their arms, panting and gasping out, -"Well rowed, Sal!" "Oh--oh--well rowed all!" and letting the delight -run out of them in little sobs of laughter. The crowd ashore, too, was -laughing and shouting itself hoarse. I'm sorry to say a few of them -jeered at the _Nonpareil_ as she crawled home: but, on the whole, the -men of Saltash took their beating handsome. - -This don't include Sal's husband, though. Landlord Oke was one of the -first to shake her by the hand as she landed, and the Mayor turned over -the stakes to her there and then with a neat little speech. But Tailor -Hancock went back home with all kinds of ugliness and uncharitableness -working in his little heart. He cursed Regatta Day for an interruption -to trade, and Saltash for a town given up to idleness and folly. A -man's business in this world was to toil for his living in the sweat of -his brow; and so, half-an-hour later he told his wife. - -The crowd had brought her along to her house-door: and there she left -'em with a word or two of thanks, and went in very quiet. Her victory -had uplifted her, of course; but she knew that her man would be sore in -his feelings, and she meant to let him down gently. She'd have done it, -too, if he'd met her in the ordinary way: but when, after searching the -house, she looked into the little back workshop and spied him seated on -the bench there, cross-legged and solemn as an idol, stitching away at -a waistcoat, she couldn't hold back a grin. - -"Why, whatever's the matter with you?" she asked. - -"Work," says he, in a hollow voice. "Work is the matter. I can't see -a house--and one that used to be a happy home--go to rack and ruin -without some effort to prevent it." - -"I wouldn't begin on Regatta Day, if I was you," says Sal cheerfully. -"Has old Smithers been inquiring again about that waistcoat?" - -"He have not." - -"Then he's a patient man: for to my knowledge this is the third week -you've been putting him off with excuses." - -"I thank the Lord," says her husband piously, "that more work gets put -on me than I can keep pace with. And well it is, when a man's wife -takes to wagering and betting and pulling in low boat-races to the -disgrace of her sex. _Someone_ must keep the roof over our heads: but -the end may come sooner than you expect," says he, and winds up with a -tolerable imitation of a hacking cough. - -"I took three pairs of soles and a brill in the trammel this very -morning; and if you've put a dozen stitches in that old waistcoat, -'tis as much as ever! I can see in your eye that you know all about -the race; and I can tell from the state of your back that you watched -it from the Quay, and turned into the Sailor's Return for a drink. -Hockaday got taken in over that blue-wash for his walls: it comes off -as soon as you rub against it." - -"I'll trouble you not to spy upon my actions, Madam," says he. - -"Man alive, _I_ don't mind your taking a glass now and then in -reason--specially on Regatta Day! And as for the Sailor's Return, 'tis -a respectable house. I hope so, anyhow, for we've ordered supper there -to-night." - -"Supper! You've ordered supper at the Sailor's Return?" - -Sal nodded. "Just to celebrate the occasion. We thought, first-along, -of the Green Dragon: but the Dragon's too grand a place for ease, and -Bess allowed 'twould look like showing off. She voted for cosiness: so -the Sailor's Return it is, with roast ducks and a boiled leg of mutton -and plain gin-and-water." - -"Settin' yourselves up to be men, I s'pose?" he sneered. - -"Not a bit of it," answered Sal. "There'll be no speeches." - -She went off to the kitchen, put on the kettle, and made him a dish of -tea. In an ordinary way she'd have paid no heed to his tantrums: but -just now she felt very kindly disposed t'wards everybody, and really -wished to chat over the race with him--treating it as a joke now that -her credit was saved, and never offering to crow over him. But the more -she fenced about to be agreeable the more he stitched and sulked. - -"Well, I can't miss _all_ the fun," said she at last: and so, having -laid supper for him, and put the jug where he could find it and draw -his cider, she clapped on her hat and strolled out. - -He heard her shut-to the front door, and still he went on stitching. -When the dusk began to fall he lit a candle, fetched himself a jugful -of cider, and went back to his work. For all the notice Sal was ever -likely to take of his perversity, he might just as well have stepped -out into the streets and enjoyed himself: but he was wrought up into -that mood in which a man will hurt himself for the sake of having a -grievance. All the while he stitched he kept thinking, "Look at me -here, galling my fingers to the bone, and that careless fly-by-night -wife o' mine carousin' and gallivantin' down at the Sailor's Return! -Maybe she'll be sorry for it when I'm dead and gone; but at present -if there's an injured, misunderstood poor mortal in Saltash Town, I'm -that man." So he went on, until by-and-by, above the noise of the drum -and cymbals outside the penny theatre, and the hurdy-gurdies, and the -showmen bawling down by the waterside, he heard voices yelling and -a rush of folks running down the street past his door. He knew they -had been baiting a bull in a field at the head of the town, and, the -thought coming into his head that the animal must have broken loose, he -hopped off his bench, ran fore to the front door, and peeked his head -out cautious-like. - -What does he see coming down the street in the dusk but half-a-dozen -sailor-men with an officer in charge! Of course he knew the meaning -of it at once. 'Twas a press-gang off one of the ships in Hamoaze or -the Sound, that was choosing Regatta Night to raid the streets and -had landed at the back of the town and climbed over the hill to take -the crowds by surprise. They'd made but a poor fist of this, by reason -of the officer letting his gang get out of hand at the start; and by -their gait 'twas pretty plain they had collared a plenty of liquor up -the street. But while Hancock peeped out, taking stock of them, a nasty -monkey-notion crept into his head, and took hold of all his spiteful -little nature; and says he, pushing the door a bit wider as the small -officer--he was little taller than a midshipman--came swearing by-- - -"Beg your pardon, Sir!" - -"You'd best take in your head and close the door upon it," snaps the -little officer. "These fools o' mine have got their shirts out, and are -liable to make mistakes to-night." - -"What, _me_?--a poor tailor with a hackin' cough!" But to himself: "So -much the better," he says, and up he speaks again. "Beggin' your pardon -humbly, commander; but I might put you in the way of the prettiest -haul. There's a gang of chaps enjoyin' theirselves down at the Sailor's -Return, off the Quay, and not a 'protection' among them. Fine lusty -fellows, too! They might give your men a bit of trouble to start -with----" - -"Why are you telling me this?" the officer interrupts, suspicious-like. - -"That's my affair," says Hancock boldly, seeing that he nibbled. "Put -it down to love o' my country, if you like; and take my advice or leave -it, just as you please. I'm not asking for money, so you won't be any -the poorer." - -"Off the Quay, did you say? Has the house a quay-door?" - -"It has: but you needn't to trouble about that. They can't escape that -way, I promise you, having no boat alongside." - -The little officer turned and whispered for a while with two of the -soberest of his gang: and presently these whispered to two more, and -the four of them marched away up the hill. - -"'_HANCOCK--TAILOR_,'" reads out the officer aloud, stepping back into -the roadway and peering up at the shop-front. "Very well, my man, -you'll hear from us again----" - -"I'm not askin' for any reward, Sir" - -"So you've said: and I was about to say that, if this turns out to be -a trick, you'll hear from us again, and in a way you'll be sorry for. -And now, once more, take your ugly head inside. 'Tis my duty to act on -information, but I don't love informers." - -For the moment the threat made the tailor uncomfortable: but he felt -pretty sure the sailors, when they discovered the trick, wouldn't be -able to do him much harm. The laugh of the whole town would be against -them: and on Regatta Night the press--unpopular enough at the best of -times--would gulp down the joke and make the best of it. He went back -to his bench; but on second thoughts not to his work. 'Twould be on the -safe side, anyway, to be not at home for an hour or two, in case the -sailors came back to cry quits: playing the lonely martyr, too, wasn't -much fun with this mischief working inside of him and swelling his -lungs like barm.[2] He took a bite of bread and a sup of cider, blew -out the candle, let himself forth into the street after a glance to -make sure that all was clear, and headed for the Fish and Anchor. - -[Footnote 2: Barm=yeast.] - -He found the bar-room crowded, but not with the usual Regatta Night -throng of all-sorts. The drinkers assembled were either burgesses like -himself or waterside men with protection-papers in their pockets: for -news of the press-gang had run through the town like wildfire, and the -company had given over discussing the race of the day and taken up with -this new subject. Among the protected men his eye lit on Treleaven the -hoveller, husband to Long Eliza, and Caius Pengelly, husband to Ann, -that had pulled bow in the race. He winked to them mighty cunning. The -pair of 'em seemed dreadfully cast down, and he knew a word to put them -in heart again. - -"Terrible blow for us, mates, this woman's mutiny!" says he, dropping -into a chair careless-like, pulling out a short pipe, and speaking high -to draw the company's attention. - -"Oh, stow it!" says Caius Pengelly, very sour. "We'd found suthin' -else to talk about; and if the women have the laugh of us to-day, -who's responsible, after all? Why, you--_you_, with your darned silly -song about Adam and Eve. If you hadn't provoked your wife, this here -wouldn't ha' happened." - -"Indeed?" says the monkey-fellow, crossing his legs and puffing. "So -you've found something better to talk about? What's that, I'd like to -know?" - -"Why, there's a press-gang out," says Treleaven. "But there! a fellow -with your shaped legs don't take no interest in press-gangs, I reckon." - -"Ah, to be sure," says the little man--but he winced and uncrossed his -legs all the same, feeling sorry he'd made 'em so conspicuous--"ah, to -be sure, a press-gang! I met 'em; but, as it happens, that's no change -of subject." - -"Us don't feel in no mood to stomach your fun to-night, Hancock; and so -I warn 'ee," put in Pengelly, who had been drinking more than usual and -spoke thick. "If you've a meaning up your sleeve, you'd best shake it -out." - -Hancock chuckled. "You fellows have no invention," he said; "no -resource at all, as I may call it. You stake on this race, and, when -the women beat you, you lie down and squeal. Well, you may thank me -that I'm built different: I bide my time, but when the clock strikes -I strike with it. I never did approve of women dressing man-fashion: -but what's the use of making a row in the house? 'The time is bound -to come,' said I to myself; and come it has. If you want a good story -cut short, I met the press-gang just now and turned 'em on to raid the -Sailor's Return: and if by to-morrow the women down there have any crow -over us, then I'm a Dutchman, that's all!" - -"Bejimbers, Hancock," says Treleaven, standing up and looking uneasy, -"you carry it far, I must say!" - -"Far? A jolly good joke, _I_ should call it," answers Hancock, making -bold to cross his legs again. - -And with that there comes a voice crying pillaloo in the passage -outside; and, without so much as a knock, a woman runs in with a face -like a sheet--Sam Hockaday's wife, from the Sailor's Return. - -"Oh, Mr. Oke--Mr. Oke, whatever is to be done! The press has collared -Sally Hancock and all her gang! Some they've kilt, and wounded others, -and all they've a-bound and carried off and shipped at the quay-door. -Oh, Mr. Oke, our house is ruined for ever!" - -The men gazed at her with their mouths open. Hancock found his legs -somehow; but they shook under him, and all of a sudden he felt himself -turning white and sick. - -"You don't mean to tell me----" he began. - -But Pengelly rounded on him and took him by the ear so that he -squeaked. "Where's my wife, you miserable joker, you?" demanded -Pengelly. - -"They c-can't be in earnest!" - -"You'll find that I am," said Pengelly, feeling in his breeches-pocket, -and drawing out a clasp-knife almost a foot long. "What's the name of -the ship?" - -"I--I don't know! I never inquired! Oh, please let me go, Mr. -Pengelly! Han't I got my feelings, same as yourself?" - -"There's a score of vessels atween this and Cawsand," put in Treleaven, -catching his breath like a man hit in the wind, "and half-a-dozen of -'em ready to weigh anchor any moment. There's naught for it but to take -a boat and give chase." - -Someone suggested that Sal's own boat, the _Indefatigable Woman_, would -be lying off Runnell's Yard; and down to the waterside they all ran, -Pengelly gripping the tailor by the arm. They found the gig moored -there on a frape, dragged her to shore, and tumbled in. Half-a-dozen -men seized and shipped the oars: the tailor crouched himself in the -stern-sheets. Voices from shore sang out all manner of different -advice: but 'twas clear that no one knew which way the press-boat had -taken, nor to what ship she belonged. - -To Hancock 'twas all like a sick dream. He hated the water; he had -on his thinnest clothes; the night began to strike damp and chilly, -with a lop of tide running up from Hamoaze and the promise of worse -below. Pengelly, who had elected himself captain, swore to hail every -ship he came across: and he did--though from the first he met with no -encouragement. "Ship, ahoy!" he shouted, coming down with a rush upon -the stern-windows of the first and calling to all to hold water. "Ahoy! -Ship!" - -A marine poked his head over the taffrail. "Ship it is," said he. "And -what may be the matter with you?" - -"Be you the ship that has walked off with half-a-dozen women from -Saltash?" - -The marine went straight off and called the officer of the watch, -"Boat-load of drunk chaps under our stern, Sir," says he, saluting. -"Want to know if we've carried off half-a-dozen women from Saltash." - -"Empty a bucket of slops on 'em," said the officer of the watch, "and -tell 'em, with my compliments, that we haven't." - -The marine saluted, hunted up a slop-bucket, and poured it over with -the message. "If you want to know more, try the guard-ship," said he. - -"That's all very well, but where in thunder be the guard-ship?" said -poor Pengelly, scratching his head. - -Everyone knew, but everyone differed by something between a quarter -and half a mile. They tried ship after ship, getting laughter from -some and abuse from others. And now, to make matters worse, the wind -chopped and blew up from the sou'-west, with a squall of rain and a -wobble of sea that tried Hancock's stomach sorely. At one time they -went so far astray in the dark as to hail one of the prison-hulks, and -only sheered off when the sentry challenged and brought his musket down -upon the bulwarks with a rattle. A little later, off Torpoint, they -fell in with the water-police, who took them for a party rowing home to -Plymouth from the Regatta, and threatened 'em with the lock-up if they -didn't proceed quiet. Next they fell foul of the guard-ship, and their -palaver fetched the Admiral himself out upon the little balcony in his -nightshirt. When he'd done talking they were a hundred yards off, and -glad of it. - -Well, Sir, they tried ship after ship, the blessed night through, till -hope was nigh dead in them, and their bodies ached with weariness and -hunger. Long before they reached Devil's Point the tumble had upset -Hancock's stomach completely. He had lost his oar; somehow it slipped -off between the thole-pins, and in his weakness he forgot to cry out -that 'twas gone. It drifted away in the dark--the night all round was -black as your hat, the squalls hiding the stars--and he dropped off his -thwart upon the bottom-boards. "I'm a dying man," he groaned, "and I -don't care. I don't care how soon it comes! 'Tis all over with me, and -I shall never see my dear Sally no more!" - -So they tossed till day broke and showed Drake's Island ahead of them, -and the whole Sound running with a tidy send of sea from the south'ard, -grey and forlorn. Some were for turning back, but Pengelly wouldn't -hear of it. "We must make Cawsand Bay," says he, "if it costs us our -lives. Maybe we'll find half-a-dozen ships anchored there and ready for -sea." - -So away for Cawsand they pulled, hour after hour, Hancock all the while -wanting to die, and wondering at the number of times an empty man could -answer up to the call of the sea. - -The squalls had eased soon after daybreak, and the sky cleared and let -through the sunshine as they opened the bay and spied two sloops-of-war -and a frigate riding at anchor there. Pulling near with the little -strength left in them, they could see that the frigate was weighing for -sea. She had one anchor lifted and the other chain shortened in: her -top-sails and topgallant sails were cast off, ready to cant her at the -right moment for hauling in. An officer stood ready by the crew manning -the capstan, and right aft two more officers were pacing back and forth -with their hands clasped under their coat-tails. - -"Lord!" groaned Pengelly, "if my poor Ann's aboard of she, we'll never -catch her!" He sprang up in the stern-sheets and hailed with all his -might. - -Small enough chance had his voice of reaching her, the wind being dead -contrary: and yet for the moment it looked as if the two officers aft -had heard; for they both stepped to the ship's side, and one put up a -telescope and handed it to the other. And still the crew of the gig, -staring over their shoulders while they pulled weakly, could see the -men by the capstan standing motionless and waiting for orders. - -"Seems a'most as if they were expectin' somebody," says Pengelly with a -sudden hopefulness: and with that Treleaven, that was pulling stroke, -casts his eyes over his right shoulder and gives a gasp. - -"Good Lord, look!" says he. "The tender!" - -And sure enough, out of the thick weather rolling up away over Bovisand -they spied now a Service cutter bearing across close-hauled, leaning -under her big tops'l and knocking up the water like ginger-beer with -the stress of it. When first sighted she couldn't have been much more -than a mile distant, and, pull as they did with the remains of their -strength, she crossed their bows a good half-mile ahead, taking in -tops'l as she fetched near the frigate. - -"Use your eyes--oh, use your eyes!" called out Pengelly: but no soul -could they see on her besides two or three of the crew forward and a -little officer standing aft beside the helmsman. Pengelly ran forward, -leaping the thwarts, and fetched the tailor a rousing kick. "Sit up!" -he ordered, "and tell us if that's the orficer you spoke to last night!" - -The poor creature hoisted himself upon his thwart, looking as yellow as -a bad egg. "I--I think that's the man," said he, straining his eyes, -and dropped his head overside. - -"Pull for your lives, boys," shouted Pengelly. And they did pull, to -the last man. They pulled so that they reached the frigate just as -the tender, having run up in the wind and fallen alongside, began -uncovering hatches. - -Two officers were leaning overside and watching--and a couple of the -tender's crew were reaching down their arms into the hold. They were -lifting somebody through the hatchway, and the body they lifted clung -for a moment to the hatchway coaming, to steady itself. - -"Sally!" screamed a voice from the gig. - -The little officer in the stern of the tender cast a glance back at -the sound and knew the tailor at once. He must have owned sharp sight, -that man. - -"Oh, you've come for your money, have you?" says he. And, looking up at -the two officers overhead, he salutes, saying: "We've made a tidy haul, -Sir--thanks to that man." - -"I don't want your money. I want my wife!" yelled Hancock. - -"And I mine!" yelled Pengelly. - -"And I mine!" yelled Treleaven. - -By this time the gig had fallen alongside the tender, and the women in -the tender's hold were coming up to daylight, one by one. Sal herself -stood watching the jail-delivery; and first of all she blinked a bit, -after the darkness below, and next she let out a laugh, and then she -reached up a hand and began unplaiting her pigtail. - -"Be you the Captain of this here ship?" asks she, looking up and -addressing herself to one of the officers leaning overside. - -"Yes, my man; this here's the _Ranger_ frigate, and I'm her Captain. -I'm sorry for you--it goes against my grain to impress men in this -fashion: but the law's the law, and we're ready for sea, and if you've -any complaints to make I hope you'll cut'em short." - -[Illustration: THE LITTLE OFFICER HAD TURNED WHITE AS A SHEET.] - -"I don't know," says Sal, "that I've any complaints to make, except -that I was born a woman. That I went on to marry that pea-green tailor -yonder is my own fault, and we'll say no more about it." - -By this time all the women on the tender was following Sal's example -and unshredding their back-hair. By this time, too, every man aboard -the frigate was gathered at the bulwarks, looking down in wonderment. -There beneath 'em stood a joke too terrible to be grasped in one moment. - -"I beg your pardon, Mr. Rogers," says the Captain in a voice cold as a -knife, "but you appear to have made a mistake." - -The little officer had turned white as a sheet: but he managed to get -in his say before the great laugh came. "I have, Sir, to my sorrow," -says he, turning viciously on Hancock; "a mistake to be cast up against -me through my career. But I reckon," he adds, "I leave the punishment -for it in good hands." He glanced at Sally. - -"You may lay to that, young man!" says she heartily. "You may lay to -that every night when you says your prayers." - - - - -CAPTAIN WYVERN'S ADVENTURES - - -I - -A philosophical man will go far before he discover a pastime more -grateful or better soothing to his mind than painting in water-colours. -I have heard angling preached up for a better; and when I answered on -behalf of water-colours that it does not matter how ill you do it, was -replied to that the same holds with angling if cheerfully practised. -Well, then, at angling I make a cast and hitch my line over a bough, or -it drops into some thicket, and thereat how can a man keep tranquil? -No, no: I had liefer stain paper any day of the week. - -On Saturday afternoon, the 10th of August, 1644--a very fair hot -day--while I sat in the pleasant shady church of Boconnoc, near by Lord -Mohun's house in Cornwall, copying down the writings on the monuments -and the scutcheons in the windows in their right colours, it came into -my mind to consider much that had happened to me in two years: how -that fate had made a soldier of me, a plain Essex squire; how that, -not content, it had promoted me to command a troop in his Majesty's -regiment of horse; how that I, who had often desired to visit Cornwall -for the sake of its ancient monuments, but had never thought (being by -habit lethargic) to make so far a journey, was not only arrived there, -but had leisure to follow my studies amid the fret and drilling of a -great army. - -Yet it was all very simple. On the 1st of August we had marched with -his Majesty across the passes of the Tamar, the Earl of Essex giving -ground before us and daily withdrawing his forces closer around Fowey; -where, having a good harbour, he could easily fetch his victuals in -from the sea. I will not tell how little by little we prevented him, -and at last, surprising a fort by the harbour's entry, cut him off -from aid of his shipping. All this was to come. Meanwhile, though pent -in a few miles of ground, he had a fair back-door for his needs. The -campaign was brought to a lock, and for almost two weeks we pushed -matters half-heartedly; I believe, because the King had hopes of -bringing the enemy to terms. Many letters came and went by trumpet; -but in our camp on the moors over Boconnoc we did little from day to -day save meet and picquer with small bodies of the rebel horse. - -My duties giving me leisure, I turned to recreation; and Lord! how -good it seemed to be antiquary again after two years of soldiering! -That afternoon I played with my box of paints as a child who comes -home for his first holidays, and takes down his familiar toys from the -shelf. "Let others," said I, forgetting all the distractions of our -poor realm of England, "let others have the making of history so I may -keep the enjoying of it!" They were famous scutcheons, too, that I sat -a-copying, the Mohuns having been Earls of Somerset, Lords of Dunster, -and a great family in their day. Mohun, indeed, had come with the -Conqueror-- - - _Le viel William de Moion - Ont avec li maint compagnon_, - -said the rhyme, as I remembered: and, behold! a fair monument against -the north wall of the chancel (where I began) carried the royal coat of -England and France with a label, impaling the ground _or_ and engrailed -cross _sable_ of the Mohuns--this for a Philippa of their house that -married with Edward, Duke of York, slain at Agincourt: and, beside it, -Courtenay's three torteaux and FitzWilliam's three bendlets, Bevill -and Brewer, Strange and Redvers, a coat _vert_ with three bucks' heads -having their antlers depressed (which I took for Hayre), and another -coat to set an antiquary thinking, for it bore _azure_ a bend _or_, -with a label of three points _gules_. "Scrope or Grosvenor," said I to -myself, looking up from my work towards the East windows, where the -same scutcheon was repeated. "I wonder which claims you in these parts." - -The shield that bore this famous device had it quartered on the -sinister side with Courtenay and Redvers; and impaling these on the -dexter side were, quarterly: (1) A space patched with clear glass -(originally Mohun, no doubt); (2) _Vert_ three stags' heads _or_ -(?Hayre); (3) _azure_ three bendlets _or_ (FitzWilliam); (4) a device -which again puzzled me. It seemed to be an arm habited in a maunch, or -sleeve, _ermine_, holding in the hand a golden flower. - -Now while I painted, an old man had been moving about the far end -of the church, whom I took for the sexton. I had passed him in the -churchyard outside, when he was scything down the grass upon a grave; -and had noted no more of his back than that he wore the clothes of a -hind with a scrap of sacking over his shoulders--nor perhaps would have -noted so much as this, had not his clothing seemed over-warm for the -time of year. - -But now, while I stood conning the coats in the East window, he drew -towards me and spoke, stretching forward a hand timidly, almost -touching my elbow. - -"Sir," said he, and his voice and face bore instant witness together of -gentle birth, "I am gladly at your service if anything there perplex -you." With that he nodded towards the coats-of-arms. - -In a trice I had recovered myself. "Then you, too, have a taste for -such trifles?" answered I. "We are well met, Sir." - -He shook his head, avoiding my look. You might have called his a noble -face, but more than anything else it was patient. "I belong to these -parts," said he; "and would ask a stranger to use my small knowledge: -but, for myself, all such things may pass with me into oblivion, and I -say 'Amen.'" - -Said I then, "Maybe you can tell me of that coat in the fourth quarter -dexter--the hand grasping a gold fleur-de-lys." - -"Willingly," said he. "That is another device of the Mohuns, who in -later times changed it for the sable cross engrailed. At the first they -bore a man's hand in a sleeve: the flower it grasps came to them in -this way: There was a certain Reginald Mohun, Lord of Dunster, who gave -himself entirely to good works and founded a great abbey at Newenham, -on the Somerset border. That was in Henry the Third's time--I think in -twelve hundred and forty-six or, maybe, fifty. Having seen his abbey -consecrated, he passed to the Court of Rome, which in those days was -held at Lyons, to have his charters confirmed, and he happened there -in Lent, when the Pope's custom was, on a day after hearing _Laetare -Jerusalem_, to give a rose or flower of gold to the most honourable -man then to be found at his court. They made inquiry that year and -found the most honourable to be this Reginald Mohun, of whom the Pope -asked what rank he bore in England. Mohun answered, 'a plain Knight -bachelor.' 'Fair son,' said the Pope, 'hardly can I give you then this -flower, which has never been given to one below a King or a Duke, -or, at least, an Earl; therefore we will that you shall be Earl of -Este'--which, as you know, is Somerset. Mohun answered, 'Holy Father, I -have not wherewithal to maintain that title.' So the Pope gave him two -hundred marks a year out of the Peter's pence; and so the Mohuns added -golden flowers to their arms." - -"I thank you, Sir," said I. "But whose is this other noble coat of -_azure_ with the bend _or_? Did Grosvenor ever wed in these parts? Or -Scrope?" - -"Neither," said he. "That coat is mine." - -"Yours?" I cried, surprised out of good manners. "But this, Sir, is the -very coat over which Scrope and Grosvenor contended." - -"Any are welcome to it now," he answered. "But it is Carminowe, and I -am Carminowe." - -"I ought to have known of a third claimant," said I, musing. "I have -indeed heard of Carminowe: but I had thought the family to be long -since perished." - -He drew back a little and scanned me. "_Finis rerum_," said he quietly. -"It comes to all; but sometimes it lingers, and--as with me--lingers -overlong. I believe, Sir, that you are a Captain in his Majesty's -Troop, and will have seen your share of fighting and of life in camp. -Your present occupation proves you to be a contemplative man. Will you -answer if I put to you a question or two?" - -"Willingly," said I. - -"You are unmarried?" - -"I am." - -"And you volunteered for the King's service in a hot-fit of loyalty; -or maybe in a hot-fit of indignation at the perils threatening him, or -against the insolence of Parliament? You had come to an age when with -cooling judgment these fits grow rare, yet have not quite given over -their patient to the calm of middle life.--You will tell me if I guess -amiss?" - -"But on the contrary, Sir," said I; "you have read me correctly. 'Twas -in a passion of loyalty that I took up arms." - -"And in the quest of it," he went on, "you fancied that all the -currents of your nature had been swept into a fresh channel; that you -were a new man; that this upheaving strife altered the face of all -things, and you along with it." - -"Why, and so it has!" cried I. - -"Nay, but think awhile! You have marched and countermarched for--how -long?--two years?--two years of that period of life when honest -thoughtful men turn to making account with themselves, try to learn why -they were sent into the world and what to do, observe the hopes and -ambitions of their fellows, prove their own limits, and so set up their -rest against old age and death. You rode from home under a sudden -persuasion that your business in the world, and the business of all -these thousands of different men, was to defend his Majesty. How long -this persuasion held you I will not guess; yet I do not doubt that, as -the days went by, you observed all these particles of an army returning -to their true natures--the young gentlemen of your troop picquering -in bravado, or in mere love of a skirmish, because their blood is -hot; coarser fellows lusting to break heads for the sake of plunder; -craftier knaves, who know that war is insanely wasteful, robbing their -own side at less risk; calculators such as Wilmot, Grenville, Goring, -playing for high stakes under the fence of warfare, which of itself -interests them not a jot. As for you, Sir--I took note of your horse -just now at the churchyard gate. You see well to his grooming." - -"I groom him always with my own hand," said I. - -"To be sure--a man of method, strict and punctual in all soldierly -duties! But the savour has gone out of them. Where the treasure is, -there will the heart lie also." He nodded toward my drawings. - -Now there lurked a nettle of truth in his words, and it stung me. - -"And where may your treasure lie, Sir?" I asked pretty sharply. - -"Come," said he, and led the way out into the churchyard. The sun -was fast declining, and the light fell in warm beams against the -gravestones and over the belted trees that ringed the prospect. He -waved a hand. - -"From the high land above us, Sir, you may look almost to two seas; -and between these two seas all was once Carminowe's. Two hundred years -before the Normans came, Carminowe was a great man; and for four -hundred years after." - -"A wide treasure," said I. - -"You will not find my heart hid beneath a single turf of it, but here -only," said he, and pointed; and I looked down upon a green grave. - -"I think that I understand, Sir," said I, as gently as might be. "He -was your son." - -He bent his head. Yet anon shook it, patiently dissenting. "He was my -son; the child of my old age. But, to understand, you must first be -father to such an one, and outlive him." - -Now I was casting about for a word or two of comfort, albeit knowing -how idle they needs must be, when I heard a galloping on the drive and -my name shouted lustily; and there came riding down to the gate from -northward our Colonel Digby, waving a paper in his hand. - -"Wyvern!" he called, as he reined up. "I have a favour to ask, and have -ridden to ask it in person. Read you this letter; but first mount and -ride with me to the ridge." - -So I untethered my horse, mounted and rode with him to the ridge. - -"Tell me what you see yonder." - -I stood up in my stirrups, shading my eyes. "I see," said I, "a troop -of horse on the third rise. To all appearance the riders are dressed in -white." - -"They are in their shirts, the dogs! Now read their challenge: for they -attend on our answer." - -"Tush!" said I, having glanced over the paper in my hand. 'Twas a -foolish challenge, signed by one Straughan, Colonel of Horse in the -Parliament forces, and dared us to a combat of cavalry, one hundred -upon each side--in shirt and breeches, each man carrying but one pistol -besides his sword. "Are we boys, that we should heed such braggart -nonsense?" - -I heard a chuckle beside me, and looked down to see that old Carminowe -had run and caught up with us. He lifted the palm of his hand under -which he scanned the foe, and his eyes met mine mockingly. - -"They have wind," said Digby, "of the Earl's letter." (That morning -a trumpet had returned with an answer to his Majesty's latest -propositions; and it ran that Essex had no authority from Parliament -to treat, nor could do so without breach of trust.) "And that wind has -overblown their vanity." - -"Then, with submission, Colonel," I said, "I would send them no answer, -but let them cool in their shirts." - -"And I agree," he answered. "But, as luck will have it, his Majesty has -dictated an answer, and that answer is already on its way." - -"To what effect did his Majesty answer?" - -"To the same as a certain King of Israel who said, 'Let the young men -arise and play before us.' There was no need to drum for volunteers, -neither." - -"Nay," I grunted, "we had never yet a lack of hot-headed fools!" I -had no care to meet the gaze of old Carminowe, but I knew that it was -upon me: for he stood close by my stirrup. I knew moreover that it was -saying, "You, a staid man, mixt up in this folly! And this King who -forwards it for sport--is this he whom your life's business was to -defend?" - -Now--as the army would understand it--our Colonel's seeking me in -person, when so many would have striven for the chance to shine under -his Majesty's eyes, was a high compliment; and the higher since certain -of the hottest young bloods had (as I heard later) stipulated for my -company. Yet for the moment I was angered, reading old Carminowe's -thought and knowing it to be true. I had no natural taste for this -bravery of mere fighting: and that I had arrived to be a man sought -out for fighting was but a proof how emptily the mass of men exalts it -above civil pursuits, seeing that my credit rested wholly on certain -habits of steadiness and caution that in any other business I should -have applied as cheerfully. I felt no desire at all to shine for his -Majesty's light approbation, albeit, two years ago, I had enlisted in -a fervour to die for his crown; and feeling my uneasiness under old -Carminowe's gaze, I cursed him silently for having read me better than -hitherto I had read myself. - -But Digby would understand nothing of this. He was a good fighter and a -good fellow, bred and trained in military vanities. - -So I answered him curtly that, if this folly were afoot and now -inevitable, I would come. I spoke too sourly perhaps, and my words, as -I could see, wounded him. - -"My dear Wyvern," said he, "I thought of you at once, and rode for you -expressly. Other men are biting their mustachios at the bare chance of -it. The King himself will be looking on." - -"You were always my friend," said I, as we spurred forward together. - - * * * * * - -I wish to waste no words over that foolish combat. We were a hundred -a side, drawn up in our shirt-sleeves on two opposing slopes, and we -encountered in the hollow between. Digby, who led us, had given the -word to hold our pistol-fire for close quarters, and I on the left -had wasted an harangue on my troopers to the same effect. But, once -the trumpets had sounded "charge," the whole affair became but a wild -paper-chase. At forty yards' distance some young fools on the extreme -right began popping off their pistols, and in half a dozen strides -this infection had run like a wildfire along one line. With ordinary -seasoned men of my own troop I had done far better; but these were the -picked fools of an army, and the main of them under twenty years old. -It is always short work between two bodies of horse meeting in full -shock: one swerves and flies, or else goes under; the other presses on: -there can be no other way. For me, I managed to unsaddle a man and -break through the enemy's right with three troopers after me. Wheeling -then, we saw the body of our friends in full flight; and a dozen of -our foes, wheeling at the same instant, bore down on us nimbly. We -spurred to meet them in second shock: but, as we encountered, one -clever round-pate, who had reserved his fire, sent a bullet through -my charger's shoulder-pin. I had at that instant a thrust to deliver -under the arm of another fellow, and the poor brute's fall took me at -unawares. I was flung heavily and stunned; and, the game being over, no -doubt his Majesty rode moodily off to supper. Like other Kings, he was -trained to sport; but I doubt if he ever arrived at enjoying it. - - -II - -The main body of the Parliament horse and two regiments at least -of their foot were quartered at Lestithiel, in the valley under -Boconnoc--a neat tidy town, but not commodious for so great a mob. It -stands by an ancient bridge of eight arches, where the tidal water -running up from Fowey spends the last of its strength; and there is -a Hall and Exchequer where the Dukes of Cornwall had been used to -receive their Stannary accounts, with a small prison beside for debtors -and offenders under the laws of Stannary. - -This prison being crowded already with prisoners taken by the rebels, -the Provost Marshal clapped me, with nine others made captive in the -above skirmish, in the parish church of St. Bartholomew; and there set -a guard over us, using us more gently (I suppose) for that we had come -to him in more ceremonious fashion than by the ordinary hazard of war. -The rebel cavalry had turned the church into a stable, and defiled -it past description. Also I heard a tale of their having led a horse -to the font and christened him Charles--a double insult to God and -to their King; but will say in fairness that they practised no such -blasphemy during my sojourn there, nor seemed the men to do it, but -went about their grooming and feeding of their horses soberly enough, -making no more of the church than if it had indeed been a stable. Over -us they kept strict watch, but fed us as well as they themselves fared, -and showed us no incivility; nay, at my request one found pen, ink, and -paper for me that I might pass the time away by copying the scutcheons -in the windows, the glass of which they had spared. - -Among us ten unfortunates were two young gentlemen of Cornwall, -Humphrey Grylls and John Trecarrel (but as "Jack" saluted by everyone). -They both had hurts: Grylls a shot through the flesh of an arm, with -two broken ribs to boot; Trecarrel a slight glancing wound across the -left lower ribs. For myself, I had taken no harm beyond the bruise -of my tumble, though my head swam for days after and I suffered from -frequent fits of nausea. The other seven were common troopers, decent -fellows; and one carried in his breeches' pocket a pack of cards, which -kept us well amused until a Roundhead sergeant, discovering our play, -reported it to the Provost-Marshal, who took the cards away. - -In this church of Lestithiel, then, I dwelt from the day of my capture -(August 10) until the last of the month, and on the whole very -cheerfully; for we saw that the rebels intended us no injury, and from -some of them we had news of Sir Jacob Astley's seizing the forts at the -entry of Fowey Haven and so cutting off Essex from his supplies by sea; -wherefore we told ourselves that the Earl must either surrender or make -a desperate push to cut a way through his Majesty's posts, and that, -whichever he might choose, our liberty would not be long delayed. - -Also, and besides my copying of the scutcheons, I pleased myself with -composing of a chronogramma which I here present to the reader. I -thought it mighty ingenious at the time: and so it is, and I spent four -days upon it-- - - _VIVat reX, CoMes esseXIVs DIssIpatVr._ - -or, in English, "Long live the King, the Earl of Essex is put to the -rout." You will see that, by taking out from the Latin all the letters -that stand for Roman numerals--and no other--you get the Annus Domini -1644: in this way-- - - _MDC together make sixteen hundred_ } - _and_ } - _XXVVVV, forty_ } _the total_ 1644. - _and_ } - _IIII, four_ } - -I have shown it to many in private, and all agree that no better -chronogramma was made during the late troubles: but, to be sure, I had -leisure for it. - -To leave these toys--on the last day but one of August, and a little -before nine in the evening, there came into the church (that was lit by -a few lanterns only) two foot-soldiers bearing a ladder between them -and a rope, which presently they set down in a corner by the belfry and -departed. They being scarce gone, by-and-by there entered two other -soldiers with a prisoner, whom they unbound--for his arms had been -trussed behind him--and bade make what cheer he might until the morrow. -Now, whether he had spied us or not as they brought him in I cannot -say; but, being loosed, he moved at first down the aisle uncertainly as -a man might who found even the dull light too strong for his eyes--then -with a quick tottering step towards us, that were gathered around a -lantern and taking our supper near the belfry: and as he drew toward us -I knew him for old Carminowe. - -"Why, what harm can they have found in _you_?" asked I, taking his -hand (as fellows will in misfortune) and giving him a seat beside us. -At this distance of time I will own that this speech of mine seems not -over-delicate; yet these were the words I used, and, be sure, I meant -them well. - -He put my question aside. "You had ill-luck," he said. "I watched you -from the high ground, and my heart went with you; that is to say, -with _you_, Sir--and with _you_." Here he bowed to Grylls and Jack -Trecarrel, and went on as if explaining his performance lucidly. "My -son, Sirs, had he lived, would have been about your age. He died at -eighteen and a few months: but I think of him year by year as alive -and growing, and so I seem to share in his hopes and his high mettle." - -My companions--as well they might--stared at him, and from him to me; -thinking, no doubt, that here was some madman. - -"Excuse me," said I, and presented him formally. "This gentleman and I -are, in a fashion, acquaintances. He is a countryman of yours, by name -Carminowe." - -"Carminowe?" Young Grylls looked at him musingly. "I have read the name -on a hundred old parchments at home." - -"The estates, Sir," said Carminowe, "have passed into many hands, but -into none worthier than that of Grylls." - -"Faith, that's handsomely said!" answered Grylls, perceiving now that, -in spite of the old man's dress, he had to do with a gentleman. "And, -as for the estates, our greed (which, a generation or two back, was a -scandal) has not swallowed them all, I hope?--though, for that matter, -if these crop-ears prevail, 'tis little enough that any of us will -inherit." - -"They will not prevail at this bout," said the old man. "At Fowey, -they tell me, the Earl has but six days' provisions and is planning to -slip away by sea. Between this and the coast the soldiers have eaten -all bare; in a day or two they must break through or surrender, and I -think, gentlemen, I can promise that you will be soon enlarged." - -"You speak with assurance, Sir," said I, handing him a crust and -filling a pannikin for him from our common pail of water. - -"And yet," said he, with a faint smile, "I am no combatant: no, nor -even a spy--though to-morrow morning they are to hang me for one." - -He spoke the words quietly and fell to munching his crust. The three of -us--and the troopers too--stared at him amazed: and for explanation, -his jaws being occupied, he pointed a thin finger at the ladder and -rope. - -"But surely," I began, "since you are no spy, someone can speak for -you----" - -"Lord, Sirs!" he took me up; "what does it matter? I had yet left to -me a small estate in St. Teath parish, which they have twice pillaged. -My son they slew on outpost duty, before the first Braddock fight." -He turned to me again. "What says the Mohun motto, Sir? _Generis -revocamus honores_, is it not? Well, there is no chance of that for the -Carminowes. Let the Mohuns paint up their ancestral hand clutching -the Pope's golden flower: I have held a fairer in mine, and seen it -wither. I have lived through the bitterness of death; I have seen the -end of things. The last Carminowe goes down the blind way of fate--goes -out in obloquy to-morrow, hanged for a spy by mistake. I have finished -my quarrel with the gods: they are strong, and I make no complaint -that they choose to wind up with a jest. I do assure you, Sirs, that I -neither fear death nor disdain any way of it." - -But here Jack Trecarrel, that had been staring gloomily at the wall -opposite, suddenly rubbed his eyes and sat up with a laugh. - -"By the Lord, Master Carminowe! and if that be how you take it, you may -yet turn the jest against the gods." - -We stared at him all, trying to read his meaning. - -"Nay," he went on, "I have a slow wit, and you must give me time. The -notion in my head may be worth much or little. Only you must tell me, -Master Carminowe, on what ground you promised us that our liberty was -nigh at hand: for something will depend on that." - -"'Tis that fortunate knowledge unfortunately brings me here," answered -the old man with a grave smile. "You know the narrow road that passes -for a space along the left bank above the bridge, and so strikes -away to the north-east over the downs? It has deep hedges, you will -remember, and at the bend stands a mean cottage. For days we have heard -talk that the enemy would try to break away by this road; and a week -ago Goring moved down a body of horse to the fields hard by and posted -a strong picket in and about the cottage, to counter this design. Well, -then, I, to-night, taking my ramble after sunset (as my custom is, and -known to our sentries), came down to this cottage, supposing myself -to be well within our lines. To my concern no one challenged me, and, -creeping a little closer, I found the place empty. But while I stood, -puzzling this out, a man called softly from a little way down the lane, -where between the hedges all was dark to my eyesight, whom I approached -without fear, supposing him to be one of our sergeants in command of a -picquet, and that maybe he had a message for me to take back to Goring. -'Give the password, friend, and tell us, What time did he say?' this -man demanded of me. I, taken aback by these words, stood still: and, -with that, I saw beyond the hedge the faint light of the stars shining -on many scores of morions and breastplates. 'Twas a whole troop of -horse drawn up and standing silent in the field below. At once I knew -that these must be rebels; that the pass had been sold by some traitor; -and that I had tumbled by mistake into the part of his messenger. -Heaven knows if, using my wit and naming an hour boldly, I might yet -have escaped and carried back warning to camp. I think not: for they -would have pressed me for the password. As it was, being dumbfoundered, -I broke away and tried to run: but the fellow was after me in a trice, -and my old legs carried me but a dozen yards before he had me down -and flung on my back. You can guess, Sirs, what remains to tell. They -marched me down here; and to-morrow--supposing me to know what would -implicate, no doubt, several men of standing in both armies--they will -close my mouth for ever. For 'tis certain the King's interests have -been betrayed, and the rogues will break through to-night, no one -hindering. They have a river-fog, too, to help them. Now, whether or -not the infantry will make a dash for it after the horse I cannot tell -you: but to-morrow his Majesty will march down into Lestithiel and you -will be free." - -"Then a few hours would suffice to save you, Master Carminowe?" said -Trecarrel, still pondering. - -The old gentleman shrugged his shoulders. "They will get my business -done early," said he. "I pray you, feel no more concern about it." -He turned to me and asked if I had amused myself with sketching the -monuments of this church as well as of Boconnoc. The windows being dark -against the lantern-light, we could see no more than the outlines of -their blazonries: but he seemed to know them by heart. I told him how -that among them I had found his own coat twice depicted--_azure_, a -bend _or_, but this time without the three-pointed label of difference. - -He nodded. "And that is right," said he; "we have no business with the -label." He went on to tell that in Edward the Third's time, in the -English camp before Paris, Carminowe of Cornwall had challenged Sir -Richard Scrope with wrongfully bearing his arms; and that six knights -appointed to decide the controversy had found Carminowe to be descended -of a lineage armed _azure_, a bend _or_, since the time of King Arthur. -This led us into converse on the Scrope and Grosvenor dispute. "'Tis -curious," said he after a while, "that we may be the last men in -England to sit awake talking over these old tales. For when the rebels -have dispossessed his Majesty--as they surely will--and have destroyed -the fountain of honour, who would light his pipe with such-like -straws?" - -But I would not allow the King's cause to be hopeless, and showed him -my chronogramma, not without complacency. - -He took the paper in hand, and was holding it close to the lantern, to -con it, when at that instant Jack Trecarrel started up on his straw -pallet into a sitting posture, and nudged Grylls--who, with the rest of -our comrades, lay in a sound sleep; but, feeling his elbow jogged, he -opened his eyes. - -Having wakened Grylls, Trecarrel motioned to us both to do as he did -without questioning, and began very cautiously to pull off his boots. -While he did this a new thought seemed to strike him, for he puckered -his brows awhile, and leaning towards me whispered across the back of -Carminowe (who still bent forward, studying my scrap of paper), "Rouse -the men on your side--softly as you can! They may all be useful." He -turned to Grylls and whispered (as I suppose) the same order: for -Grylls at once touched the shoulder of the trooper lying next him, and -put finger to lip as the fellow stirred in his sleep and blinked up at -him. - -I on my part, having pulled off my boots obediently, began to rouse -the men nigh me with similar caution; so that presently we had the -whole ring awake and staring, their eyes asking what we intended. -"Heaven help me if _I_ know!" I muttered to myself, but endeavoured to -answer the looks bent upon me by looking extremely wise. - -"Most ingenious!" said Carminowe aloud, who all this while had been -working out my riddle, observant of none of these preparations. He -turned to me. "May I ask, Sir----" - -"Hist!" commanded Trecarrel, laying a hand on his arm and peering -into the space of darkness between us and the chancel, where three -stable-lanterns shone foggily--one tilted on the cushion of the -pulpit-desk, the other two set side by side on the altar itself. In the -choir-stalls and on the floor between (where the altar-step, with a -coat laid upon it, served for their pillow) maybe a score of rebels lay -snoring. These did not belong to our regular guard, and indeed by night -I never discovered that we had a guard: but some four hundred soldiers -bivouacked, as a rule, in the churchyard outside, with sentries posted; -which from the first had been a dead-wall to all our projects of -breaking prison. - -After peering for half a minute or so, Trecarrel raised himself to a -kind of crouching posture, Grylls, at the same time, imitating him. -They beckoned to a couple of our troopers to follow them; and, backing -out of the lantern's rays, in a trice all four made a sudden dart -across for the shadow of the belfry arch. - -Then in a trice I understood what was forward; and, pointing to -Carminowe's feet, signalled to him to slip off his shoes. The tower of -Lestithiel church rises to a spire, and its belfry chamber stood then -on a raised floor, approached, not as in most belfries by a winding -stair, but through a trapway by a ladder reaching up from the ground. -During our captivity this ladder had been removed and perhaps cast down -outside in the grass of the churchyard. But now I followed Trecarrel's -guess that the same had been found and carelessly brought back for -Carminowe's hanging on the morrow. I knelt and unlaced the old man's -shoes. He suffered this, eying me as if to ask what it meant, but -making no protest. - -One by one our comrades slipped away into the shadow under the belfry. -I heard the ladder raised softly and then a light scraping as its upper -end touched the stonework aloft. It seemed to me, too, that I heard -a footstep mounting the rungs; but of this I could not be sure. Our -enemies in the chancel snored on. - -Five minutes passed; again I heard a light footfall, and Trecarrel came -stealing back to us. - -"Blow out the light," he commanded--and, as he crouched to whisper -this, I saw his face running bright with sweat. "And give me the -candle--the bolt of the trap is stiff." - -He took the candle from me, and after waiting a moment, to be sure that -none of those in the chancel had taken alarm at this blowing out of -the light, we stole across all three to the ladder's foot. Trecarrel -mounted again. I heard him rub the tallow on the bolt--or seemed, at -least, to hear it; and by-and-by the trap opened with a creak. Still -the sleepers took no alarm. - -I pushed Carminowe forward, and believe that he was among the first to -mount. One by one the others followed, Grylls carrying with him the -coil of rope. I, as senior in command, took last turn. This adventure -was not mine, nor could I see the end of it; but I supposed that in the -uncommon military operation of retreating up a steeple the commanding -officer's place must be the extreme rear. - -My foot was on the lowest rung when some fool above, who had taken the -coil of rope off Grylls' shoulders, let it slip through the hatchway. -It struck the ladder, and came glancing down with a rush fit to wake -the dead; and almost on the instant two or three of the men in the -chancel had sprung to their feet and were snatching down the lanterns -there. Now I had leapt aside nimbly--and luckily too, or the blow of it -had either brained or, at the least, stunned me: and as it thudded on -to the pavement I made a clutch at the rope and sprang for the ladder -with a shout that woke the whole church and echoed back on me with a -roar. - -"Hoist!" I yelled, clambering as high as I might, and anchoring myself -with an arm crookt through a rung. - -"'Hoist' it is!" sung down Trecarrel's voice cheerfully. "Hold tight -below--and you, lads, up with him! One, two, three--heave, my hearties!" - -'Twas the only way: for already half a score of the rebel rogues were -bearing down the nave towards me at a run. But, I thank Heaven, they -had started in too great a hurry to remember their muskets. They -reached the belfry arch to find the foot of my stairway lifted a good -six feet above their heads. One or two leaped high and made a clutch -for it, but missed; and as they fell back, staring and raising their -lanterns, I was borne aloft and removed from them through the trapway -like any stage god. - -My comrades lifting me off the ladder, I found myself on a floor of -stout oak, and in the midst of an octagonal chamber filled with a pale, -foggy light--as I supposed, of the declining moon. Directly overhead, -in a cavernous darkness, hung the great bells like monstrous black -spiders, with their ropes like filaments let down and swaying: for a -stiff and chilly breeze blew every way through the chamber, which had a -high open window in each of its eight sides. - -For these windows the most of us scrambled at once, foreseeing what -must happen. Indeed, the baffled rogues below lost no time over their -next move; but running for their muskets, began firing up at the hatch -and at the floor under our feet--the boards of which, by the favour of -Heaven, were of oak and marvellous solid; also the heavy beams took -many of their shot; but none the less they made us skip. - -This volley, fired suddenly within, at once, as you may guess, alarmed -all the bivouacs in the churchyard. Crowds poured into the church, -and word passing that all the eleven prisoners were escaped into the -belfry under the spire, other crowds ran back into the street and -began firing briskly at the windows. But this helped them nothing, the -angle being too steep, and the bullets--or so many of them as found -entrance--striking upwards over our heads. By-and-by a few cleverer -marksmen climbed to the upper rooms of certain houses around the -church, and thence peppered us hotly: yet with no more effect than -the others, for by this time I had discovered, by sounding with my -heel, where the stout beams ran beneath us. Slipping down from our -window-sconces and choosing these beams to stand upon, we were entirely -safe from the musketeers outside, and reasonably protected from those -below. - -"Now the one thing to pray for," whispered Trecarrel to me in a pause -of the firing, "is that Lestithiel town contains no second ladder so -tall as ours: and I believe it cannot." - -"There is another thing to pray for," said I; "which is, that the dawn -may come quickly." - -He stared at me. "My good Sir, are you crazed?" he demanded. "Day has -broke already! What light on earth do you suppose this to be all about -us?" - -"I took it for the moon," I confessed somewhat shamefacedly. - -He burst into a laugh. "You and your friend then must have sped the -time rarely with your Scropes and your Grosvenors, your fesses and -bends, your counter-paleys and what-not. I can tell you the night -dragged by tediously enough for me, that had to lie and listen to your -discoursing!" - -"But hullo!" said I; "they seem to have ceased firing below. And whose -voice is that calling?" - -'Twas the voice of the Provost-Marshal summoning us to parley. He had -been roused up in haste, and by the tone of his voice was in a towering -passion of temper. - -"At your service, Sir!" I called out in answer, approaching the trap. -"But if you want a parley it must be an honourable one, and no shooting -up or catching me at disadvantage." - -"My men will not fire again until I give the word." - -"Very well, then: what do you require of us?" - -"I require you to give up to me, and instantly, the prisoner whom we -took last night. This done, I may consent to overlook your escapade." - -"For what purpose do you want him?" - -"That, Sir, is my affair, I should hope. 'Tis enough that I require his -surrender." - -"Indeed no, Sir: 'tis nothing like enough. The gentleman you speak of -happens to be a friend of mine; and you have formed an opinion of him -as incorrect as it is injurious. If I consent to release him to you -it will only be on your engaging yourself most solemnly to do him no -harm." - -'Tis wonderful what an advantage height gives a man in an argument. The -Provost-Marshal, dancing with rage on the floor far below and cricking -back his neck to get sight of me, cut one of the absurdest figures in -the world. - -"I'll hang you all!" he threatened, lifting and shaking his fist. "I'll -hang every mother's son of you!" - -But here I felt a hand laid on my shoulder, and looked up to see -Trecarrel standing over me and smiling, and the belfry full of a sudden -with rosy morning light. - -"Wyvern," said he, "don't be keeping all the fun to yourself! Let me -have a turn with the man, and go you to the window--the north-east -window yonder, and tell me an I speak not the truth to him." - -I gave over the parley to him and moved to the window, as he directed. - -"'Tis too late, my master!" Trecarrel called cheerfully down the trap. -"You have thirty minutes at the most to reduce us, and 'twill take you -all that time to pack up and clear. Already a body of the King's foot -are coming over the hill straight for the bridge, and your one ragged -regiment there is making haste to quit. Do I not speak the truth, -Captain Wyvern?" He flung this question to me over his shoulder. - -[Illustration: "'TIS TOO LATE, MY MASTER!" TRECARREL CALLED CHEERFULLY -DOWN THE TRAP.] - -"The Lord be praised, you do!" I cried. "And see--another and stronger -body making down to cross the ford to the southward!" By this time -all the troopers around me were shouting and pointing and some of -them capering for joy; and sure the morning sun has rarely looked -on blesseder sight than these gallant troops made as they descended -glittering to the river. - -"Softly--softly!" Trecarrel rebuked us. "With so much noise I cannot -hear what Master Provost-Marshal is threatening. Indeed, Sir," he -called down, "your game is up. Go your ways now, and may they lead you -to the proper end of all rebels!" - -I did not hear the Provost-Marshal's answer: and for a minute or -so--since the firing did not start afresh but all remained quiet--I -supposed that he had taken our advice and given up the game. But -turning for a look down into the church to assure myself, I saw -Trecarrel rise to his feet with a face deadly white. - -"The villains!" he gasped out, pointing to the hatchway. "They are -bringing powder--there--right under us!" - -And, while he pointed, the Provost-Marshal's voice came up to us, -cold and sneering. "I'll give you this last chance, my gentlemen," he -called. "Will you hand over my prisoner, or must I blow you all into -air? You have half a minute to decide." - -"Let us go down, gentlemen," said Carminowe, stepping forward. "I thank -you sincerely: but in truth, as I have told you, I do not value life." - -In an instant Trecarrel had recovered his composure. "With your leave, -Captain," he said, addressing me, "'twas I that set this game going, -and I for one am willing to play it out." - -I glanced from him to Grylls, who stood against the wall with his arms -folded. He wasted no words, but answered me with a gloomy nod. Now I -turned to the troopers, from whom--as men of mean station--I confess -that I looked for no such folly of magnanimity as to lay down their -lives for an old man, who, besides, was begging us to yield him up. -Judge my amazement then when a red-bearded fellow called Wilkes spoke -up with a big oath, growling that "surrender" was no word for his -stomach. "Suppose we belonged to your own troop, Captain--what would -you look for us to answer?" - -"In general," I told him, "I should look for my troop to follow where -I dared to lead. But this is a different matter----" - -A man by Wilkes' side cut me short. "Wounds alive, Sir! You don't -command the only men in the army! Didn't his Majesty pick and choose us -for special service? Very well, then; tell the old devil to fire and be -damned to him!" - -I ran my eyes over their faces. "I thank you all, friends," said I: -"and because of your answer I, for one, shall die--if God wills it--in -good hope for England." - -"Time is up," the Provost-Marshal's voice announced from below. "Do you -submit, Sir?" - -"No!" I shouted, and all shouted together with me; nor did one or two -forbear to add to their defiance words of the grossest insult. - -I motioned to them to copy me and lay themselves down at full length -above the strongest beams: and, so lying, I commended my soul to God. -This waiting upon the slow-match was the worst of all. "Will it never -come?" groaned one man, clenching his hands. - -But it came at last, with a jarring lift of the earth and a great wind -that took us--flat-laid as we were--and tossed us like straws in a heap -against the wall. Then the foundations of the world opened with a roar, -beating all sensation out of us--so that, had we died then, all taste -of dying was gone from us. Answering the roar, as the walls rocked with -it, the heavens seemed to split and open, letting through a downrush -of slates and stones and mortar: and overhead a great bell clanged -once. But in my memory the explosion and the answering downrush stand -separated by a dark gulf, in which time was blotted out. I had covered -my face with my cloak, and saw no flame at all. Yet when my eyes opened -they rested first upon a great rent in the belfry flooring, through -which one of the heavy beams, broken midway, thrust up two jagged -ends. I saw this through a cloud of smoke, dust, and lime. Beside -me my comrades lay under a thick coating of limewash and cobwebs. A -couple of them had been flung across my legs, and one or two were -groaning. On the far side of the chamber the man Wilkes had scrambled -to his feet unhurt, and was leaning with his elbow against the wall. -I found my voice, and, while the walls yet rocked, called to Grylls -and Trecarrel. To my amazement their two voices answered me: and to my -greater amazement one by one the heap of men disengaged themselves, -and, shaking off the dust and lime from them, rose to their feet--the -whole of them, save for a cut or two and a few bruises, unharmed. Old -Carminowe, in particular, had not taken a scratch. - -But while I stared at them, and while my shaken wits little by little -took assurance that the tower stood yet and we were yet alive, in -my ears rang the note of that bell which had sounded once overhead. -I stared up with a new and horrible apprehension, mercifully till -this moment delayed. I had not thought of the bells. The wind of the -explosion had whirled two or three of their ropes aloft and flung them -over the beams: but the concussion, which had shaken cartloads of -cobwebs down upon us, had seemingly left the cage itself uninjured. My -eyes sought to pierce the gloom up there in the bells' dark throats. -It seemed to me that one of the clappers was swaying. I thought of all -that mass of metal slipping, falling; and called on the men in a panic -to fetch and lower the ladder. - -Trecarrel or Grylls--I forgot which--besought me to delay: the enemy -might yet be lying in wait for us outside the church. I, possessed with -this new terror of the bells, scarcely heard them, and insisted upon -lowering the ladder with all speed. It had fallen forward from the wall -against which we had rested it, and now lay right across our heads. -Fast as they could the men obeyed us, lowering it through the hatchway -and thence guiding its descent by the rope knotted about an upper rung. -As I had been last to mount, so I was first to slip down; as I reached -the foot and steadied it for the others I heard Wilkes at the window -overhead calling out that our troops had won the bridge. - -And now comes in the strangest thing in all my story. We, that had -lived in comradeship for three weeks, and had come through this extreme -peril together, parted at the ladder's foot and ran our several ways -without a word said! I took one glance around the church. A good -third of the roof had been blown away and one of the tower-piers was -evidently tottering. Two columns of the arcade along the south aisle -lay prone. I need not say that scarce a pane remained in the windows: -but I can remember marvelling that so much of the glass had fallen -inwards and lay strewn over the whole flooring, even in the nave, and -I remember it all the better through having to pick my way to the door -with shoeless feet. In the porch I overtook and ran past old Carminowe. -He did not halt to thank me, nor did I pause to receive his thanks. - -Yet I saw him once again. From the church I ran to meet our troops, now -re-forming at the bridge-end to clear the town. Half an hour later, -as we drove the retreating rebels beyond the suburbs and out into the -dusty lanes towards Fowey, almost by the last cottage we passed a -corpse huddled under the hedgerow to the left of our march. It was the -body of Carminowe, killed by a chance shot of the men from whom we had -lately saved him. But with what purpose he had pursued them and invited -it, I cannot tell. - - - - -FRENCHMAN'S CREEK - -A REPORTED TALE - - -Frenchman's Creek runs up between overhanging woods from the southern -shore of Helford River, which flows down through an earthly paradise -and meets the sea midway between Falmouth and the dreadful Manacles--a -river of gradual golden sunsets such as Wilson painted; broad-bosomed, -holding here and there a village as in an arm maternally crook'd, but -with a brooding face of solitude. Off the main flood lie creeks where -the oaks dip their branches in the high tides, where the stars are -glassed all night long without a ripple, and where you may spend whole -days with no company but herons and sandpipers-- - - _Helford River, Helford River, - Blessčd may you be! - We sailed up Helford River - By Durgan from the sea...._ - -And about three-quarters of a mile above the ferry-crossing (where is -the best anchorage) you will find the entrance of the creek they call -Frenchman's, with a cob-built ruin beside it, and perhaps, if you come -upon it in the morning sunlight, ten or a dozen herons aligned like -statues on the dismantled walls. - -Now, why they call it Frenchman's Creek no one is supposed to know, -but this story will explain. And the story I heard on the spot from an -old verderer, who had it from his grandfather, who bore no unimportant -part in it--as will be seen. Maybe you will find it out of keeping with -its scenery. In my own words you certainly would: and so I propose to -relate it just as the verderer told it to me. - - -I - -First of all you'll let me say that a bad temper is an affliction, -whoever owns it, and shortening to life. I don't know what your opinion -may be: but my grandfather was parish constable in these parts for -forty-seven years, and you'll find it on his headstone in Manaccan -churchyard that he never had a cross word for man, woman, or child. He -took no credit for it: it ran in the family, and to this day we're all -terribly mild to handle. - -Well, if ever a man was born bad in his temper, 'twas Captain -Bligh, that came from St. Tudy parish, and got himself known to all -the world over that dismal business aboard the _Bounty_. Yes, Sir, -that's the man--"Breadfruit Bligh," as they called him. They made an -Admiral of him in the end, but they never cured his cussedness: and my -grandfather, that followed his history (and good reason for why) from -the day he first set foot in this parish, used to rub his hands over -every fresh item of news. "Darn it!" he'd say, "here's that old Turk -broke loose again. Lord, if he ain't a warrior!" Seemed as if he took a -delight in the man, and kept a sort of tenderness for him till the day -of his death. - -Bless you, though folks have forgotten it, that little affair of the -_Bounty_ was only the beginning of Bligh. He was a left'nant when it -happened, and the King promoted him post-captain straight away. Later -on, no doubt because of his experiences in mutinies, he was sent down -to handle the big one at the Nore. "Now, then, you dogs!"--that's how -he began with the men's delegates--"his Majesty will be graciously -pleased to hear your grievances: and afterwards I'll be graciously -pleased to hang the lot of you and rope-end every fifth man in the -Fleet. That's plain sailing, I hope!" says he. The delegates made a -rush at him, triced him up hand and foot, and in two two's would have -heaved him to the fishes with an eighteen-pound shot for ballast if -his boat's crew hadn't swarmed on board by the chains and carried him -off. After this, he commanded a ship at Camperdown, and another at -Copenhagen, and being a good fighter as well as a man of science, was -chosen for Governor of New South Wales. He hadn't been forty-eight -hours in the colony, I'm told, before the music began, and it ended -with his being clapped into irons by the military and stuck in prison -for two years to cool his heels. At last they took him out, put him on -board a ship of war and played farewell to him on a brass band: and, -by George, Sir, if he didn't fight with the captain of the ship all -the way home, making claim that as senior in the service he ought to -command her! By this time, as you may guess, there was nothing to be -done with the fellow but make him an Admiral; and so they did, and as -Admiral of the Blue he died in the year 'seventeen, only a couple of -weeks ahead of my poor grandfather, that would have set it down to the -finger of Providence if he'd only lived to hear the news. - -Well, now, the time that Bligh came down to Helford was a few months -before he sailed for Australia, and that will be a hundred years ago -next summer: and I guess the reason of his coming was that the folks -at the Admiralty couldn't stand him in London, the weather just then -being sultry. So they pulled out a map and said, "This Helford looks a -nice cool far-away place; let the man go down and take soundings and -chart the place"; for Bligh, you must know, had been a pupil of Captain -Cook's, and at work of this kind there was no man cleverer in the Navy. - -To do him justice, Bligh never complained of work. So off he packed -and started from London by coach in the early days of June; and with -him there travelled down a friend of his, a retired naval officer by -the name of Sharl, that was bound for Falmouth to take passage in the -Lisbon packet; but whether on business or a pleasure trip is more than -I can tell you. - -So far as I know, nothing went wrong with them until they came to -Torpoint Ferry: and there, on the Cornish side of the water, stood the -Highflyer coach, the inside of it crammed full of parcels belonging -to our Vicar's wife, Mrs. Polwhele, that always visited Plymouth once -a year for a week's shopping. Having all these parcels to bring home, -Mrs. Polwhele had crossed over by a waterman's boat two hours before, -packed the coach as full as it would hold, and stepped into the Ferry -Inn for a dish of tea. "And glad I am to be across the river in good -time," she told the landlady; "for by the look of the sky there's a -thunderstorm coming." - -Sure enough there was, and it broke over the Hamoaze with a bang just -as Captain Bligh and his friend put across in the ferry-boat. The -lightning whizzed and the rain came down like the floods of Deva, and -in five minutes' time the streets and gutters of Torpoint were pouring -on to the quay like so many shutes, and turning all the inshore water -to the colour of pea-soup. Another twenty minutes and 'twas over; blue -sky above and the birds singing, and the roof and trees all a-twinkle -in the sun; and out steps Mrs. Polwhele very gingerly in the landlady's -pattens, to find the Highflyer ready to start, the guard unlashing the -tarpaulin that he'd drawn over the outside luggage, the horses steaming -and anxious to be off, and on the box-seat a couple of gentlemen wet to -the skin, and one of them looking as ugly as a chained dog in a street -fight. This was Bligh, of course. His friend, Mr. Sharl, sat alongside, -talking low and trying to coax him back to a good temper: but Mrs. -Polwhele missed taking notice of this. She hadn't seen the gentlemen -arrive, by reason that, being timid of thunder, at the very first peal -she'd run upstair, and crawled under one of the bed-ties: and there she -bided until the chambermaid brought word that the sky was clear and the -coach waiting. - -If ever you've had to do with timmersome folks I daresay you've noted -how talkative they get as soon as danger's over. Mrs. Polwhele took a -glance at the inside of the coach to make sure that her belongings were -safe, and then, turning to the ladder that the Boots was holding for -her to mount, up she trips to her outside place behind the box-seat, -all in a fluff and commotion, and chattering so fast that the words -hitched in each other like beer in a narrow-necked bottle. - -"Give you good morning, gentlemen!" said Mrs. Polwhele, "and I do hope -and trust I haven't kept you waiting; but thunder makes me _that_ -nervous! 'Twas always the same with me from a girl; and la! what a -storm while it lasted! I declare the first drops looked to me a'most -so big as crown-pieces. Most unfortunate it should come on when you -were crossing--most unfortunate, I vow! There's nothing so unpleasant -as sitting in damp clothes, especially if you're not accustomed to it. -My husband, now--if he puts on a shirt that hasn't been double-aired -I always know what's going to happen: it'll be lumbago next day to a -certainty. But maybe, as travellers, you're not so susceptible. I find -hotel-keepers so careless with their damp sheets! May I ask, gentlemen, -if you've come from far? You'll be bound for Falmouth, as I guess: and -so am I. You'll find much on the way to admire. But perhaps this is not -your first visit to Cornwall?" - -In this fashion she was rattling away, good soul--settling her wraps -about her and scarcely drawing breath--when Bligh slewed himself around -in his seat, and for answer treated her to a long stare. - -Now, Bligh wasn't a beauty at the best of times, and he carried a scar -on his cheek that didn't improve matters by turning white when his face -was red, and red when his face was white. They say the King stepped -up to him at Court once and asked him how he came by it and in what -action. Bligh had to tell the truth--that he'd got it in the orchard at -home: he and his father were trying to catch a horse there: the old man -flung a hatchet to turn the horse and hit his boy in the face, marking -him for life. Hastiness, you see, in the family. - -Well, the sight of his face, glowering back on her over his shoulder, -was enough to dry up the speech in Mrs. Polwhele or any woman. But -Bligh, it seems, couldn't be content with this. After withering the -poor soul for ten seconds or so, he takes his eyes off her, turns to -his friend again in a lazy, insolent way, and begins to talk loud to -him in French. - -'Twas a terrible unmannerly thing to do for a fellow supposed to be a -gentleman. I've naught to say against modern languages: but when I see -it on the newspaper nowadays that naval officers ought to give what's -called "increased attention" to French and German, I hope that they'll -use it better than Bligh, that's all! Why, Sir, my eldest daughter -threw up a situation as parlourmaid in London because her master and -mistress pitched to parleyvooing whenever they wanted to talk secrets -at table. "If you please, Ma'am," she told the lady, "you're mistaking -me for the governess, and I never could abide compliments." She gave a -month's warning then and there, and I commend the girl's spirit. - -But the awkward thing for Bligh, as it turned out, was that Mrs. -Polwhele didn't understand his insolence. Being a woman that wouldn't -hurt a fly if she could help it, and coming from a parish where every -man, her husband included, took pleasure in treating her respectfully, -she never dreamed that an affront was meant. From the moment she heard -Bligh's lingo, she firmly believed that here were two Frenchies on the -coach; and first she went white to the lips and shivered all over, and -then she caught at the seat to steady herself, and then she flung back -a look at Jim the Guard, to make sure he had his blunderbuss handy. She -couldn't speak to Sammy Hosking, the coachman, or touch him by the arm -without reaching across Bligh: and by this time the horses were at the -top of the hill and settling into a gallop. She thought of the many -times she'd sat up in bed at home in a fright that the Frenchmen had -landed and were marching up to burn Manaccan Vicarage: and how often -she had warned her husband against abusing Boney from the pulpit--'twas -dangerous, she always maintained, for a man living so nigh the -seashore. The very shawl beside her was scarlet, same as the women-folk -wore about the fields in those days in hopes that the invaders, if any -came, would mistake them for red-coats. And here she was, perched up -behind two of her country's enemies--one of them as ugly as Old Nick or -Boney himself--and bowling down towards her peaceful home at anything -from sixteen to eighteen miles an hour. - -I daresay, too, the thunderstorm had given her nerves a shaking; at any -rate, Jim the Guard came crawling over the coach-roof after a while, -and, said he, "Why, Mrs. Polwhele, whatever is the matter? I han't -heard you speak six words since we started." - -And with that, just as he settled himself down for a comfortable chat -with her, after his custom, the poor lady points to the two strangers, -flings up both hands, and tumbles upon him in a fit of hysterics. - -"Stop the hosses!" yells Jim; but already Sammy Hosking was pulling up -for dear life at the sound of her screams. - -"What in thunder's wrong with the female?" asks Bligh. - -"Female yourself," answers up Sammy in a pretty passion. "Mrs. -Polwhele's a lady, and I reckon your cussed rudeness upset her. I say -nothing of your face, for that you can't help." - -Bligh started up in a fury, but Mr. Sharl pulled him down on the seat, -and then Jim the Guard took a turn. - -"Pitch a lady's luggage into the road, would you?" for this, you must -know, was the reason of Bligh's sulkiness at starting. He had come up -soaking from Torpoint Ferry, walked straight to the coach, and pulled -the door open to jump inside, when down on his head came rolling a -couple of Dutch cheeses that Mrs. Polwhele had crammed on the top of -her belongings. This raised his temper, and he began to drag parcel -after parcel out and fling them in the mud, shouting that no passenger -had a right to fill up the inside of a coach in that fashion. Thereupon -Jim sent an ostler running to the landlady that owned the Highflyer, -and she told Bligh that he hadn't booked his seat yet: that the inside -was reserved for Mrs. Polwhele: and that he could either take an -outside place and behave himself, or be left behind to learn manners. -For a while he showed fight: but Mr. Sharl managed to talk sense into -him, and the parcels were stowed again and the door shut but a minute -before Mrs. Polwhele came downstairs and took her seat as innocent as a -lamb. - -"Pitch a lady's luggage into the road, would you?" struck in Jim the -Guard, making himself heard above the pillaloo. "Carry on as if the -coach belonged to ye, hey? Come down and take your coat off, like a -man, and don't sit there making fool faces at me!" - -"My friend is not making faces," began Mr. Sharl, very gentle-like, -trying to keep the peace. - -"Call yourself his friend!" Jim snapped him up. "Get off, the pair of -you. Friend indeed! Go and buy him a veil." - -But 'twas easily seen that Mrs. Polwhele couldn't be carried further. -So Sammy Hosking pulled up at a farmhouse a mile beyond St. Germans: -and there she was unloaded, with her traps, and put straight to -bed: and a farm-boy sent back to Torpoint to fetch a chaise for her -as soon as she recovered. And the Highflyer--that had been delayed -three-quarters of an hour--rattled off at a gallop, with all on board -in the worst of tempers. - -When they reached Falmouth--which was not till after ten o'clock at -night--and drew up at the Crown and Anchor, the first man to hail them -was old Parson Polwhele, standing there under the lamp in the entry and -taking snuff to keep himself awake. - -"Well, my love," says he, stepping forward to help his wife down and -give her a kiss. "And how have you enjoyed the journey?" - -But instead of his wife 'twas a bull-necked-looking man that swung -himself off the coach-roof, knocking the Parson aside, and bounced into -the inn without so much as a "beg your pardon." - -Parson Polwhele was taken aback for the moment by reason that he'd -pretty nigh kissed the fellow by accident; and before he could recover, -Jim the Guard leans out over the darkness, and, says he, speaking down: -"Very sorry, Parson, but your missus was taken ill t'other side of St. -Germans, and we've been forced to leave her 'pon the road." - -Now, the Parson doted on his wife, as well he might. He was a very -learned man, you must know, and wrote a thundering great history of -Cornwall: but outside of book-learning his head rambled terribly, -and Mrs. Polwhele managed him in all the little business of life. -"'Tis like looking after a museum," she used to declare. "I don't -understand the contents, I'm thankful to say; but, please God, I can -keep 'em dusted." A better-suited couple you couldn't find, nor a more -affectionate; and whenever Mrs. Polwhele tripped it to Plymouth, the -Parson would be at Falmouth to welcome her back, and they'd sleep the -night at the Crown and Anchor and drive home to Manaccan next morning. - -"Taken ill?" cries the Parson. "Oh, my poor Mary--my poor, dear Mary!" - -"'Tisn' so bad as all that," says Jim, as soothing as he could; but he -thought it best to tell nothing about the rumpus. - -"If 'tis on the wings of an eagle, I must fly to her!" cries the -Parson, and he hurried indoors and called out for a chaise and pair. - -He had some trouble in persuading a post-boy to turn out at such an -hour, but before midnight the poor man was launched and rattling away -eastward, chafing at the hills and singing out that he'd pay for speed, -whatever it cost. And at Grampound in the grey of the morning he almost -ran slap into a chaise and pair proceeding westward, and likewise as if -its postilion wanted to break his neck. - -Parson Polwhele stood up in his vehicle and looked out ahead. The two -chaises had narrowly missed doubling each other into a cocked hat; in -fact, the boys had pulled up within a dozen yards of smash, and there -stood the horses face to face and steaming. - -"Why, 'tis my Mary!" cries the Parson, and takes a leap out of the -chaise. - -"Oh, Richard! Richard!" sobs Mrs. Polwhele. "But you can't possibly -come in here, my love," she went on, drying her eyes. - -"Why not, my angel?" - -"Because of the parcels, dearest. And Heaven only knows what's -underneath me at this moment, but it feels like a flat-iron. Besides," -says she, like the prudent woman she was, "we've paid for two chaises. -But 'twas good of you to come in search of me, and I'll say what I've -said a thousand times, that I've the best husband in the world." - -The Parson grumbled a bit; but, indeed, the woman was piled about with -packages up to the neck. So, very sad-like, he went back to his own -chaise--that was now slewed about for Falmouth--and off the procession -started at an easy trot, the good man bouncing up in his seat from time -to time to blow back a kiss. - -But after awhile he shouted to the post-boy to pull up again. - -"What's the matter, love?" sings out Mrs. Polwhele, overtaking him and -coming to a stand likewise. - -"Why, it occurs to me, my angel, that _you_ might get into _my_ chaise, -if you're not too tightly wedged." - -"There's no saying what will happen when I once begin to move," said -Mrs. Polwhele: "but I'll risk it. For I don't mind telling you that -one of my legs went to sleep somewhere near St. Austell, and 'tis -dreadfully uncomfortable." - -So out she was fetched and climbed in beside her husband. - -"But what was it that upset you?" he asked, as they started again. - -Mrs. Polwhele laid her cheek to his shoulder and sobbed aloud; and so -by degrees let out her story. - - * * * * * - -"But, my love, the thing's impossible," cried Parson Polwhele. "There's -no Frenchman in Cornwall at this moment, unless maybe 'tis the Guernsey -merchant[3] or some poor wretch of a prisoner escaped from the hulks in -the Hamoaze." - -[Footnote 3: Euphemistic for "smugglers' agent."] - -"Then, that's what these men were, you may be sure," said Mrs. Polwhele. - -"Tut-tut-tut! You've just told me that they came across the ferry, like -any ordinary passengers." - -"Did I? Then I told more than I know; for I never saw them cross." - -"A couple of escaped prisoners wouldn't travel by coach in broad -daylight, and talk French in everyone's hearing." - -"We live in the midst of mysteries," said Mrs. Polwhele. "There's my -parcels, now--I packed 'em in the Highflyer most careful, and I'm sure -Jim the Guard would be equally careful in handing them out--you know -the sort of man he is: and yet I find a good dozen of them plastered -in mud, and my new Moldavia cap, that I gave twenty-three shillings -for only last Tuesday, pounded to a jelly, quite as if someone had -flung it on the road and danced on it!" - -The poor soul burst out into fresh tears, and there against her -husband's shoulder cried herself fairly asleep, being tired out with -travelling all night. By-and-by the Parson, that wanted a nap just as -badly, dozed off beside her: and in this fashion they were brought back -through Falmouth streets and into the yard of the Crown and Anchor, -where Mrs. Polwhele woke up with a scream, crying out: "Prisoners or no -prisoners, those men were up to no good: and I'll say it if I live to -be a hundred!" - - * * * * * - -That same afternoon they transhipped the parcels into a cart, and drove -ahead themselves in a light gig, and so came down, a little before -sunset, to the Passage Inn yonder. There, of course, they had to unload -again and wait for the ferry to bring them across to their own parish. -It surprised the Parson a bit to find the ferry-boat lying ready by the -shore and my grandfather standing there head to head with old Arch'laus -Spry, that was constable of Mawnan parish. - -"Hullo, Calvin!" the Parson sings out. "This looks bad--Mawnan and -Manaccan putting their heads together. I hope there's nothing gone -wrong since I've been away?" - -"Aw, Parson dear," says my grandfather, "I'm glad you've come--yea, -glad sure 'nuff. We've a-been enjoying a terrible time!" - -"Then something _has_ gone wrong?" says the Parson. - -"As for that," my grandfather answers, "I only wish I could say yes -or no: for 'twould be a relief even to know the worst." He beckoned -very mysterious-like and led the Parson a couple of hundred yards up -the foreshore, with Arch'laus Spry following. And there they came to -a halt, all three, before a rock that someone had been daubing with -whitewash. On the top of the cliff, right above, was planted a stick -with a little white flag. - -"Now, Sir, as a Justice of the Peace, what d'ee think of it?" - -Parson Polwhele stared from the rock to the stick and couldn't say. -So he turns to Arch'laus Spry and asks: "Any person taken ill in your -parish?" - -"No, Sir." - -"You're sure Billy Johns hasn't been drinking again?" Billy Johns -was the landlord of the Passage Inn, a very ordinary man by rule, -but given to breaking loose among his own liquors. "He seemed all -right yesterday when I hired the trap off him; but he does the most -unaccountable things when he's taken bad." - -"He never did anything so far out of nature as this here; and I can -mind him in six outbreaks," answered my grandfather. "Besides, 'tis not -Billy Johns nor anyone like him." - -"Then you know who did it?" - -"I do and I don't, Sir. But take a look round, if you please." - -The Parson looked up and down and across the river; and, sure enough, -whichever way he turned, his eyes fell on splashes of whitewash and -little flags fluttering. They seemed to stretch right away from -Porthnavas down to the river's mouth; and though he couldn't see it -from where he stood, even Mawnan church-tower had been given a lick of -the brush. - -"But," said the Parson, fairly puzzled, "all this can only have -happened in broad daylight, and you must have caught the fellow at it, -whoever he is." - -"I wouldn't go so far as to say I caught him," answered my grandfather, -modest-like; "but I came upon him a little above Bosahan in the act of -setting up one of his flags, and I asked him, in the King's name, what -he meant by it." - -"And what did he answer?" - -My grandfather looked over his shoulder. "I couldn't, Sir, not for a -pocketful of crowns, and your good lady, so to speak, within hearing." - -"Nonsense, man! She's not within a hundred yards." - -"Well, then, Sir, he up and hoped the devil would fly away with me, -and from that he went on to say----" But here my grandfather came to a -dead halt. "No, Sir, I can't; and as a minister of the Gospel, you'll -never insist on it. He made such horrible statements that I had to go -straight home and read over my old mother's marriage lines. It fairly -dazed me to hear him talk so confident, and she in her grave, poor -soul!" - -"You ought to have demanded his name." - -"I did, Sir; naturally I did. And he told me to go to the naughty place -for it." - -"Well, but what like is he?" - -"Oh, as to that, Sir, a man of ordinary shape, like yourself, in a -plain blue coat and a wig shorter than ordinary; nothing about him to -prepare you for the language he lets fly." - -"And," put in Arch'laus Spry, "he's taken lodgings down to Durgan with -the Widow Polkinghorne, and eaten his dinner--a fowl and a jug of -cider with it. After dinner he hired Robin's boat and went for a row. -I thought it my duty, as he was pushing off, to sidle up in a friendly -way. I said to him, 'The weather, Sir, looks nice and settled': that is -what I said, neither more nor less, but using those very words. What -d'ee think he answered? He said, 'That's capital, my man: now go along -and annoy somebody else.' Wasn't that a disconnected way of talking? -If you ask my opinion, putting two and two together, I say he's most -likely some poor wandering loonatic." - -The evening was dusking down by this time, and Parson Polwhele, though -a good bit puzzled, called to mind that his wife would be getting -anxious to cross the ferry and reach home before dark: so he determined -that nothing could be done before morning, when he promised Arch'laus -Spry to look into the matter. My grandfather he took across in the boat -with him, to look after the parcels and help them up to the Vicarage: -and on the way they talked about a grave that my grandfather had been -digging--he being sexton and parish clerk, as well as constable and the -Parson's right-hand man, as you might call it, in all public matters. - -While they discoursed, Mrs. Polwhele was taking a look about her to -make sure the country hadn't altered while she was away at Plymouth. -And by-and-by she cries out-- - -"Why, my love, whatever are these dabs o' white stuck up and down the -foreshore?" - -The Parson takes a look at my grandfather before answering: "My angel, -to tell you the truth, that's more than we know." - -"Richard, you're concealing something from me," said Mrs. Polwhele. "If -the French have landed and I'm going home to be burnt in my bed, it -shall be with my eyes open." - -"My dear Mary," the Parson argued, "you've a-got the French on your -brain. If the French landed they wouldn't begin by sticking dabs of -whitewash all over the parish; now, would they?" - -"How in the world should I know what a lot of Papists would do or not -do?" she answered. "'Tis no more foolish to my mind than eating frogs -or kissing a man's toe." - -Well, say what the Parson would, the notion had fixed itself in the -poor lady's head. Three times that night she woke in the bed with her -curl-papers crackling for very fright; and the fourth time 'twas at -the sound of a real dido below stairs. Some person was down by the -back-door knocking and rattling upon it with all his might. - -The sun had been up for maybe an hour--the time of year, as I told -you, being near about midsummer--and the Parson, that never wanted for -pluck, jumped out and into his breeches in a twinkling, while his wife -pulled the counterpane over her head. Down along the passage he skipped -to a little window opening over the back porch. - -"Who's there!" he called, and out from the porch stepped my -grandfather, that had risen early and gone to the churchyard to finish -digging the grave before breakfast. "Why, what on the earth is wrong -with ye? I made sure the French had landed, at the least." - -"Couldn't be much worse if they had," said my grandfather. "Some -person've a-stole my shovel, pick, and biddicks." - -"Nonsense!" said the Parson. - -"The corpse won't find it nonsense, Sir, if I don't get 'em back -in time. I left 'em lying, all three, at the bottom of the grave -overnight." - -"And now they're missing?" - -"Not a trace of 'em to be seen." - -"Someone has been playing you a practical joke, Calvin. Here, stop a -moment----" The Parson ran back to his room, fetched a key, and flung -it out into the yard. "That'll unlock the tool-shed in the garden. Get -what you want, and we'll talk about the theft after breakfast. How soon -will the grave be ready?" - -"I can't say sooner than ten o'clock after what has happened." - -"Say ten o'clock, then. This is Saturday, and I've my sermon to prepare -after breakfast. At ten o'clock I'll join you in the churchyard." - - -II - -My grandfather went off to unlock the tool-shed, and the Parson back -to comfort Mrs. Polwhele--which was no easy matter. "There's something -wrong with the parish since I've been away, and that you can't deny," -she declared. "It don't feel like home any longer, and my poor flesh is -shivering like a jelly, and my hand almost too hot to make the butter." -She kept up this lidden all through breakfast, and the meal was no -sooner cleared away than she slipped on a shawl and stepped across to -the churchyard to discuss the robbery. - -The Parson drew a chair to the window, lit his pipe, and pulled out -his pocket-Bible to choose a text for his next day's sermon. But he -couldn't fix his thoughts. Try how he would, they kept harking back -to his travels in the post-chaise, and his wife's story, and those -unaccountable flags and splashes of whitewash. His pipe went out, and -he was getting up to find a light for it, when just at that moment the -garden-gate rattled, and, looking down the path towards the sound, -his eyes fell on a square-cut, fierce-looking man in blue, standing -there with a dirty bag in one hand and a sheaf of tools over his right -shoulder. - -The man caught sight of the Parson at the window, and set down his -tools inside the gate--shovel and pick and biddicks. - -"Good-mornin'! I may come inside, I suppose?" says he, in a gruff tone -of voice. He came up the path and the Parson unlatched the window, -which was one of the long sort reaching down to the ground. - -"My name's Bligh," said the visitor, gruff as before. "You're the -Parson, eh? Bit of an antiquarian, I'm given to understand? These -things ought to be in your line, then, and I hope they are not broken: -I carried them as careful as I could." He opened the bag and emptied it -out upon the table--an old earthenware pot, a rusted iron ring, four -or five burnt bones, and a handful or so of ashes. "Human, you see," -said he, picking up one of the bones and holding it under the Parson's -nose. "One of your ancient Romans, no doubt." - -"Ancient Romans? Ancient Romans?" stammered Parson Polwhele. "Pray, -Sir, where did you get these--these articles?" - -"By digging for them, Sir; in a mound just outside that old Roman camp -of yours." - -"Roman camp? There's no Roman camp within thirty miles of us as the -crow flies: and I doubt if there's one within fifty!" - -"Shows how much you know about it. That's what I complain about in you -parsons: never glimpse a thing that's under your noses. Now, I come -along, making no pretence to be an antiquarian, and the first thing I -see out on your headland yonder, is a Roman camp, with a great mound -beside it----" - -"No such thing, Sir!" the Parson couldn't help interrupting. - -Bligh stared at him for a moment, like a man hurt in his feelings but -keeping hold on his Christian compassion. "Look here," he said; "you -mayn't know it, but I'm a bad man to contradict. This here Roman camp, -as I was sayin'----" - -"If you mean Little Dinnis Camp, Sir, 'tis as round as my hat." - -"Damme, if you interrupt again----" - -"But I will. Here, in my own parlour, I tell you that Little Dinnis is -as round as my hat!" - -"All right; don't lose your temper, shouting out what I never denied. -Round or square, it don't matter a ha'porth to me. This here round -Roman camp----" - -"But I tell you, once more, there's no such thing!" cried the Parson, -stamping his foot. "The Romans never made a round camp in their lives. -Little Dinnis is British; the encampment's British; the mound, as you -call it, is a British barrow; and as for you----" - -"As for me," thunders Bligh, "I'm British too, and don't you forget -it. Confound you, Sir! What the devil do I care for your pettifogging -bones? I'm a British sailor, Sir; I come to your God-forsaken parish on -a Government job, and I happen on a whole shopful of ancient remains. -In pure kindness--pure kindness, mark you--I interrupt my work to dig -'em up; and this is all the thanks I get!" - -"Thanks!" fairly yelled the Parson. "You ought to be horsewhipped, -rather, for disturbing an ancient tomb that's been the apple of my eye -ever since I was inducted to this parish!" Then, as Bligh drew back, -staring: "My poor barrow!" he went on; "my poor, ransacked barrow! But -there may be something to save yet----" and he fairly ran for the door, -leaving Bligh at a standstill. - -For awhile the man stood there like a fellow in a trance, opening and -shutting his mouth, with his eyes set on the doorway where the Parson -had disappeared. Then, his temper overmastering him, with a sweep of -his arm he sent the whole bag of tricks flying on to the floor, kicked -them to right and left through the garden, slammed the gate, pitched -across the road, and flung through the churchyard towards the river -like a whirlwind. - -Now, while this was happening, Mrs. Polwhele had picked her way across -the churchyard, and after chatting a bit with my grandfather over the -theft of his tools, had stepped into the church to see that the place, -and specially the table and communion-rails and the parsonage pew, -was neat and dusted, this being her regular custom after a trip to -Plymouth. And no sooner was she within the porch than who should come -dandering along the road but Arch'laus Spry. The road, as you know, -goes downhill after passing the parsonage gate, and holds on round the -churchyard wall like a sunk way, the soil inside being piled up to the -wall's coping. But, my grandfather being still behindhand with his job, -his head and shoulders showed over the grave's edge. So Arch'laus Spry -caught sight of him. - -"Why, you're the very man I was looking for," says Arch'laus, stopping. - -"Death halts for no man," answers my grandfather, shovelling away. - -"That furrin' fellow is somewheres in this neighbourhood at this very -moment," says Arch'laus, wagging his head. "I saw his boat moored down -by the Passage as I landed. And I've a-got something to report. He was -up and off by three o 'clock this morning, and knocked up the Widow -Polkinghorne, trying to borrow a pick and shovel." - -"Pick and shovel!" My grandfather stopped working and slapped his -thigh. "Then he's the man that've walked off with mine: and a biddicks -too." - -"He said nothing of a biddicks, but he's quite capable of it." - -"Surely in the midst of life we are in death," said my grandfather. "I -was al'ays inclined to believe that text, and now I'm sure of it. Let's -go and see the Parson." - -He tossed his shovel on to the loose earth above the grave and was -just about to scramble out after it when the churchyard gate shook on -its hinges and across the path and by the church porch went Bligh, -as I've said, like a whirlwind. Arch'laus Spry, that had pulled his -chin up level with the coping, ducked at the sight of him, and even my -grandfather ducked down a little in the grave as he passed. - -"The very man!" said Spry, under his breath. - -"The wicked flee, whom no man pursueth," said my grandfather, looking -after the man; but Bligh turned his head neither to the right hand nor -to the left. - -"Oh--oh--oh!" squealed a voice inside the church. - -"Whatever was _that_," cries Arch'laus Spry, giving a jump. They both -stared at the porch. - -"Oh--oh--oh!" squealed the voice again. - -"It certainly comes from inside," said Arch'laus Spry. - -"It's Mrs. Polwhele!" said my grandfather; "and by the noise of it -she's having hysterics." - -And with that he scrambled up and ran; and Spry heaved himself over -the wall and followed. And there, in the south aisle, they found -Mrs. Polwhele lying back in a pew and kicking like a stallion in a -loose-box. - -My grandfather took her by the shoulders, while Spry ran for the jug of -holy water that stood by the font. As it happened, 'twas empty: but the -sight of it fetched her to, and she raised herself up with a shiver. - -"The Frenchman!" she cries out, pointing. "The Frenchman--on the coach! -O Lord, deliver us!" - -For a moment, as you'll guess, my grandfather was puzzled: but he -stared where the poor lady pointed, and after a bit he began to -understand. I daresay you've seen our church, Sir, and if so, you must -have taken note of a monstrous fine fig-tree growing out of the south -wall--"the marvel of Manaccan," we used to call it. When they restored -the church the other day nobody had the heart to destroy the tree, -for all the damage it did to the building--having come there the Lord -knows how, and grown there since the Lord knows when. So they took and -patched up the wall around it, and there it thrives. But in the times -I'm telling of, it had split the wall so that from inside you could -look straight through the crack into the churchyard; and 'twas to this -crack that Mrs. Polwhele's finger pointed. - -"Eh?" said my grandfather. "The furriner[4] that went by just now, was -it he that frightened ye, Ma'am?" - -[Footnote 4: In Cornwall a "foreigner" is anyone from east of the -Tamar.] - -Mrs. Polwhele nodded. - -"But what put it into your head that he's a Frenchman?" - -"Because French is his language. With these very ears I heard him -talk it! He joined the coach at Torpoint, and when I spoke him fair -in honest English not a word could he answer me. Oh, Calvin, Calvin! -what have I done--a poor weak woman--to be mixed up in these plots and -invasions?" - -But my grandfather couldn't stop to answer that question, for a -terrible light was breaking in upon him. "A Frenchman?" he called out. -"And for these twenty-four hours he's been marking out the river and -taking soundings!" He glared at Arch'laus Spry, and Arch'laus dropped -the brazen ewer upon the pavement and smote his forehead. "The Devil," -says he, "is among us, having great wrath!" - -"And for aught we know," says my grandfather, speaking in a slow and -fearsome whisper, "the French ships may be hanging off the coast while -we'm talking here!" - -"You don't mean to tell us," cried Mrs. Polwhele, sitting up stiff in -the pew, "that this man has been mapping out the river under your very -noses!" - -"He has, Ma'am. Oh, I see it all! What likelier place could they choose -on the whole coast? And from here to Falmouth what is it but a step?" - -"Let them that be in Judæa flee to the mountains," said Arch'laus Spry -solemn-like. - -"And me just home from Plymouth with a fine new roasting-jack!" chimed -in Mrs. Polwhele. "As though the day of wrath weren't bad enough -without _that_ waste o' money! Run, Calvin--run and tell the Vicar this -instant--no, no, don't leave me behind! Take me home, that's a good -man: else I shall faint at my own shadow!" - -Well, they hurried off to the Vicarage: but, of course, there was no -Parson to be found, for by this time he was half-way towards Little -Dinnis, and running like a madman under the hot sun to see what damage -had befallen his dearly-loved camp. The servants hadn't seen him leave -the house; ne'er a word could they tell of him except that Martha, the -cook, when she cleared away the breakfast things, had left him seated -in his chair and smoking. - -"But what's the meaning of this?" cried out Mrs. Polwhele, pointing to -the tablecloth that Bligh had pulled all awry in his temper. "And the -window open too!" - -"And--hulloa!" says my grandfather, staring across the patch of turf -outside. "Surely here's signs of a violent struggle. Human, by the look -of it," says he, picking up a thigh-bone and holding it out towards -Mrs. Polwhele. - -She began to shake like a leaf. "Oh, Calvin!" she gasps out. "Oh, -Calvin, not in this short time--it couldn't be!" - -"Charred, too," says my grandfather, inspecting it: and with that they -turned at a cry from Martha the cook, that was down on hands and knees -upon the carpet. - -"Ashes! See here, mistress--ashes all over your best carpet!" - -The two women stared at the fireplace: but, of course, that told them -nothing, being empty, as usual at the time of year, with only a few -shavings stuck about it by way of ornament. Martha, the first to pick -up her wits, dashed out into the front hall. - -"Gone without his hat, too!" she fairly screamed, running her eye along -the row of pegs. - -Mrs. Polwhele clasped her hands. "In the midst of life we are in -death," said Arch'laus Spry: "that's my opinion if you ask it." - -"Gone! Gone without his hat, like the snuff of a candle!" Mrs. Polwhele -dropped into a chair and rocked herself and moaned. - -My grandfather banged his fist on the table. He never could abide the -sight of a woman in trouble. - -"Missus," says he, "if the Parson's anywhere alive, we'll find 'en: and -if that Frenchman be Old Nick himself, he shall rue the day he ever set -foot in Manaccan parish! Come'st along, Arch'laus----" - -He took Spry by the arm and marched him out and down the garden path. -There, by the gate, what should his eyes light upon but his own stolen -tools! But by this time all power of astonishment was dried up within -him. He just raised his eyes aloft, as much as to say, "Let the sky -open and rain miracles!" and then and there he saw, coming down the -road, the funeral that both he and the Parson had clean forgotten. - -The corpse was an old man called 'Pollas Hockaday; and Sam Trewhella, -a fish-curer that had married Hockaday's eldest daughter, walked next -behind the coffin as chief mourner. My grandfather waited by the gate -for the procession to come by, and with that Trewhella caught sight of -him, and, says he, taking down the handkerchief from his nose-- - -"Well, you're a pretty fellow, I must say! What in thunder d'ee mean by -not tolling the minute-bell?" - -"Take 'en back," answers my grandfather, pointing to the coffin. "Take -'en back, 'co!" - -"Eh?" says Trewhella. "Answer my question, I tell 'ee. You've hurt my -feelings and the feelings of everyone connected with the deceased: and -if this weren't not-azackly the place for it, I'd up and give you a -dashed good hiding," says he. - -"Aw, take 'en back," my grandfather goes on. "Take 'en back, my dears, -and put 'en somewhere, cool and temporary! The grave's not digged, and -the Parson's kidnapped, and the French be upon us, and down by the -river ther's a furrin spy taking soundings at this moment! In the name -of King George," said he, remembering that he was constable, "I command -you all except the females to come along and collar 'en!" - - * * * * * - -While this was going on, Sir, Bligh had found his boat--which he'd left -by the shore--and was pulling up the river to work off his rage. Ne'er -a thought had he, as he flounced through the churchyard, of the train -of powder he dribbled behind him: but all the way he blew off steam, -cursing Parson Polwhele and the whole cloth from Land's End to Johnny -Groats, and glowering at the very gates by the road as though he wanted -to kick 'em to relieve his feelings. But when he reached his boat -and began rowing, by little and little the exercise tamed him. With -his flags and whitewash he'd marked out most of the lines he wanted -for soundings: but there were two creeks he hadn't yet found time to -explore--Porthnavas, on the opposite side, and the very creek by which -we're sitting. So, as he came abreast of this one, he determined to -have a look at it; and after rowing a hundred yards or so, lay on his -oars, lit his pipe, and let his boat drift up with the tide. - -The creek was just the same lonesome place that it is to-day, the only -difference being that the pallace[5] at the entrance had a roof on -it then, and was rented by Sam Trewhella--the same that followed old -Hockaday's coffin, as I've told you. But above the pallace the woods -grew close to the water's edge, and lined both shores with never a -clearing till you reached the end, where the cottage stands now and the -stream comes down beside it: in those days there wasn't any cottage, -only a piece of swampy ground. I don't know that Bligh saw much in -the scenery, but it may have helped to soothe his mind: for by-and-by -he settled himself on the bottom-boards, lit another pipe, pulled -his hat over his nose, and lay there blinking at the sky, while the -boat drifted up, hitching sometimes in a bough and sometimes floating -broadside-on to the current, until she reached this bit of marsh and -took the mud very gently. - -[Footnote 5: Fish-store.] - -After a while, finding she didn't move, Bligh lifted his head for a -look about him and found that he'd come to the end of the creek. He put -out a hand and felt the water, that was almost luke-warm with running -over the mud. The trees shut him in; not a living soul was in sight; -and by the quietness he might have been a hundred miles from anywhere. -So what does my gentleman do but strip himself for a comfortable bathe. - -He folded his clothes very neatly in the stern-sheets, waded out across -the shallows as naked as a babe, and took to the water with so much -delight that after a minute or so he must needs lie on his back and -kick. He splashed away, one leg after the other, with his face turned -towards the shore, and was just on the point of rolling over for -another swim, when, as he lifted a leg for one last kick, his eyes fell -on the boat. And there on the top of his clothes, in the stern of her, -sat my grandfather sucking a pipe. - -Bligh let down his legs and stood up, touching bottom, but neck-deep in -water. - -"Hi, you there!" he sings out. - -"Wee, wee, parleyvou!" my grandfather answers, making use of pretty -well all the French he knew. - -"Confound you, Sir, for an impident dirty dog! What in the name of -jiminy"--I can't give you, Sir, the exact words, for my grandfather -could never be got to repeat 'em--"What in the name of jiminy d'ee mean -by sitting on my clothes!" - -"Wee, wee," my grandfather took him up, calm as you please. "You -shocked me dreadful yesterday with your blasphemious talk: but now, -seeing 'tis French, I don't mind so much. Take your time: but when you -come out you go to prison. Wee, wee--preeson," says my grandfather. - -"Are you drunk?" yells Bligh. "Get off my clothes this instant, you -hobnailed son of a something-or-other!" And he began striding for shore. - -"In the name of his Majesty King George the Third I charge you to come -along quiet," says my grandfather, picking up a stretcher. - -[Illustration: "IN THE NAME OF HIS MAJESTY KING GEORGE III. I CHARGE -YOU TO COME ALONG QUIET."] - -Bligh, being naked and unarmed, casts a look round for some way to -help himself. He was a plucky fellow enough in a fight, as I've said: -but I leave you to guess what he felt like when to right and left of -him the bushes parted, and forth stepped half-a-dozen men in black -suits with black silk weepers a foot and a half wide tied in great -bunches round their hats. These were Sam Trewhella, of course, and the -rest of the funeral-party, that had left the coffin in a nice shady -spot inside the Vicarage garden-gate, and come along to assist the law. -They had brought along pretty nearly all the menkind of the parish -beside: but these, being in their work-a-day clothes, didn't appear, -and for a reason you'll learn by-and-by. All that Bligh saw was this -dismal company of mourners backed by a rabble of school-children, the -little ones lining the shore and staring at him fearsomely with their -fingers in their mouths. - -For the moment Bligh must have thought himself dreaming. But there they -stood, the men in black and the crowd of children, and my grandfather -with the stretcher ready, and the green woods so quiet all round. And -there he stood up to the ribs in water, and the tide and his temper -rising. - -"Look here, you something-or-other yokels," he called out, "if this is -one of your village jokes, I promise you shall smart for it. Leave the -spot this moment, fetch that idiot out of the boat, and take away the -children. I want to dress, and it isn't decent!" - -"Mounseer," answers my grandfather, "I daresay you've a-done it -for your country; but we've a-caught you, and now you must go to -prison--wee, wee, to preeson," he says, lisping it in a Frenchified way -so as to make himself understood. - -Bligh began to foam. "The longer you keep up this farce, my fine -fellows, the worse you'll smart for it! There's a magistrate in this -parish, as I happen to know." - -"There _was_," said my grandfather; "but we've strong reasons to -believe he's been made away with." - -"The only thing we could find of 'en," put in Arch'laus Spry, "was a -shin-bone and a pint of ashes. I don't know if the others noticed it, -but to my notion there was a sniff of brimstone about the premises; and -I've always been remarkable for my sense of smell." - -"You won't deny," my grandfather went on, "that you've been making a -map of this here river; for here it is in your tail-coat pocket." - -"You insolent ruffian, put that down at once! I tell you that I'm a -British officer and a gentleman!" - -"_And_ a Papist," went on my grandfather, holding up a ribbon with -a bullet threaded to it. ('Twas the bullet Bligh used to weigh out -allowances with on his voyage in the open boat after the mutineers had -turned him adrift from the _Bounty_, and he wore it ever after.) "See -here, friends: did you ever know an honest Protestant to wear such a -thing about him inside his clothes?" - -"Whether you're a joker or a numskull is more than I can fathom," says -Bligh; "but for the last time I warn you I'm a British officer, and -you'll go to jail for this as sure as eggs." - -"The question is, Will you surrender and come along quiet?" - -"No, I won't," says Bligh, sulky as a bear; "not if I stay here all -night!" - -With that my grandfather gave a wink to Sam Trewhella, and Sam -Trewhella gave a whistle, and round the point came Trewhella's -sean-boat that the village lads had fetched out and launched from his -store at the mouth of the creek. Four men pulled her with all their -might; in the stern stood Trewhella's foreman, Jim Bunt, with his -two-hundred-fathom net: and along the shore came running the rest of -the lads to see the fun. - -"Heva, heva!" yelled Sam Trewhella, waving his hat with the black -streamers. - -The sean-boat swooped up to Bligh with a rush, and then, just as he -faced upon it with his fists up, to die fighting, it swerved off on a -curve round him, and Jim Bunt began shooting the sean hand over hand -like lightning. Then the poor man understood, and having no mind to -be rolled up and afterwards tucked in a sean-net, he let out an oath, -ducked his head, and broke for the shore like a bull. But 'twas no -manner of use. As soon as he touched land a dozen jumped for him and -pulled him down. They handled him as gentle as they could, for he -fought with fists, legs, and teeth, and his language was awful: but my -grandfather in his foresight had brought along a couple of wainropes, -and within ten minutes they had my gentleman trussed, heaved him into -the boat, covered him over, and were rowing him off and down the creek -to land him at Helford quay. - - * * * * * - -By this 'twas past noon; and at one o'clock, or a little before, Parson -Polwhele come striding along home from Little Dinnis. He had tied a -handkerchief about his head to keep off the sun; his hands and knees -were coated with earth; and he sweated like a furze-bush in a mist, -for the footpath led through cornfields and the heat was something -terrible. Moreover, he had just called the funeral to mind; and this -and the damage he'd left at Little Dinnis fairly hurried him into a -fever. - -But worse was in store. As he drew near the Parsonage, he spied a man -running towards him: and behind the man the most dreadful noises were -sounding from the house. The Parson came to a halt and swayed where he -stood. - -"Oh, Calvin! Calvin!" he cried--for the man running was my -grandfather--"don't try to break it gently, but let me know the worst!" - -"Oh, blessed day! Oh, fearful and yet blessed day!" cries my -grandfather, almost catching him in both arms. "So you're not dead! So -you're not dead, the Lord be praised, but only hurt!" - -"Hurt?" says the Parson. "Not a bit of it--or only in my feelings. -Oh, 'tis the handkerchief you're looking at? I put that up against -sunstroke. But whatever do these dreadful sounds mean? Tell me the -worst, Calvin, I implore you!" - -"Oh, as for that," says my grandfather cheerfully, "the Frenchman's the -worst by a long way--not but what your good lady made noise enough when -she thought you'd been made away with: and afterwards, when she went -upstairs and, taking a glance out of window, spied a long black coffin -laid out under the lilac bushes, I'm told you could hear her a mile -away. But she've been weakening this half-hour: her nature couldn't -keep it up: whereas the longer we keep that Frenchman, the louder he -seems to bellow." - -"Heaven defend us, Calvin!"--the Parson's eyes fairly rolled in his -head--"are you gone clean crazed? Frenchman! What Frenchman?" - -"The same that frightened Mrs. Polwhele, Sir, upon the coach. We -caught him drawing maps of the river, and very nigh tucked him in Sam -Trewhella's sean: and now he's in your tool-shed right and tight, and -here's the key, Sir, making so bold, that you gave me this morning. But -I didn't like to take him into the house, with your good lady tumbling -out of one fit into another. Hark to 'en, now! Would you ever believe -one man could make such a noise." - -"Fits! My poor, dear, tender Mary having fits!" The Parson broke away -for the house and dashed upstairs three steps at a time: and when she -caught sight of him, Mrs. Polwhele let out a louder squeal than ever. -But the next moment she was hanging round his neck, and laughing and -sobbing by turns. And how long they'd have clung to one another there's -no knowing, if it hadn't been for the language pouring from the -tool-shed. - -"My dear," said the Parson, holding himself up and listening, "I don't -think that can possibly be a Frenchman. He's too fluent." - -Mrs. Polwhele listened too, but after a while she was forced to cover -her face with both hands. "Oh, Richard, I've often heard 'em described -as gay, but--but they can't surely be so gay as all that!" - -The Parson eased her into an armchair and went downstairs to the -courtyard, and there, as you may suppose, he found the parish gathered. - -"Stand back all of you," he ordered. "I've a notion that some mistake -has been committed: but you had best hold yourselves ready in case the -prisoner tries to escape." - -"But, Parson dear, you're never going to unlock that door!" cried my -grandfather. - -"If you'll stand by me, Calvin," says the Parson, plucky as ginger, and -up he steps to the very door, all the parish holding its breath. - -He tapped once--no answer: twice--and no more answer than before. There -was a small trap open in the roof and through this the language kept -pouring with never a stop, only now and then a roar like a bull's. But -at the third knock it died down to a sort of rumbling, and presently -came a shout, "Who's there?" - -"A clergyman and justice of the peace," answers the Parson. - -"I'll have your skin for this!" - -"But you'll excuse me----" - -"I'll have your skin for this, and your blood in a bottle! I'm a -British officer and a gentleman, and I'll have you stuffed and put in a -glass case, so sure as my name's Bligh!" - -"Bligh?" says the Parson, opening the door. - -"Any relation to the Blighs of St. Tudy? Oh, no--it can't be!" he -stammered, taken all aback to see the man stark naked on the threshold. -"Why--why, you're the gentleman that called this morning!" he went on, -the light breaking in upon him: "excuse me, I recognise you by--by the -slight scar on your face." - - * * * * * - -Well, Sir, there was nothing for Bligh to do--the whole parish staring -at him--but to slip back into the shed and put on the clothes my -grandfather handed in at the door: and while he was dressing the whole -truth came out. I won't say that he took the Parson's explanations in a -nice spirit: for he vowed to have the law on every one concerned. But -that night he walked back to Falmouth and took the London coach. As -for Helford River, 'twasn't charted that year nor for a score of years -after. And now you know how this creek came by its name; and I'll say -again, as I began, that a bad temper is an affliction, whoever owns -it. - - - - -THE MAN BEHIND THE CURTAIN - -AN EXTRACT FROM THE MEMOIRS OF GABRIEL FOOT, HIGHWAYMAN - - -I sit down to this chapter of my Memoirs with an unwonted relish, -because it exhibits me as an instrument in the hands of Providence. -Doubtless, in our business, we perform that function oftener than the -law recognises, but seldom so directly, so unequivocally, as in the -adventure I shall now relate. And I say this, not because it left -me with a title to one of the neatest little estates in the West of -England, but because I, the one man necessary to the situation, dropped -upon it (so to speak) with my hands in my pockets. I had never before -happened within thirty miles of Tregarrick town: I walked in at one -end purposing only to walk out at the other: and, but for a child's -practical joke, I had done so and forgotten the place. It was touch and -go, in short: the sort of thing to set you speculating on the possible -extent of man's missed opportunities. - -I had stepped ashore, after a voyage from Hull (undertaken from -expedience and not for health), upon the Market Strand at Falmouth, -with one shilling and fourpence in my pocket. I have been in lower -water, but never with such a job before me; and I started to tramp -it back to London with little more than a dog's determination to get -there somehow. The third afternoon found me in Tregarrick, wet through, -sullen, and moderately hungry. The time of year was October: all day it -had been raining and blowing chilly from the north-west; and traffic -had deserted the unlovely Fore Street when, as the town-clock chimed a -quarter to five, I passed the windows and open archway of the Red Hart -Hotel. A gust from the archway brought me up staggering and clutching -my hat: I faced round to it, and, in so doing, caught a momentary -glimpse, above the wire blind in a lower window, of a bald-headed man -within standing with his back to the street; and at the same instant -heard a coin drop on the pavement behind me. - -A richer man would have halted, turned and scanned the pavement as -I did. But a richer man would probably have taken longer to assure -himself that nothing had been lost from his pocket, and would certainly -have taken longer to suspect that the coin might have been tossed to -him in charity. I flung a glance up at the window overhead, and spied a -penny dangling over the sill by a string. - -At once I recognised the secular jest; and stepped across the roadway -to get a look at the performer. As I did so, an elderly man in an -Inverness cape and rusty hat and suit emerged briskly from the archway -of the inn, glanced up at the weather, and passed along the pavement -beneath the window. - -Thereupon, I saw the trick played to perfection. A curly-headed -youngster popped into view, leaned out, rang the coin down at the very -heels of the pedestrian, and whisked it as nimbly up. The man whipped -round and, seeing nothing, pulled out a pair of spectacles and began to -adjust them. I heard the youngster chuckle overhead as he stooped and -a deflected gust from the archway, skimming his hat into the gutter, -revealed the same bald head I had observed above the wire blind. - -Just then, three other faces appeared; one above the same blind and -two at the upper window behind the child. And a moment later I had -spun right-about on my heel and was apparently in deep study of a damp -placard upon a hoarding opposite. - -The two faces at the upper window were interesting, had there been -time to consider them; and one--that of a lady, obviously the child's -mother--struck me as uncommonly beautiful, though pale and desperately -sad. Beside her stood a man, as obviously the father; a handsome -gentleman, with the flushed face and glassy stare of a drunkard. He -stood there chuckling at the trick, and even the lady was smiling -indulgently until she leaned out and caught a glimpse of the victim: -whereupon, with a sudden terrified snatch, she drew the boy back from -the window, and out of sight. - -It was then, as I looked at the bald-headed man, seeking some -explanation of her terror, that I caught sight of the face staring over -the wire blind in the lower window, and lost not a second in presenting -my back to it. - -It belonged to an old acquaintance of mine. "Acquaintance," I say, -because Robert Leggat and I had never been able to stomach each -other. There was perhaps a trifle too much of the gentleman about -both of us--enough, at any rate, to suggest rivalry, though we hunted -different game. "Buck" Leggat was by gifts and election a sedentary -scoundrel, with a tongue and a presence fatally plausible among women -and clergymen, and a neat adaptable pen. Whence he came, or of what -upbringing, I could never discover. I had heard some hint of an Oxford -education, but he never alluded to that University in my company. -Flash notes had brought him to the Old Bailey, and then his elegant -deportment and a nice point of circumstantial evidence had saved his -neck. This was about four years ago, and I had supposed him to be -somewhere in the Plantations when his bad handsome face confounded me -across Tregarrick Fore Street. He wore a clergyman's bands, too. - -By good luck he had not recognised me, but was occupied with the -bald-headed man who still groped on the pavement. The placard which I -appeared to be studying announced the Sale by Auction of a considerable -country estate, and my eyes roamed among such words as "farms," -"tenements," "messuages," "acres," while I cast up the possible profit -of my discovery. Here was I, pretty hungry, with barely the coin for a -night's lodging. Here was Leggat, escaped convict, lording it in the -coffee-room of a hotel, masquerading as a parson; therefore up to some -game--a bold one--by the look of it a paying one. Decidedly I ought, -with a little prudence, to handle a percentage. - -I edged away from the hoarding to the shop-front on my left--a -watchmaker's; and so, still presenting my back to the Red Hart, past a -saddler's, a tailor's, the entrance of the County Hall, and the Town -Clerk's office. Here, out of view from Leggat's window, I turned, -stepped across the street into the hotel archway, and walked boldly -into the coffee-room which opened out of it on the left. - -Leggat had disappeared. The room in fact was empty. - -I rang the bell, and after some minutes it was answered by a waitress, -a decent girl, though somewhat towzled. - -"There was a clergyman here a moment since," said I. - -"That will be Mr. Addison. Do you wish to see him?" She eyed me with -no great favour, and indeed my clothes ill agreed with the respectable -dinginess of the coffee-room. - -"So Addison's the name!" thought I, "and a pretty good one too. I -wonder if Leggat has the face to claim descent from the essayist. He's -capable of it." I pulled out my only shilling. "Well, yes, I want to -have a talk with him: but I'll sit down and wait till he comes, and -meanwhile you might bring me a glass of rum hot, with one slice of -lemon. Mr. Addison is staying the night here, I suppose?" - -"I don't know," she answered. "Anyhow, he won't be riding home to -Welland till late. But hadn't you better come to the bar for your rum?" - -"Well," said I, "if it's all the same to you, I'll stay where I am. To -tell the truth, my dear, I've come to see Mr. Addison about putting up -my banns: and that's a delicate matter, eh!" - -Upon this she began to eye me more favourably, as I expected. There's -an _esprit de corps_ among women--or an _esprit de sexe_, if you -will--which softens them towards the marrying man. Surrender to one, -surrender to all. "But you don't belong to Welland parish," said she. - -"Quite right. It takes two to make a wedding, and the young woman -belongs to Welland." - -"Who is she?" - -"Aha!" I winked at her knowingly. - -"I come from Welland parish myself," she went on, her curiosity fairly -piqued. - -"Then if you happen to be going home to church next Sunday keep your -ears open after the second lesson." - -She tossed her chin and went off on her errand, but returning in three -minutes with the grog, must needs have another try. "I reckon it's -Susie Martin," she declared, and nodded at me with conviction in her -eye. - -"Well, now, supposing it's Susie--and, mind you, I'm not admitting -it--you won't forbid the banns, I hope?" - -"La, no! And I'll wager Mr. Addison won't, either," she tittered. - -Plainly, here was an answer worth pondering. "You seem to be pretty -full in the bar, to-night?" I observed, casually, to gain time; and, -indeed, a hubbub of voices from across the archway smote on our ears -through the double baize doors. - -"The auctioneer is standing treat." - -"Oh!--ah, yes--the auctioneer, to be sure," I murmured. - -"The sale won't begin in the Long Room before six: he has half-an-hour -for wetting their whistles. Seeming to me, you'll be lucky if you -get Mr. Addison to attend to _your_ business before it's over. But, -perhaps," she added archly, "you'll like to have a word with Susie, -to fill up the time? Shall I send her word that you are here? I dare -say she'll find a chance to slip down to you; that is, if her mistress -attends the auction." - -"But will she?" I asked, doing my best to look wise. - -She nodded sagely. "I shouldn't wonder. She'll want to look after the -squire; he's more than half drunk already." - -"It's plain you're a clever girl," I said; "but we'll let Susie wait -for a while. And my business can wait on Mr. Addison. If his is an -auction, mine is notoriously a lottery." - -"There's one thing to console you," she answered smartly and (in the -light of later knowledge I am bound to add) wittily; "you aren't -drawing a blank." And with this shaft she left me. - -Now the girl's talk was nothing short of heathen Greek to me, as -doubtless it is to the reader, and I sat for ten minutes at least -digesting it with the aid of my grog. Here was Leggat, my quarry, -identified with a Mr. Addison, incumbent or curate of a country -parish within riding distance of Tregarrick. He was here to attend an -auction. My thoughts flew to the bill I had been pretending to study -half-an-hour before; but unfortunately I had given it no particular -attention, and could only remember now that it advertised an estate of -good acreage. The name "Welland," indeed, struck me as familiar, but I -could not refer it to the bill, and must pull up for the moment and try -a cast upon a fresh scent--Susie Martin. Mr. Addison, _alias_ Leggat, -is not likely to forbid her banns, whoever she may be; in other -words, won't be sorry to see her married. And Susie is a servant--of -a mistress who will probably be attending this auction--to look after -a drunken husband, who presumably, therefore, is also concerned in -the auction. I recalled the two faces at the upper window, the one -tipsy and the other sad, and felt pretty sure of having fixed Susie's -employers. I recalled the lady's start of terror as she had caught -sight of the bald-headed man below, and that I had first seen the -bald head behind the window out of which Leggat had looked a minute -later. If the bald-headed man had been talking with Leggat, this might -connect her terror with Leggat. And both she and Leggat were to attend -the auction. But what was this auction? And who the dickens was the -bald-headed man? - -The tangle--as the reader will admit--was a complicated one. But so far -fortune had served me fairly; and considering the adventure as a game, -in my knowledge of Leggat and his ignorance of my being anywhere in -the neighborhood, I still held the two best trumps. In speculating on -the possible strength of these two cards a new opening occurred to me. -I had come with the purpose of forcing Leggat to buy me off or admit -me into his game. But might there not be more profit, as there would -certainly be less risk, in taking a hand against him? I had no fancy -for him as a partner. I knew him for an unhealthy villain, with an -instinct for preying on the weak, a born enemy of widows and orphans. -If only I could discover what the stakes were, and what cards the other -side held! Well, but I could have a try for this, even. I could, for -instance, apply to the squire for a job, and this might throw me in the -way of Susie Martin. - -I stepped to the baize door, and passed out upon the archway. Six yards -to the right, the Boots, with his back to me, was fixing a ladder to -climb it and light the great lantern over the entrance. To my left a -broad staircase ran up into the darkness. I tip-toed towards it, gained -the stairs, and mounted them swiftly, but without noise, guiding myself -by the handrail. - -The stairs ran up to the first floor in two flights, with a bend about -half-way. At the top of the second flight I found myself facing a -pitch-dark corridor. The rooms facing the street must (I knew) be on my -right; but as I groped along, my palm found the recess of a doorway on -my left, and pressed open the door which stood just ajar. I drew back -and listened: then, hearing no sound, poked my head cautiously within. - -The room was dark, but the glow of a dying fire at the farther end -gave me some idea of its dimensions. A faint reflection of this glow -fell upon the polished surface of something which I guessed to be a -mahogany table-leg, and, after a second or two, I perceived, or thought -I perceived, two heavily-curtained windows, reaching almost to the top -of the wall opposite. - -I was reconnoitring so, in the recess of the doorway, when I heard a -low tapping far up the corridor, and withdrew my head in time to see -a door open and the faint ray of a candle fall upon a figure standing -there, about twenty yards from my hiding-place; the black-coated figure -of Mark Leggat. - -"Hullo!" I said to myself. "Now for Susie!" - -It was not Susie, however, who stepped out and, closing the door behind -her, confronted Leggat, candle in hand. It was the pale lady I had seen -at the window. - -They stood for a moment conversing--so their attitude told me--in short -whispers; and then came slowly down the passage towards me, the lady -appearing to protest whilst Leggat persuaded and reassured her. At -first I took it for granted they would enter one of the doors opposite; -but, as they still came on, I saw that I must either retreat or be -discovered. - -I backed, therefore, around the half-open door and into the room. Then, -as their voices drew near, it flashed on me that this might be the room -they were seeking. I took three breathless paces across it, and found -the table's edge. Guiding myself by this, and guided by the mercy of -Heaven, which kept my feet from striking against the furniture, I found -myself within three yards of the window nearest to the fireplace, with -just time enough to make a dash for cover, and whip behind the curtain -before Leggat pushed the door wide, and the pair entered the room. - -"You _must_ give me five minutes!" Leggat was saying. "I tell you it's -not for my sake, but for yours; it's your last chance!" Then, as the -lady made no answer--"You did not believe you had another chance?" he -asked. - -"There can be none!" she answered now. "You have ruined me; you have -ruined us all: and it was my fault for not warning Harry in time." - -"My dear Ethel," he began; but a gesture of hers must have interrupted -him, for he checked himself, and went on--"Very well, then, my dear -Mrs. Carthew, if you prefer it; you are at once too weak and too -scrupulous. A fatal defect, although you make it charming! Until -too late, you hid from yourself that you loved me. When that became -impossible you ran for shelter behind your vows and a theory--which you -know in your heart to be impossible--that I, who had ventured so much -for you, did not love you." - -"Love!" she echoed hoarsely. "What love could it have been that sought -this way?" - -"Well, as it happens, it _was_ a way. Harry? Tut-tut, with Harry I was -merely the handiest excuse for going to the devil. Suppose you had -never set eyes on me. You know well enough he was bound to gamble away -Welland sooner or later, just as he will sooner or later drink himself -dead. I am sorry for the child; but, look you, I am going to be frank. -It was just through the child I hoped to get you. To save Welland for -_him_ I believed you would follow your heart and take my help with -my love. You wouldn't. You couldn't help loving me, but--as you put -it--you are a good woman: and even now, with the sale but an hour away -and a sot of a husband to lead off with poverty, you won't." - -She had set down the candle on the table; and now, having made a -peephole between the two curtains, I saw her lift her head proudly. - -"No," she said, "to my shame I loved you; but you would buy me, and I -am not to be bought." - -"I know it," he answered, and let out a grim laugh. "But on one point -I am going to prove you mistaken. You believe that because I tried -bribery I did not love you. You win by that error; but it is an error -nevertheless, as I am going to prove." - -While her eyes questioned him he drew a roll of notes from his pocket. - -"Your fond brother-in-law intends to buy Welland," said he. - -"James?" - -"To be sure," he nodded while he ran through the notes with finger and -thumb. "As the eldest brother, James Carthew wants Welland, to add -it to the entailed estates. He has always wanted it: but these eight -months, since that infant was born to him, he has wanted it ten times -more. To-night he bids for it: and for decency's sake he bids through -me--which is precisely where he comes to grief." - -"I don't understand." - -Leggat went on silently counting the notes. "Three thousand, five -hundred," he answered; "the deposit money and a trifle over, in case -of accidents. James Carthew is a rich man. I should reckon him up at a -hundred and twenty thousand, and be within the mark." - -"But why should he employ you?" - -"In the first place, I suppose, because I've played the game for him -throughout, and played it pretty successfully." - -"_You?_" - -He nodded. "You don't suppose Harry was playing against _me_ all this -while? My dear lady, you cannot ruin a man at the cards without some -capital of your own; that is, supposing you play straight, as I beg to -observe that I did. No, no: I had a backer, and that backer was your -amiable brother-in-law." - -"But why?" - -"Simply because a steady-going man like James, however much he inherits -by entail, resents the choicest portion of the property--which does not -happen to be entailed--being willed away to a loose dog of a younger -brother. And when that younger brother marries and has a son, whereas -he has married a childless woman, he resents it yet more bitterly. -He cannot digest the grievance that, when he dies, the whole must go -to the son of the brother who sits and drinks the wine in Naboth's -vineyard. But, as it happens, his childless wife dies, and presto! he -marries again. At a decent interval a child is born, and now is his -time to play a tit-for-tat." - -"He always hated us, I know," she murmured. "But _you_----" - -"But I," he answered gaily, "am about to spoil that pretty game--and -for your sake. Yes, and although you don't know how, and will never -know how, I am going to risk my neck for it." He tossed the bundle of -notes across the table towards her. She put out a hand as it rolled off -the table's edge and dropped at her feet. "Count them: because I have -to use them to-night to buy Welland back for you." And now there was -a real thrill in his voice. "Count them," he insisted: "they are only -the first-fruits, and after to-night you may never see me again: they -are only the deposit on the price, and after the auction I shall ride -away--not back to Welland Vicarage. But I have a word to leave, or to -send, for Master James Carthew, and if these notes do not buy Welland -back for you I am mistaken. I am what I am, and from what we are such -poor devils as I cannot escape. But at least I have loved you, and in -the end you shall be sure of it. Count them!" - -He wheeled about on the words as the door was flung open. On the -threshold stood Squire Harry Carthew. - -He was white in the face and more than half-drunk. Under one arm he -carried a leather-covered case and a pair of foils. His gaze wandered -from his wife to Leggat, then back again to his wife. - -"I want," said he, addressing her with husky solemnity, "a word with -Mr. Addison in private." She bent her head and moved from the room, and -he bowed as she passed, but somewhat spoiled the effect by shutting the -door upon her train. - -"I think," he said, closing the door a second time and locking it upon -her--and his tone grew suddenly sharp, though he remained none the less -drunk--"I think, Mr. Addison, we need waste no time. My wife's maid, -Susie, has told me all that is necessary. You will choose one of those -pistols, and we can settle the matter here and now. No!"--for Leggat -had begun to edge towards the packet of notes lying on the floor--"you -are not to stir, please, until we understand one another." He laid the -foils on the table and held out the case. Leggat took the pistol next -to his hand. - -"You are drunk, Carthew." - -"Am I? Well, that is likely enough, and as a sportsman you won't object -to allow for it in our arrangements." He slipped the door-key into -his breeches pocket and, still holding the pistol in his right hand, -leaned forward and laid his left on the base of the candlestick. "You -start from that end of the room, and I from this by the fireplace. Are -you ready? Here, take one of the foils too. After I have blown the -candle out you will remain at your end and count twenty, in silence, of -course. I will do the same at my end, and then we begin." - -"Don't be a fool, man! This is no duel; it is murder, and foolish -murder." - -Squire Carthew puffed out the candle. Then the guard of the foil -rattled softly upon the mahogany as he closed his hand upon it. "Count -twenty, please." - -I leave the reader to picture my situation. There, in the silence and -the darkness with these two--one of them drunk--prowling to kill. In -all my experience I can recall nothing so entirely discomfortable. I -had no defence but the folds of a window curtain. I could not stir -without inviting a thrust or a pistol shot, or both. And I may remark -here, that there is a degree of terror which resembles physical -sickness. _Experto credite._ - -I heard the men kick off their shoes; and after that for many -seconds--though I strained my ears, you may be sure--I heard nothing. - -Then a hand brushed upon the woodwork of the recess and even rested -for a moment against the curtain, within six inches of my nose. It was -Leggat I could be sworn. I drew back as his fingers felt the stuff of -the curtain and passed on groping; I even heard the soft crack of his -elbow-joint as he gripped the foil again, which for the moment he must -have tucked under his armpit. - -And with that it flashed on me what he was after--the roll of notes -lying on the floor, between the table and the fireplace, barely a foot -beyond the table's edge and perhaps four yards from my hiding place. -I knew the spot exactly. Squire Carthew had almost touched the packet -with his foot as he stooped to blow out the candle. - -I dropped on hands and knees behind my curtain, pushed it softly aside -and began to crawl. I could hear nothing now but my own heart drumming. -For the next few moments, if I made no sound, it was unlikely either -that Leggat would steal back upon me or that the squire could reach me -without encountering Leggat. My hand touched the table-leg, and the -touch of it, coming unexpectedly, almost made me cry out. A moment -later I felt more easy. Once beneath the table I was comparatively -safe. But I must get my hand on these notes, and after pausing a -second I steered towards the fireplace, poked out my head and shoulders -beyond the table, and smoothed my palm across the floor until my -fingers touched the packet and closed upon it. - -At that moment, in the darkness, to the left, a foil rattled against -a chair. The sound was a slight one, but it betrayed Leggat's -whereabouts, and, with a gasp of triumph, Carthew came running upon him -from the right. - -I ducked my head, but before I could slip back he had blundered right -across my shoulders, which reached, perhaps, to his knees. He went over -me with an oath and a crash, and as he struck the floor his pistol -exploded. - -I drew back with the smoke of it in my mouth and nostrils--and -listened. Not a sound came from Leggat's corner, not a groan from the -body stretched within reach. The man was dead, for certain; and we -others had no time to lose. - -A thud in the corridor outside called me to my senses. "Robert Leggat," -I cried, "this is a black night's job for you! Lay down that pistol, -find your shoes, and run!" - -At this distance of time I would give something to know how it took -him--this voice calling his true name out of the darkness and across -Carthew's body. - -"My God! Who is that?" he asked, and I could hear his teeth chattering. - -Before I had need to answer, he broke from his corner and flung up the -window, but recollected himself, and ran for his shoes. He had scarcely -found them when there came that rush upon the stairs for which I had -been listening, and a woman's voice screamed, "The Mistress! They've -murdered the mistress!" - -In my heart I blessed Mrs. Carthew--poor soul--for having swooned so -conveniently outside the door. By this time Leggat was clambering -across the window sill. What sort of drop lay below it? I saw the black -mass of his body framed there for a moment against a sky almost as -black, and watched as he lowered himself, and disappeared. I listened -for the thud of a fall; but none came, and running to see what had -befallen him, I caught another glimpse of him as he stole past a lit -skylight in a long flat roof scarcely six feet below. - -Here was luck beyond my hoping. The crowd in the passage was still -occupied with Mrs. Carthew, but at length someone tried the handle -of the door. This was my cue. I clambered out after Leggat--who by -this time had disappeared--drew down the window-sash cautiously and -wriggled across the leads of the roof, pausing only at the skylight -to peer down into an empty room, where a score of wooden-seated -chairs stood in disarray by a long table--the deserted auction-room, -doubtless. At the far end of this roof a chimney-stack rose gaunt -against the night; and flattening myself against the side of it, I -waited for the dull crash which told that the crowd had broken in the -door. - -I had made better speed, you understand, but for the risk of overtaking -Leggat and being recognised. As it was, I had set the worst of all -terrors barking at his heels, and by and by--it may have been after -three minutes' wait--I chuckled at the sound of a horse's hoofs in the -stable-yard below me. It was too dark for me to catch sight of the -rider as he mounted; but he made for the lower gate of the yard and, -once past it, broke into a gallop. As its echoes died away, I began my -search for the ladder by which Leggat had descended; found it, as I had -expected, in the form of a stout water-pipe; and having reached the -ground without mishap, brushed and smoothed my clothes and sauntered up -the stable-yard to the hotel archway. - -At the foot of the stairs there, I was almost bowled over by the Boots, -who came flying down three stairs at a stride. "The Doctor!" he -shouted: "the Doctor!" He tore past me and out into the street. - -I entered the coffee-room and rang the bell. - -I suppose that I rang it at intervals for something like half-an-hour -before the waitress found me yawning before the exhausted fire. - -"Sale over yet?" I asked pleasantly. - -"Sale over? Sale ov--?" She set down the lamp and gasped. "Do you tell -me that you've slept through it all?" - -"All what, my dear?" - -Out it all came in a flood. "The Squire's shot himself! In the Blue -Room over your very head--locked the door and shot himself clean -through the brains! Poor gentleman, he felt his position, though he did -drink so fierce. And now he's gone, and Mrs. Carthew no sooner out of -one swoon than into another." - -"Bless my soul!" cried I. "Now you speak of it, I _did_ hear something -like a pistol shot; but that must have been half-an-hour ago." - -"It's a wonder," she said tragically, "his blood didn't drip on you -through the ceiling." - -It was useless (she agreed with me) to expect Mr. Addison to attend -to my business that night. Indeed, though he was doubtless somewhere -in the crowd, she could not recall having seen him. It would also be -useless, and worse, to seek an interview with Susie, who was attending -to her poor mistress. - -"Very well," I said. "Then since I can see neither the parson nor -the girl, I must make shift with the lawyer. No, my dear, you need -not stare at me like that, I don't put my money on my back, like -some of your gentry; but while I keep enough in my pocket there's no -law in England against my employing as good an attorney as poor Mr. -Carthew--or, if I choose, the very same man." - -"What? Mr. Retallack?" - -I nodded. "That's it--Mr. Retallack. I take it he came to attend the -auction, and is upstairs at this moment." - -"Why, yes; it was he that gave orders to break in the door and found -the body. He began putting questions to Mrs. Carthew, but the poor soul -wasn't fit to answer. And then he and Mr. James tackled Susie, who -swore she knew nothing of the business until she heard the shot--as we -all did--and, running out, found her mistress stretched in the passage: -and now she's attending to her in the bedroom with the doctor. So the -lawyer's at a standstill." - -"Mr. James Carthew? Is _he_ here too?" - -"Yes: he's living at his town house this week, but he came here -to-night--for the sale, I suppose. He's upstairs now, and his wife -along with him; she heard the news cried up the street and came running -down all agog with her bonnet on top of her nightcap. But I mustn't -stay talking." - -"No, indeed you must not," said I. "Here, tell me where you keep your -tinder-box.... Now, while I light the candles, do you run upstairs -and tell Mr. Retallack privately that a person wishes to speak with -him in the coffee-room on an important matter and one connected with -to-night's business." - -The girl, hungry to be back at the scene of horror, lost no time. I had -scarcely time to light the four candles on the chimney-piece when the -baize door opened and I found myself bowing to a white-haired little -gentleman with a kindly, flustered face. He was plainly suffering from -nervous excitement in a high degree, and in the act of bowing attempted -to rearrange his shirt-frill with an undecided hand. - -"Good evening, Mr. Retallack." - -"You sent for me----" he began, and broke off, obviously dismayed by my -rough clothes and not altogether liking the look of his customer. - -I offered him a chair; he looked at it doubtfully, but shook his head. -"My business is of moment," said I, "and of some urgency. That must -excuse me for summoning you just now, since as a matter of fact it has -less to do with the unhappy pair upstairs than with what I take to be -the cause of it. I mean the sale of the Welland estate." - -He spread out his hands. "At such a time!" he protested. - -"I am glad to find, sir, that you feel so deeply, since it proves you -to be a real friend of the family. But as a lawyer you will not let -emotion obscure your good sense, or miss a chance of saving Welland for -the poor lady and orphan child upstairs merely because it happens to -present itself at an untoward moment." - -He eyed me, fumbling with the seals at his fob. His mind was by no -means clear, but professional instinct seemed to warn him that my words -were important. - -"I do not know you, sir," he quavered; "but if you are here with any -plan of saving Welland, I must tell you sadly that you waste time. I -have thought of a hundred plans, sir, but have found none workable. It -has destroyed my rest for months--for, with all his failings, I was -sincerely attached to young Mr. Carthew, and no less sincerely to his -unhappy lady. I warned him a hundred times: but the debts exist, the -mortgagees foreclose, and Welland must go." - -"Who are the mortgagees?" - -"A joint-stock company in London, sir, which lives upon this form of -usury. Men with bowels of brass. It was against my strongest warning -that Mr. Harry went to them." - -"The amount?" - -"Thirty-four thousand pounds." - -"Will the estate sell for that figure?" - -"Scarcely, at a forced sale; unless some purchaser took a special fancy -to it or had some special reason for acquiring it." - -"Suppose, now, that I offer thirty-four thousand to buy the estate by -private contract. Would such an offer be accepted?" - -"Indubitably. The mortgagees could offer no objection, even if they -wished; for they would be paid; but, in fact, they scarcely hope for so -much. You will excuse me, however----" - -"In a moment, Mr. Retallack. Still, supposing that I offer thirty-four -thousand, a deposit on the purchase money would be required. Can you -name the sum?" - -"Unless the purchaser were well known in this neighbourhood ten per -cent. would be asked, or three thousand four hundred." - -"Leaving me a hundred," I said musingly. - -"I beg your pardon?" - -"Nothing: a bad habit I have of talking to myself. Will you pardon a -question of some abruptness? You are acquainted, no doubt, with the -present Mrs. James Carthew?" - -"Slightly." He looked at me in some puzzlement. "She was Mr. James's -housekeeper." - -"So I have heard. Is she a woman of strong mind? with an influence upon -her husband?" - -Mr. Retallack positively smiled. - -"You may be sure he would never have married her without it. Oh, -there's no doubt about the strength of her mind!" - -"Middle-aged, I believe? With one child, and not likely to have -another?" - -"It astonished us all when this one was born. Indeed, people do -say--but I mustn't repeat tattle." - -"No, indeed. But a man like James Carthew, with a large entail at -stake, might be forgiven----" I did not finish my sentence, but stepped -to the bell and rang it. - -"Excuse me, sir," said Mr. Retallack; "you began by promising--at least -by holding out some hope--that Welland might be preserved for Mrs. -Harry Carthew and her son. But so far you have told me nothing except -that you wish to purchase it yourself." - -"I think, rather, that you must have jumped to that conclusion. My dear -sir, do I _look_ like a man able to purchase Welland? No, no; I am -merely the agent of a friend who is unhappily prevented from treating -in person. My dear"--I turned to the waitress who entered at this -moment--"would you mind running upstairs and telling Mr. and Mrs. James -Carthew that Mr. Addison has ridden home, leaving a packet of notes -behind him; and that the person in possession of that packet wishes to -see them both--be particular to say 'both'--in private." - -"Sir, sir!" exclaimed Mr. Retallack, as the maid shut the door. I -turned to find him eyeing me between suspicion and alarm. "Either you -have not been frank with me, or you must be ignorant that James Carthew -has been no brotherly brother of poor Harry. He is the last man before -whom I should care to discuss the purchase of Welland. I have, indeed, -more than once suspected him of being in collusion with the Mr. Addison -you mention, and, in part, responsible for the disaster into which, -as I maintain, that reverend gentleman has hurried my poor friend. If -there be any question of James Carthew's purchasing Welland (and I -will confess the fear of this has been troubling me) I must decline to -listen to it until fate compels me. To-night, with Harry Carthew lying -dead in the room above, I will not hear it so much as suggested." - -"Then, my excellent Mr. Retallack, do not start suggesting it. Ah, -here they are!" said I, pleasantly, as the door opened, and, as I -expected, my bald-headed man appeared on the threshold, and was -followed by a grim-looking female in a fearsome head-dress compounded -of bonnet and nightcap. "Sir," I began, addressing James Carthew with -much affability, "it is through our common friend, Mr. Addison, that I -venture to commend myself to you and to your good lady." - -"And who may you be?" Mrs. James demanded, with sufficient bluntness. - -"You may put me down as Captain Richard Steele, madam, of the -_Spectator_, not the _Tatler_; and I have sent for you in a hurry, for -which I must apologise, because our friend, Mr. Addison, has ridden -from Tregarrick to-night on urgent private business, and I am here to -carry out certain intentions of his with regard to a bundle of notes -which he left in my keeping." - -"I don't know you, sir; and I don't know your game," struck in James -Carthew roughly; "but if the notes are mine, as I suspect, I beg to -state that I never intended----" - -"Quite so," I took him up amiably. "You do good by stealth and blush to -find it known. But, in view of the sad event upstairs, there can be no -harm in my stating before so discreet a lawyer as Mr. Retallack what I -had from Mr. Addison's own lips--that these notes were intended by you -for the deposit-money on the purchase of Welland." - -"Addison had no right----" - -"Of course, if I misread his directions, you can refer to him to -correct me--when he returns. As it is, I heard it from him most plainly -that--thanks to you--Welland was to be rescued and preserved for Mr. -Harry Carthew's child. Mr. Retallack tells me that thirty-four thousand -pounds is the sum needed, and that, of this, ten per cent., or three -thousand four hundred, will be accepted as deposit money. It happens -that I have but a short time to spend in Tregarrick, and therefore I -have ventured to summon you and madam to bear witness that I hand this -sum over to the person competent to receive it." And with this I took -the notes from my breast-pocket and began to count them out carefully -upon the table. - -"This fellow is drunk," said Mr. James Carthew, addressing the lawyer. -"The notes are mine, as I can prove. They were entrusted by me to Mr. -Addison----" - -"Who, it appears, has surrendered them," said Mr. Retallack drily. "Did -Mr. Addison give you a receipt?" - -"They are mine, and were entrusted to him for a private purpose. This -fellow can have come by them in no honest way. Impound them if you -will; I can wait for Addison's testimony. But as for intending to make -a present of Welland to that brat of Harry's----" - -"Not directly to him," I interrupted, having done with my counting, -and folding away two notes for fifty pounds apiece in my pocket. "On -second thoughts, Mr. Retallack shall make out the conveyance to me, and -I will assign a lease retaining the present tenant in possession at a -nominal rent of, let me say, five shillings a year. I am sorry to give -him so much trouble at this late hour, but it is important that I leave -Tregarrick without avoidable delay." - -"I can well believe that," James Carthew began. But the lawyer who, -without a notion of my drift, was now playing up to me very prettily, -interrupted him again. - -"This is very well, sir," said he, addressing me; "very well, indeed. -But if, as you say, you are leaving Tregarrick, at what date may we -expect the purchase to be completed?" - -"Why, that I must leave to you and Mr. James Carthew." - -"To me, sir?" thundered Mr. James, every vein on his bald head -swelling. "To _me_! Are you mad, as well as drunk? When I tell you, Mr. -Retallack----" - -I glanced up with a smile and caught his wife's eye. And to my dying -day I shall respect that woman. From first to last she had listened -without the wink of an eyelash; but now she spoke up firmly. - -"If I were you, James, I wouldn't be a fool. The best use you can make -of your breath is to ask Mr. Retallack to leave the room." - -The lawyer, at a nod from me, withdrew. - -"Now," said she, as the door closed, "speak up and tell me what's the -matter." - -"The matter, madam," I answered, "is Addison. He's an escaped convict, -and no more a clergyman than--excuse me--you are." - -I declare that, still, not an eyelash of her quivered: but her ass of a -husband broke in-- - -"I don't believe it! I won't believe it! Tell us how you came by the -notes." - -"James, I beg you not to be a fool. Has he cut and run?" she asked. - -"He has." - -"You can find him?" - -"No," said I, "and I don't want to. But I can get a message conveyed -that will probably reach and warn him--if he has not thought of it -already--to send a letter to the Bishop formally resigning his living." - -Then Mrs. James Carthew made a totally unexpected and, as I still hold, -a really humorous remark. - -"Drat the fellow!" she said. "And he preached an Assize Sermon too!" - -But once again her ass of a mate broke in. - -"What, in the devil's name, are you parleying about, Maria? Addison or -no Addison, you don't suppose I'm to be blackmailed into buying Welland -for that young whelp!" - -"Just as you please," said I. "If you prefer the money being raised for -him on the entail, so be it." - -"On the entail?" He opened and shut his mouth like a fish. - -"Yes, sir; on the entail--_his parents not having employed Mr. Addison -to marry them_." - -But at this point Mrs. James, without deigning me another look, tucked -the poor fool under her arm and carried him off. - -I left Tregarrick two days later with a hundred pounds in my pocket: -for the odd notes seemed to me a fair commission on a very satisfactory -job. Now, as I look back on my adventure, I detect several curious -points in it. The first is, that I have never set eyes on Susie Martin: -the second, that I never had another interview with Mr. or Mrs. James -Carthew: the third, that neither then nor since have I ever had a -word of thanks from the lady and child to whom I rendered this signal -service. The one, so far as I know, never saw me: the other saw me only -for that instant when he dropped me a penny for a trick. To both, I -am known only as Captain Richard Steele, and whoever inhabits Welland -pays five shillings out of one pocket into another for his tenancy, and -will continue to do so. But, perhaps, what the reader will most wonder -at, is that I--Gabriel Foot--having my hand on three thousand five -hundred pounds, and a clear run for it, should have yielded up all but -a hundred for a widow and orphan, who never heard of my existing. Well, -perhaps, the secret is that Leggat intended to yield it, and I pride -myself on being a better man than Leggat. In short, I have, within -limits, a conscience. - - - - -RAIN OF DOLLARS - - -I - -At nine o'clock or thereabouts in the morning of January 5, 1809, five -regiments of British infantry and a troop of horse artillery with six -guns were winding their way down the eastern slope of a ravine beyond -Nogales, in the fastnesses of Galicia. They formed the reserve of -Sir John Moore's army, retreating upon Corunna; and as they slid or -skidded down the frozen road in the teeth of a snowstorm, the men of -the 28th and 95th Rifles, who made up the rearguard--for the cavalry -had been sent forward as being useless for protection in this difficult -country--were forced to turn from time to time and silence the fire of -the French, close upon their heels and galling them. - -A dirty brown trail, trodden and churned by the main army and again -frozen hard, gave them the course of the road as it zig-zagged into the -ravine; but, even had the snow obliterated the track, the regiments -could have found their way by the dead bodies strewing it--bodies of -men, of horses, even of women and children--some heaped by the wind's -eddies with thick coverlets of white, so that their forms could only -be guessed; others half sunk, with a glazing of thin ice over upturned -faces and wide-open eyes; others again flung in stiff contortions -across the very road--here a man with his fists clenched to his ribs, -there a horse on its back with all four legs in air, crooked, and -rigid as poles. The most of these horses had belonged to the dragoons, -who, after leading them to the last, had been forced to slaughter -them: for the poor brutes cast their shoes on the rough track, and -the forage-carts with the cavalry contained neither spare shoes nor -nails. The women and children, with sick stragglers and plunderers, had -made up that horrible, shameful tail-pipe which every retreating army -drags in its wake--a crowd to which the reserve had for weeks acted as -whippers-in, herding them through Bembibre, Calcabellos, Villa Franca, -Nogales; driving them out of wine-shops; shaking, pricking, clubbing -them from drunken stupor into panic; pushing them forward through the -snow until they collapsed in it to stagger up no more. Strewn between -the corpses along the wayside lay broken carts and cartwheels, -bundles, knapsacks, muskets, shakos, split boots, kettles, empty -wine-flasks--whatever the weaker had dropped and the stronger had found -not worth the gleaning. - -The regiments lurched by sullenly, savagely. They were red-eyed -with want of sleep and weary from an overnight march of thirty-five -miles; and they had feasted their fill of these sights. On this side -of Herrerias, for example, they had passed a group of three men, a -woman, and a child, lying dead in a circle around a broken cask and -a frozen pool of rum. And at Nogales they had drained a wine-vat, to -discover its drowned owner at the bottom. They themselves were sick -and shaking with abstinence after drunkenness; heavy with shame, -too. For though incomparably better behaved than the main body, the -reserve had disgraced themselves once or twice, and incurred a stern -lesson from Paget, their General. On a low hill before Calcabellos he -had halted them, formed them in a hollow square with faces inwards, -set up his triangles, and flogged the drunkards collected during the -night by the patrols. Then, turning to two culprits taken in the act -of robbing a peaceful Spaniard, he had them brought forward with ropes -around their necks and hoisted, under a tree, upon the shoulders of -the provost-marshal's men. While the ropes were being knotted to the -branches overhead, an officer rode up at a gallop to report that the -French were driving in our picquets on the other side of the hill. "I -am sorry for it, Sir," answered Paget; "but though _that_ angle of the -square should be attacked, I shall hang these villains in _this_ one." -After a minute's silence he asked his men, "If I spare these two, will -you promise me to reform?" There was no answer. "If I spare these men, -shall I have your word of honour as soldiers that you will reform?" -Still the men kept silence, until a few officers whispered them to say -"Yes," and at once a shout of "Yes!" broke from every corner of the -square. This had been their lesson, and from Calcabellos onward the -division had striven to keep its word. But a sullen flame burned in -their sick bodies; and when they fought they fought viciously, as men -with a score to wipe off and a memory to drown. - -A few hours ago they had resembled scarecrows rather than British -soldiers; now, having ransacked at Nogales a train of carts full of -Spanish boots and clothing--which had been sent thither by mistake -and lay abandoned, without mules, muleteers, or guards--they showed a -medley of costumes. Some wore grey breeches, others blue; some black -boots, others white, others again black and white together; while not -a few carried several pairs slung round their necks. Some had wrapped -themselves in _ponchos_, others had replaced the regulation greatcoat -with a simple blanket. But, wild crew as they seemed, they swung down -the road in good order, kept steady by discipline and the fighting -spirit and a present sense of the enemy close at hand. - -Ahead of them, on the far side of the ravine, loomed a mountain white -from base to summit save where a scarp of sheer cliff had allowed but -a powder of snow to cling or, settling in the fissures, to cross-hatch -the wrinkles of its forbidding face. A stream, hidden far out of sight -by the near wall of the ravine, chattered aloud as it swept around the -mountain's base on a sharp curve, rattling the boulders in its bed. -During the first part of the descent mists and snow-wreaths concealed -even the lip of the chasm through which this noisy water poured; but -as the leading regiment neared it, the snowstorm lifted, the clouds -parted, and a shaft of wintry sunshine pierced the valley, revealing a -bridge of many arches. For the moment it seemed a fairy bridge spanning -gulfs of nothingness; next--for it stood aslant to the road--its -narrow archways appeared as so many portals, tall and cavernous, -admitting to the bowels of the mountain. But beyond it the road resumed -its zig-zags, plainly traceable on the snow. The soldiers, as they -neared the bridge, grunted their disapproval of these zig-zags beyond -it. A few lifted their muskets and took imaginary aim, as much as to -say, "That's how the French from here will pick us off as we mount -yonder." - -The General had been the first to perceive this, and ran his forces -briskly across the bridge--his guns first, then his infantry at the -double. He found a party of engineers at work on the farther arches, -preparing to destroy them as soon as the British were over; but ordered -them to desist and make their way out of danger with all speed. For -the stream--as a glance told him--was fordable both above and below -the bridge, and they were wasting their labour. Moreover, arches of so -narrow a span could be easily repaired. - -Engineers, therefore, and artillery and infantry together pressed -briskly up the exposed gradients, and were halted just beyond -musket-shot from the bank opposite, having suffered little on the way -from the few French voltigeurs who had arrived in time to fire with -effect. Though beyond their range, the British position admirably -commanded the bridge and the bridge-head; and Paget, warming to his -work and willing to give tit-for-tat after hours of harassment, devised -an open insult for his pursuers. - -He ordered the guns to be unlimbered and their horses to be led out of -sight. Then, regiment by regiment, he sent his division onward--20th, -52nd, 91st, and Rifles--pausing only at his trusted 28th, whom he -proceeded to post with careful inconspicuousness; the light company -behind a low fence in flank of the guns and commanding the bridge, -the grenadiers about a hundred yards behind them, and the battalion -companies yet a little further to the rear. While the 28th thus -disposed themselves, the rest of the division moved off, leaving the -guns to all appearance abandoned. The General spread his greatcoat, -and seating himself on the slope behind the light company, cheerfully -helped himself to snuff from the pocket of his buff-leather waistcoat. -Meanwhile the sky had been clearing steadily, and the sunshine, at -first so feeble, fell on the slope with almost summer warmth. The -28th, under the lee of the mountain-cliffs, looked up and saw white -clouds chasing each other across deep gulfs of blue, looked down and -saw the noon rays glinting on their enemy's accoutrements beyond the -bridge-head. The French were gathering fast, but could not yet make up -their minds to assault. - -"Our friends," said the General, pouring himself a drink from his -pocket-flask, "don't seem in a hurry to add to their artillery." - -The men of the light company, standing near him, laughed as they -munched their rations. For three days they had plodded through snow -and sleet with hot hearts, nursing their Commander-in-Chief's reproof -at Calcabellos: "You, 28th, are not the men you used to be. You are no -longer the regiment who to a man fought by my side in Egypt!" So Moore -had spoken, and ridden off contemptuously, leaving the words to sting. -They not only stung, but rankled; for to the war-cry of "Remember -Egypt!" the 28th always went into action: and they had been rebuked in -the presence of Paget, now their General of Division, but once their -Colonel, and the very man under whom they had won their proudest title, -"the Backplates." It was Paget who, when once in Egypt the regiment had -to meet two simultaneous attacks, in front and rear, had faced his rear -rank about and gloriously repulsed both charges. - -At the moment of Moore's reproof Paget had said nothing, and he made -no allusion to it now. But the 28th understood. They knew why he had -posted them alone here, and why he remained to watch. He was giving -them a splendid chance, if a forlorn one. In the recovered sunshine -their hearts warmed to him. - -Unhappily, the French did not seem disposed to walk into the trap. -Their fire slackened--from the first it had not been serious--and they -loitered by the bridge-end awaiting reinforcements. Yet from time to -time they pushed small parties across the fords above and below the -bridge; and at length Paget sent a young subaltern up to the crest of -the ridge on his flank, to see how many had collected thus on the near -side of the stream. The subaltern reported--"Two or three hundred." - -By this time the 28th had been posted for an hour or more; time enough -to give the main body of the reserve a start of four miles. General -Paget consulted his watch, returned it to his fob, and ordered the guns -to be horsed again. As the artillerymen led their horses forward, he -turned to the infantry, eyed their chapfallen faces, and composedly -took snuff. - -"Twenty-eighth, if you don't get fighting enough it's not my fault." - -This was all he said, but it went to the men's hearts. "You'll give -us another chance, Sir?" answered one or two. He had given them back -already some of their old self-esteem, and if they were disappointed of -a scrimmage, so was he. - -But it would never do, since the French shirked a direct attack, to -linger and be turned in flank by the numbers crossing the fords. So, -having horsed his guns and sent them forward to overtake the reserve, -Paget ordered the 28th to quit their position and resume the march. - -No sooner were they in motion than the enemy's leading column began -to pour across the bridge; its light companies, falling in with the -scattered troops from the fords, pressed down upon the British rear; -and the 28th took up once more the Parthian game in which they were -growing expert. For three miles along the climbing road they marched, -faced about for a skirmish, drove back their pursuers, and marched -forward again, always in good order; the enemy being encumbered by -its cavalry, which, useless from the first in this rough and wavering -track, at length became an impediment and a serious peril. It was by -fairly stampeding a troop back upon the foot-soldiers following that -the British in the end checked the immediate danger, and, hurrying -forward unmolested for a couple of miles, gained a new position in -which they could not easily be assailed. The road here wound between a -line of cliffs and a precipice giving a sheer drop into the ravine; and -here, without need of flankers or, indeed, possibility of using them, -the rearmost (light) company, halted for a while and faced about. - -This brought their right shoulders round to the precipice, at the foot -of which, and close upon three hundred feet below, a narrow plateau (or -so it seemed) curved around the rock-face. The French, held at check, -and once more declining a frontal attack, detached a body of cavalry -and voltigeurs to follow this path in the hope of turning one flank. -But a week's snow had smoothed over the true contour of the valley, and -this apparent plateau proved to be but a gorge piled to its brim with -drifts, in which men and horses plunged and sank until, repenting, they -had much ado to extricate themselves. - -On the ledge over their heads a young subaltern of the 28th--the same -that Paget had sent to count the numbers crossing the fords--was -looking down and laughing, when a pompous voice at his elbow inquired-- - -"Pray, Sir, where is General Paget?" - -The subaltern, glancing up quickly, saw, planted on horseback before -him, with legs astraddle, a podgy, red-faced man in a blue uniform -buttoned to the chin. The General himself happened to be standing less -than five yards away, resting his elbows on the wall of the road while -he scanned the valley and the struggling Frenchmen through his glass: -and the subaltern, knowing that he must have heard the question, for -the moment made no reply. - -"Be so good as to answer at once, Sir? Where is General Paget?" - -The General closed his glass leisurably and came forward. - -"I am General Paget, Sir--at your commands." - -"Oh--ah--er, I beg pardon," said the little blue-coated man, slewing -about in his saddle. "I am Paymaster-General, and--er--the fact is----" - -"Paymaster-General?" echoed Paget in a soft and musing tone, as if -deliberately searching his memory. - -"Assistant," the little man corrected. - -"Get down from your horse, Sir." - -"I beg pardon----" - -"Get down from your horse." - -[Illustration: "GET DOWN FROM YOUR HORSE, SIR."] - -The Assistant-Paymaster clambered off. His vanity was wounded and -he showed it; the mottles on his face deepened to crimson. "Beg -pardon--ceremony--hardly an occasion--treasure of the army in danger." - -Paget eyed him calmly, but with a darkening at the corner of the eye; a -sign which the watching subaltern knew to be ominous. - -"Be a little more explicit, if you please." - -"The treasure, Sir, for which I am responsible----" - -"Yes? How much?" - -"I am not sure that I ought----" - -"How much?" - -"If you press the question, Sir, it might be twenty-five thousand -pounds. I should not have mentioned it in the hearing of your men----" -he hesitated. - -The General concluded his sentence for him. "--Had not your foresight -placed it in safety and out of their reach: that's understood. Well, -Sir,--what then?" - -"But, on the contrary, General, it is in imminent peril! The carts -conveying it have stuck fast, not a mile ahead: the bullocks are -foundered and cannot proceed; and I have ridden back to request that -you supply me with fresh animals." - -"Look at me, Sir, and then pray look about you." - -"I beg your pardon----" - -"You ought to. Am I a bullock-driver, Sir, or a muleteer? And in this -country"--with a sharp wave of his hand--"can I breed full-grown mules -or bullocks at a moment's notice to repair your d----d incompetence? -Or, knowing me, have you the assurance to tell me coolly that you have -lost--yes, lost--the treasure committed to you?--to confess that you, -who ought to be a day's march ahead of the main body, are hanging back -upon the rearmost company of the rearguard?--and come to me whining -when that company is actually engaged with the enemy? Look, Sir"--and -it seemed to some of the 28th that their General mischievously -prolonged his address to give the Assistant-Paymaster a taste of -rearguard work, for Soult's heavy columns were by this time pressing -near to the entrance of the defile--"Observe the kind of strife in -which we have been engaged since dawn; reflect that our tempers must -needs be short; and congratulate yourself that, if this mountain be -bare of fresh bullocks, it also fails to supply a handy tree." - -The little man waited no longer on the road, along which French bullets -were beginning to whistle, but clambered on his horse, and galloped -off with hunched shoulders to rejoin his carts. - -The rearguard, galled now by musketry and finding that, for all their -floundering, the enemy were creeping past the rocky barrier below, -retired in good order but briskly, and so, in about twenty minutes, -overtook the two treasure-carts and their lines of exhausted cattle. -Plainly this procession had come to the end of its powers and could not -budge: and as plainly the officers in charge of it were at loggerheads. -Paget surveyed the scene, his brow darkening thunderously: for, of the -guns he had sent forward to overtake the reserve, two stood planted -to protect the carts, and the artillery-captain in charge of them -was being harangued by the fuming Assistant-Paymaster, while the -actual guard of the treasure--a subaltern's party of the 4th (King's -Own)--stood watching the altercation in surly contempt. Now the 28th -and the King's Own were old friends, having been brigaded together -through the early days of the campaign. As Paget rode forward they -exchanged hilarious grins. - -"Pray, Sir," he addressed the artilleryman, "why are you loitering here -when ordered to overtake the main body with all speed? And what are you -discussing with this person?" - -"The Colonel, Sir, detached me at this officer's request." - -"Hey?" Paget swung round on the Assistant-Paymaster. "You _dared_ to -interfere with an order of mine? And, having done so, you forbore to -tell me, just now, the extent of your impudence!" - -"But--but the bullocks can go no farther!" stammered the poor man. - -"And if so, who is responsible? Are _you, Sir_?" Paget demanded -suddenly of the subaltern. - -"No, General," the young man answered, saluting. "I beg to say that -as far back as Nogales I pointed out the condition of these beasts, -and also where in that place fresh animals were to be found: but I was -bidden to hold my tongue." - -"Do you admit this?" Paget swung round again upon the -Assistant-Paymaster. - -"Upon my word, Sir," the poor man tried to bluster, "I am not to be -cross-examined in this fashion. I do not belong to the reserve, and I -take my orders----" - -"Then what the devil are you doing here? And how is it I catch you -ordering my reserve about? By the look of it, a moment ago you were -even attempting to teach my horse-artillery its business." - -"He was urging me, Sir," said the artillery-captain grimly, "to abandon -my guns and hitch my teams on to his carts." - -The General's expression changed, and he bent upon the little man in -blue a smile that was almost caressing. "I beg your pardon, Sir: it -appears that I have quite failed to appreciate you." - -"Do not mention it, Sir. You see, with a sum of twenty-five thousand -pounds at stake----" - -"And your reputation." - -"To be sure, and my reputation; though that, I assure you, was less in -my thoughts. With all this at stake----" - -"Say rather 'lost.' I am going to pitch it down the mountain." - -"But it is money!" almost screamed the little man. - -"So are shot and shells. Twenty-eighth, forward, and help the guard to -overturn the carts!" - -Even the soldiers were staggered for a moment by this order. Impossible -as they saw it to be to save the treasure, they were men; and the -instinct of man revolts from pouring twenty-five thousand pounds over -a precipice. They approached, unstrapped the tarpaulin covers, and -feasted their eyes on stacks of silver Spanish dollars. - -"You cannot mean it, Sir! I hold you responsible----" Speech choked the -Assistant-Paymaster, and he waved wild arms in dumbshow. - -But the General did mean it. At a word from him the artillerymen -stood to their guns, and at another word the fatigue party of the -28th climbed off the carts, put their shoulders to the wheels and -axle-trees, and with a heave sent the treasure over in a jingling -avalanche. A few ran and craned their necks to mark where it fell: -but the cliffs just here were sharply undercut, and everywhere below -spread deep drifts to receive and cover it noiselessly. After the first -rush and slide no sound came up from the depths into which it had -disappeared. The men strained their ears to listen. They were listening -still when, with a roar, the two guns behind them spoke out, hurling -their salutation into Soult's advance guard as it swung into view -around the corner of the road. - - -II - -In a mud-walled hut perched over the brink of the ravine and sheltered -there by a shelving rock, an old Gallegan peasant sat huddled over a -fire and face to face with starvation. The fire, banked in the centre -of the earthen floor, filled all the cabin with smoke, which escaped -only by a gap in the thatch and a window-hole overlooking the ravine. -An iron crock, on a chain furred with soot, hung from the rafters, -where sooty cobwebs, a foot and more in length, waved noiselessly in -the draught. It was empty, but he had no strength to lift it off its -hook; and at the risk of cracking it he had piled up the logs on the -hearth, for the cold searched his old bones. The window-hole showed a -patch of fading day, wintry and sullen: but no beam of it penetrated -within, where the firelight flickered murkily on three beds of dirty -straw, a table like a butcher's block, and, at the back of the hut, an -alcove occupied by three sooty dolls beneath a crucifix--the Virgin, -St. Joseph, and St. James. - -The alcove was just a recess scooped out of the _adobe_ wall: and the -old man himself could not have told why his house had been built of -unbaked mud when so much loose stone lay strewn about the mountain-side -ready to hand. Possibly even his ancestors, who had built it, could -not have told. They had come from the plain-land near Zamora, and -built in the only fashion they knew--a fashion which _their_ ancestors -had learnt from the Moors: but time and the mountain's bad habit of -dropping stones had taught them to add a stout roof. For generations -they had clung to this perch, and held body and soul together by the -swine-herding. They pastured their pigs three miles below, where the -ravine opened upon a valley moderately fertile and wooded with oak and -chestnut; and in midwinter drove them back to the hill and styed them -in a large pen beside the hut, in which, if the pen were crowded, they -made room for the residue. - -The family now consisted of the old man, Gil Chaleco (a widower and -past work); his son Gil the Younger, with a wife, Juana; their only -daughter, Mercedes, her young husband, Sebastian May, and their -two-year-old boy. The two women worked with the men in herding the -swine and were given sole charge of them annually, when Gil the Younger -and Sebastian tramped it down to the plains and hired themselves out -for the harvest. - -But this year Sebastian, instead of harvesting, had departed for -Corunna to join the insurrectionary bands and carry a gun in defence -of his country. To Gil the Elder this was a piece of youthful folly. -How could it matter, in this valley of theirs, what King reigned in -far-away Madrid? And would a Spaniard any more than a Corsican make -good the lost harvest-money? The rest of the family had joined him in -raising objections; for in this den of poverty the three elders thought -of money morning, noon, and night, and of nothing but money; and -Mercedes was young and in love with her husband, and sorely unwilling -to lend him to the wars. Sebastian, however, had smiled and kissed her -and gone his way; and at the end of his soldiery had found himself, -poor lad, in hospital in Leon, one of the many hundreds abandoned by -the Marquis of Romana to the French. - -News of this had not reached the valley, where indeed his wife's -family had other trouble to concern them: for a forage party from -the retreating British main guard had descended upon the cabin four -days ago and carried off all the swine, leaving in exchange some -scraps of paper, which (they said) would be honoured next day by the -Assistant-Paymaster: he could not be more than a day's march behind. -But a day had passed, and another, and now the household had gone off -to Nogales to meet him on the road, leaving only the old man, and -taking even little Sebastianillo. The pigs would be paid for handsomely -by the rich English; Juana had some purchases to make in the town; and -Mercedes needed to buy a shawl for the child, and thought it would be -a treat for him to see the tall foreign red-coats marching past. - -So they had started, leaving the old man with a day's provision (for -the foragers had cleared the racks and the larder as well as the sty), -and promising to be home before nightfall. But two days and a night had -passed without news of them. - -With his failing strength he had made shift to keep the fire alight; -but food was not to be found. He had eaten his last hard crust of -millet-bread seven or eight hours before, and this had been his only -breakfast. His terror for the fate of the family was not acute. Old -age had dulled his faculties, and he dozed by the fire with sudden -starts of wakefulness, blinking his smoke-sored eyes and gazing with -a vague sense of evil on the straw beds and the image in the alcove. -His thoughts ran on the swine and the price to be paid for them by the -Englishman: they faded into dreams wherein the family saints stepped -down from their shrine and chaffered with the foreign paymaster; dreams -in which he found himself grasping silver dollars with both hands. And -all the while he was hungry to the point of dying; yet the visionary -dollars brought no food--suggested only the impulse to bury them out of -sight of thieves. - -So vivid was the dream that, waking with a start and a shiver, he -hobbled towards the window-hole and stopped to pick up the wooden -shutter that should close it. Standing so, still half asleep, with his -hand on the shutter-bar, he heard a rushing sound behind him, as though -the mountain-side were breaking away overhead and rushing down upon the -roof and back of the cabin. - -He had spent all his life on these slopes and knew the sounds of -avalanche and land-slips--small land-slips in this Gallegan valley were -common enough. This noise resembled both, yet resembled neither, and -withal was so terrifying that he swung round to face it, aquake in his -shoes--to see the rear wall bowing inwards and crumbling, and the roof -quietly subsiding upon it, as if to bury him alive. - -For a moment he saw it as the mirror of his dream, cracking and -splitting; then, as the image of the Virgin tilted itself forward from -its shrine and fell with a crash, he dropped the shutter, and running -to the door, tugged at its heavy wooden bolt. The hut was collapsing, -and he must escape into the open air. - -He neither screamed nor shouted, for his terror throttled him; and -after the first rushing noise the wall bowed inwards silently, with -but a trickle of dry and loosened mud. His gaze, cast back across his -shoulder, was on it while he tugged at the bolt. Slowly--very slowly, -the roof sank, and stayed itself, held up on either hand by its two -corner-props. Then, while it came to a standstill, sagging between -them, the wall beneath it burst asunder, St. Joseph and St. James were -flung head-over-heels after the Virgin, and through the rent poured a -broad river of silver. - -He faced around gradually, holding his breath. His back was to the -door now, and he leaned against it with outspread palms while his eyes -devoured the miracle. - -Dollars! Silver dollars! - -He could not lift his gaze from them. If he did, they would surely -vanish, and he awake from his dream. Yet in the very shock of awe, and -starving though he was, the master-habit of his life, the secretive -peasant cunning, had already begun to work. Never once relaxing his -fixed stare, fearful even of blinking with his smoke-sored eyes, he -shuffled sideways toward the window-hole, his hands groping the wall -behind him. The wooden shutter and its fastening bar--a short oak -pole--lay where he had dropped them, on the floor beneath the window. -He crouched, feeling backwards for them; found, lifted them on to -the inner ledge, and, with a half-turn of his body, thrust one arm -deep into the recess and jammed the shutter into its place. To fix -the bolt was less easy; it fitted across the back of the shutter, its -ends resting in two sockets pierced in the wall of the recess. He -could use but one hand; yet in less than a minute he found the first -socket, slid an end of the bolt into it as far as it would go, lifted -the other end and scraped with it along the opposite side of the recess -until it dropped into the second socket. He was safe now--safe from -prying eyes. In all this while--these two, perhaps three, minutes--his -uppermost terror had been lest strange eyes were peering in through -the window-hole: it had cost him anguish not to remove his own for an -instant from the miracle to assure himself. But he had shut out this -terror now: and the miracle had not vanished. - -A few coins trickled yet. He crawled forward across the floor, -crouching like a beast for a spring. But as he drew close his old legs -began to shake under him. He dropped on his knees and fell forward, -plunging both hands into the bright pile. - -Dollars! real silver dollars! - -He lay on the flood of wealth, stretched like a swimmer, his fingers -feebly moving among the coins which slid and poured over the back -of his hands. He did not ask how the miracle had befallen. He was -starving; dying in fact, though he did not know it; and lo! he had -found a heaven beyond all imagination, and lay in it and panted, -at rest. The firelight played on the heave and fall of his gaunt -shoulder-blades, and on the glass eyes of the Virgin, whose head had -rolled half-way across the floor and lay staring up foolishly at the -rafters. - - * * * * * - -"Mother, open! Ah, open quickly, mother, for the love of God!" - -Whose voice was that? Yes, yes--Mercedes', to be sure, his -granddaughter's. She had gone to Nogales ... long ago.... Yet that was -her voice. Had he come, then, to Paradise that her voice was pleading -for him--pleading for the door to open? - -"Mother--Father! It is I, Mercedes! Open quickly--It is Mercedes, do -you hear? I want my child--Sebastianillo--my child--quick!" - -The voice broke into short agonised cries, into sobs. The door rattled. - -At the sound of this last the old man raised himself on his knees. His -eyes fell again on the shining dollars all around him. His throat -worked. - -Suddenly terror broke out in beads on his forehead. Someone was shaking -the door! Thieves were there trying the door: they were come to rob him! - -He drew himself up slowly. As he did so the door ceased to rattle, and -presently, somewhere near the windy edge of the ravine, a faint cry -sounded. - -But long after the door had ceased to rattle, old Gil Chaleco stared -at it, fascinated. And long after the cry had died away it beat from -side to side within the walls of his head, while he listened and life -trickled from him, drop by drop. - -"Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night." But he was -listening for it: it would come again.... - -And it came--with a rough summons on the door, and, a moment later, -with a thunderous blow. The old man stood up, knee-deep in dollars, -lifting both arms to cover his head. As the door fell he seemed to -bow himself toward it, toppled, and slid forward--still with his arms -crooked--amid a rush of silver. - - -III - -Although crushed in the rear and broken inwards there, the hut showed -its ordinary face to the path as Mercedes reached it in the failing -daylight. She ran like a madwoman, and with short, distraught cries, -as she neared her home. Her eyes were wild as a hunted creature's, her -coarse black hair streamed over her shoulders, her bare feet bled where -the rocks and ice had cut them. But one thing she did not doubt--would -not allow herself to doubt--that at home she would find her child. For -two days she had been parted from him, and in those two days ... God -had been good to her, very good: but she could not thank God yet--not -until she clutched Sebastianillo in her arms, held his small, wriggling -body, felt his feet kick against her breast.... - -The great sty beside the cabin was empty, of course: and the cabin -itself looked strange to her and desolate and unfriendly. For some -hours the snow had ceased falling, and, save in a snowstorm or a gale, -it was not the family custom to close door or window before dark: -indeed, the window-hole usually stood open night and day the year -round. Now both were closed. But warm firelight showed under the chink -of the door; and on the door she bowed her head, to take breath, and -beat with her hands while she called urgently-- - -"Mother! Quickly, mother--open to me for the love of God!" - -No answer came from within. - -"Mother! Father! Open to me--it is I, Mercedes!" - -Then, after listening a moment, she began to beat again, frantically, -for at length she was afraid. - -"Quick! Quick! Ah, do not be playing a trick on me: I want my -child--Sebastianillo!" - -Again and again she called and beat. No answer came from the hut or -from the sombre twilight around her. She drew back, to fling her full -weight against the door. And at this moment she heard, some way down -the path, a man's footstep crunching the snow. - -She never doubted that this must be her father returning up the -mountain-side, perhaps after a search for her. What other man--now that -her husband had gone soldiering--ever trod this path? She ran down to -meet him. - -The path, about forty yards below, rounded an angle of the sheer -cliff, and at this angle she came to a terrified halt. The man, too, -had halted a short gunshot away. He did not see her, but was staring -upward at the cliff overhead; and he was not her father. For an instant -there flashed across her brain an incredible surmise--that he was -her husband, Sebastian: for he wore a soldier's overcoat and shako, -and carried a musket and knapsack. But no: this man was taller than -Sebastian by many inches; taller and thinner. - -He was a soldier, then: and to Mercedes all soldiers were by this time -incarnate devils--or all but one, and that one a plucky little British -officer who had snatched her from his men just as she fell swooning -into their clutches, and had dragged and thrust her through the convent -doorway at Nogales and slammed the door upon her; and (though this -she did not know) held the doorstep, sword in hand, while the Fathers -within shot the heavy bolts. - -The British had gone, and after them--close after--came the French: -and these broke down the convent door and ransacked the place. But -the Fathers had hidden her and a score or so more of trembling women, -nor would allow her to creep out and search for Sebastianillo in the -streets through which swept, hour after hour, a flood of drunken -yelling devils. So now Mercedes, who had left home two days ago to -watch an army pass, turned from this one soldier with a scream and ran -back towards the cabin. - -In her terror lest he should overtake and catch her by the closed -door, she darted aside, clambered across the wall of the empty sty, -and crouched behind it in the filth, clutching at her bodice: for -within her bodice was a knife, which she had borrowed of the Fathers at -Nogales. - -The footsteps came up the path and went slowly past her hiding-place. -Then they came to a halt before the hut. Still Mercedes crouched, not -daring to lift her head. - -_Rat, rat-a-tat!_ - -Well, let him knock. Her father was a strong man, and always kept a -loaded gun on the shelf. If this soldier meant mischief, he would find -his match: and she, too, could help. - -She heard him call to the folks within once or twice in bad Spanish. -Then his voice changed and seemed to threaten in a language she did not -know. - -Her hand was thrust within her bodice now, and gripped the handle of -her knife; nevertheless, what followed took her by surprise, though -ready for action. A terrific bang sounded on the timbers of the door. -Involuntarily she raised her head above the wall's coping. The man had -stepped back a pace into the path, and was swinging his musket up for -another blow with the butt. - -She stood up, white, with her jaw set. Her father could not be inside -the hut, or he would have answered that blow on his door as a man -should. But Sebastianillo might be within--nay, must be! She put her -hands to the wall's coping and swung herself over and on to the path, -again unseen, for the dusk hid her, and a dark background of cliff -behind the sty: nor could the man hear, for he was raining blow after -blow upon the door. At length, having shaken it loose from its hasp, he -stepped back and made a run at it, using the butt of his musket for a -ram, and finishing up the charge with the full weight of one shoulder. -The door crashed open before him, and he reeled over it into the hut. A -second later, Mercedes had sprung after him. - -"Sebastianillo! You shall not harm him! You shall not----" - -The door, falling a little short of the fire, had scattered some of the -burning brands about the floor and fanned the rest into a blaze. In the -light of it he faced round with a snarl, his teeth showing beneath his -moustache. The light also showed--though Mercedes neither noted it nor -could have read its signification--a corporal's chevron on his sleeve. - -"Who the devil are you?" The snarl ended in a snap. - -Mercedes stood swaying on the threshold, knife in hand. - -"You shall not harm him!" - -She spoke in her own tongue and he understood it, after a fashion; for -he answered in broken Spanish, catching up her word-- - -"Harm? Who means any harm? When a man is perishing with hunger and -folks will not open to him----" - -He paused, wondering at her gaze. Travelling past him, it had fastened -itself on the back wall of the hut, across the fire. "Hullo! What's the -matter?" He swung round. "Good Lord!" said he, with a gulp. - -He sprang past the fire and stooped over the old man's body, which -lay face downward on the shelving heap of silver. It did not stir. -By-and-by he took it by one of the rigid arms and turned it over, not -roughly. - -"Warm," said he: "warm, but dead as a herring! Come and see for -yourself." - -Mercedes did not move. Her eyes sought the dark corners of the cabin, -fixed themselves for a moment on the shattered image of the Virgin, and -met his across the firelight in desperate inquiry. - -"What is this? What have you done?" - -"Done? I tell you I never touched the man; never saw him before in my -life. Who is he? Your father? No: grandfather, more like. Eh? Am I -right?" - -She bent her head, staring at the money. - -"This? This is dollars, my girl: dollars enough to set a man up for -life, with a coach and lads in livery, and dress you in diamonds from -head to heel. Don't stand playing with that knife. I tell you I never -touched the old man. What's more, I'm willing to be friendly and go -shares." He stared at her with quick suspicion. "You're alone here, -hey?" - -She did not answer. - -"But answer me," he insisted, "do you live alone with him?" And he -pointed to the body at his feet. - -"There was my mother," said Mercedes slowly, in her turn pointing to -the third bed of straw by the fire. "We journeyed over to Nogales, she -and I. Your soldiers came and took away our pigs, giving us pieces of -paper for them. They said that if we took these to Nogales someone -would pay us: so we started, leaving _him_. And at Nogales your men -were rough and parted us, and I have not seen her since." - -The Corporal eyed her with the beginnings of a leer. She faced him -with steady eyes. "Well, well," said he, after a pause, "I mean no -harm to you, anyway. Lord! but you're in luck. Here you reach home and -find a fortune at your door--a sort of fortune a man can dig into with -a spade; while a poor devil like me----" He paused again and stood -considering. - -"You knew about this?" She nodded towards the dollars. "You knew how it -came here, and you came after it?" - -"I did and I didn't. I knew 'twas somewhere hereabouts; but strike me, -if a man could dream of finding it like this!" - -"Yet you came to this door and beat it open!" - -"You've wits, my girl," said the Corporal admiringly; "but they are -on the wrong tack. I mean no harm; and the best proof is that here -I'm standing with a loaded musket and not offering to hurt you. As it -happens, I came to the door asking a bite of bread. I'm cruel hungry." - -Mercedes pulled a crust of millet-bread from her pocket. The Fathers at -the convent had given it to her at parting, but she had forgotten to -eat. She stepped forward; the Corporal stretched out a hand. - -"No," said she, and, avoiding him, laid the crust on the block-table. -He caught it up and gnawed it ravenously. "I think there is no other -food in the house." - -"You don't get rid of me like that." He ran a hand along the shelves, -searching them. "Hullo! a gun?" He took it down and examined it beside -the fire, while Mercedes' heart sank. She had hoped to possess herself -of it, snatching it from the shelf when he should be off his guard. -"Loaded, too!" He laid it gently on the block and eyed her, munching -his crust. - -"You'd best put down that knife and talk friendly," said he at length. -"What's the use?--you a woman, and me with two guns, both loaded? It's -silliness; you must see for yourself it is. Now look here: I've a -notion--a splendid notion. Come sit down alongside of me, and talk it -over. I promise you there's no harm meant." - -But she had backed to her former position in the doorway and would not -budge. - -"It's treating me suspicious, you are," he grumbled: "hard _and_ -suspicious." - -"Cannot you take the money and go?" she begged, breathing hard, -speaking scarcely above a whisper. - -"No, I can't: it stands to reason I can't. What can I do in a country -like this with dollars it took two carts to drag here--two carts with -six yoke of bullocks apiece? And that's where my cruel luck comes in. -All I can take, as things are, is just so much as this knapsack will -carry: and even for this I've run some risks." - -The man--it was the effect of hunger, perhaps, and exposure and -drunkenness on past marches--had an ugly, wolfish face; but his eyes, -though cunning, were not altogether evil, not quite formidably evil. -She divined that, though lust for the money was driving him, some -weakness lay behind it. - -"You are a deserter," she said. - -"We'll pass that." He seated himself, flinging a leg over the block and -laying the two guns side by side on his knees. "I can win back, maybe. -As things go, between stragglers and deserters it's hard to choose in -these times, and I'll get the benefit of the doubt. I've taken some -risks," he repeated, glancing from the guns on his knees to the pile of -silver and back: "pretty bad risks, and only to fill my knapsack. But, -now it strikes me----Can't you come closer?" - -But she held her ground and waited. - -"It strikes me, why couldn't we collar the whole of this, we two? We're -alone: no one knows; I've but to lift one of these"--he tapped the -guns--"and where would you be? But I don't do it. I don't want to do -it. You hear me?" - -"You don't do it," said Mercedes slowly, "because without me you can't -get away with more than a handful of this money. And you want the whole -of it." - -"You're a clever girl. Yes, I want the whole of it. Who wouldn't? And -you can help. Can't you see how?" - -"No." - -He sat swinging his legs. "Well, that's where my notion comes in. I -wish you'd drop that knife and be friendly: it's a fortune I'm offering -you. Now my notion is that we two ought to marry." He stood up. - -Mercedes lifted the knife with its point turned inward against her -breast. "If you take another step!" - -"Oh, but look here: look at it every way. I like you. You're a fine -build of a woman, with plenty of spirit--the very woman to help a -man. We should get along famously. One country's as good as another -to me: I'm tired of soldiering, and there's no woman at home, s'help -me!" He was speaking rapidly now, not waiting to cast about for words -in Spanish, but falling back on English whenever he found himself at -a loss. "I dare say you can fit me out with a suit of clothes." His -glance ran round the hut and rested on the body of the old man. - -Mercedes had understood scarce half of his words: but she divined the -meaning of that look and shuddered. - -"No, no; you cannot do that!" - -"Hark!" said he raising his head and listening. "What's that noise?" - -"The wolves. We hear them every night in winter." - -"A nice sort of place for a woman to live alone in! See here, my dear; -it's sense I'm talking. Better fix it up with me and say 'yes.'" - -She appeared to be considering this. "One thing you must promise." - -"Well?" - -"You won't touch him"--she nodded towards her grandfather's corpse. -"You won't touch him to--to----" - -"Is it strip him you mean? Very well, then, I won't." - -"You will help me to bury him? He cannot lie here. I can give you no -answer while he lies here." - -"Right you are, again. Only, no tricks, mind!" - -He stowed the guns under his left arm and gripped the collar of the old -man. Mercedes took the feet; and together they bore him out--a light -burden enough. Outside the hut a pale radiance lay over all the snow, -forerunner of the moon now rising over the crags across the ravine. - -"Where?" grunted the Corporal. - -Mercedes guided him. A little way down the path, beyond the wall of the -sty, they came to a recess in the base of the cliff where the wind's -eddies had piled a smooth mound of snow. Here, under a jutting rock, -they laid the body. - -"Cover him as best you can," the Corporal ordered. "My hands are full." - -He stood, clasping his guns, and watched Mercedes while she knelt and -shovelled the snow with both hands. Yet always her eyes were alert and -she kept her knife ready. From their mound they looked down upon the -ravine in front and over the wall of the sty towards the cabin. Behind -them rose the black cliff. - -"Hark to the wolves!" said the Corporal, listening: and at that moment -something thudded down from the cliff, striking the snow a few yards -from him; rolled heavily down the slope and came to a standstill -against the wall of the sty, where it lay bedded. - -The round moon had risen over the ravine, and was flooding the mound -with light. The Corporal stared at Mercedes: for the moment he could -think of nothing but that a large, loose stone had dropped from the -cliff. He ran to the thing and turned it over. - -It was a knapsack. - -He did not at once understand, but stepped back a few paces and gazed -up at the crags mounting tier by tier into the vague moonlight. And -while he gazed a lighter object struck the wall over head, glanced from -it, went spinning by him, and disappeared over the edge of the ravine. -As it passed he recognized it--a soldier's shako. - -Then he understood. Someone had found the spot on the road above where -the treasure had been upset, and these things were being dropped to -guide his search. The Corporal ran to Mercedes and would have clutched -her by the wrist. The knife flashed in her hand as she evaded him. - -"Quick, my girl--back with you, quick! They're after the money, I tell -you!" - -He caught up the knapsack. They ran back together and flung themselves -into the cabin. The Corporal bolted the door. - -"King's Own," he announced, having dragged the knapsack to the -firelight. "If there's only one, we'll do for him." - -He stepped to the window-hole, pulled open the shutter, laid the two -guns on the ledge, and waited, straining his ears. - -"Got such a thing as a shovel or a mattock?" he asked after a while. "I -reckon you could make shift to cover up the dollars: there's a deal of -loose earth come down with them." - -It took her some time to guess what he wanted, for he spoke in a hoarse -whisper. He listened again for a while, then pointed to the treasure. - -"Cover it up. If there's more than one, we'll have trouble." - -She produced a mattock from a corner of the cabin and began, through -the broken wall, to rake down mud and earth and cover the coins. For -an hour and more she worked, the Corporal still keeping watch. Once or -twice he growled at her to make less noise. - -He did not stand the suspense well, but after the first hour grew -visibly uneasy. - -"I've a mind to give this over," he grumbled, and fell to unstrapping -his knapsack. "Here!"--he tossed it to her--"pack it, full as you can. -Half a loaf may turn out better than no bread." - -She laid the knapsack open on the floor and set to work, cramming it -with dollars. - -"Talking of bread," he went on by-and-by, "that's going to be a -question. My stomach's feeling at this moment like as if it had two -rows of teeth inside." - -"Hist!" Mercedes rose, finger to lip. He turned again to the -window-hole and peered out, gun in hand, his shoulder blocking the -recess. - -A man's footsteps were coming up the path--coming cautiously. Their -crunch upon the snow was just audible, and no more. Mercedes stole -towards the window and crept close behind the Corporal's back; stood -there, holding her breath. - -The man on the path halted for a moment, and came on again, still -cautiously.... There was a jet of flame, a roar; and the Corporal, -after the kick of his musket, strained himself forward on the -window-ledge to see if his shot had told. - -"Settled him!" he announced, drawing back and turning to face her with -a triumphant grin. - -But Mercedes confronted him with her father's fowling-piece in hand. -She had slipped it off the window-ledge from under his elbow as he -leaned forward. - -"Unbar the door!" she commanded. - -"Look here, no nonsense!" - -"Unbar the door!" She believed him to be a coward, and he was. - -"You just wait a bit, my lady!" he threatened, but drew the bolt, -nevertheless; when he turned, the muzzle of the fowling-piece still -covered him. - -She nodded toward the knapsack. "Pick up that, if you will.... Now turn -your back--your back to me, if you please--and go." - -He hesitated, rebellious: but there was no help for it. - -"Go!" she repeated. And he went. - -Above the cabin the path ended almost at once in a _cul de sac_--a -wall of frowning cliff. There was no way for him, whether he wished to -descend or climb the mountain, but that which led him past the body of -the man he had just murdered. He went past it tottering, fumbling with -the straps of his knapsack: and Mercedes stood in the moonlit doorway -and watched him out of sight. - -By-and-by she seated herself before the threshold, and, laying the gun -across her knees, prepared herself to wait for the dawn. The dead man -lay huddled on his side, a few paces from her. Overhead, along the -waste mountain heights, the wolves howled. - -Hours passed. Still the wolves howled, and once from the upper darkness -Mercedes heard, or fancied that she heard, a scream. - - * * * * * - -At noon, next day, two men--a priest and a young peasant--were climbing -the mountain-path leading to the hut. The young man carried on his -shoulder a two-year-old child; and, because the sun shone and the crisp -air put a spirit of life into all things untroubled by thought, the -child crowed and tugged gleefully at his father's _berret_. But his -father paid no heed, and strode forward at a pace which forced the -priest (who was stout) now and again into a run. - -"She will not be there," he kept repeating, steeling himself against -the worst. "She cannot be there. When she missed her child----" - -"She is waiting on her grandfather, belike," urged the priest. "They -left him with one day's food: so she told the Brothers. And they, like -fools, let her go with just sufficient for her own needs. Yet I ought -not to blame them for losing their heads in so small a matter. They -saved many women." - -He told again how he--the parish priest of Nogales--had found Gil the -Younger and his wife dead and drunken, with their heads in a gutter -and the child wailing in the mud beside them. "Your wife had given her -mother the child to guard but a minute before she fell in with the -soldiers. A young officer saved her, the Brothers said." - -"Mercedes will have sought her child first," persisted Sebastian; and -rounding the corner of the cliff, they came in sight of the hut and of -her whom they sought. - -She sat in the path before it, still with the fowling-piece across -her knees. But to reach her they had to pass the body of a soldier -lying with clenched hands in a crimson patch of snow. The child, who -had passed by many horrors on the road, and all with gay unconcern, -stretched out his arms across this one, recognising his mother at once, -and kicking in his father's clasp. - -She raised her eyes dully. She was too weak even to move. "I knew you -would come," she said in a whisper; and with that her eyes shifted and -settled on the body in the path. - -"Take him away! I--I did not kill him." - -Her husband set down the child. "Run indoors, little one: you shall -kiss mamma presently." - -He bent over her, and, unstringing a small wine-skin from his belt, -held the mouth of it to her lips. The priest stooped over the dead -man, on whose collar the figures "28" twinkled in the sunlight. The -child, for a moment rebellious, toddled towards the doorway of the hut. - -Mercedes' eyelids had closed: but some of the wine found its way down -her throat, and as it revived her, they flickered again. - -"Sebastian," she whispered. - -"Be at rest, dear wife. It is I, Sebastian." - -"I did not kill him." - -"I hear. You did not kill him." - -"The child?" - -"He is safe--safe and sound," he assured her, and called, -"Sebastianillo!" - -For a moment there was no answer: but as he lifted Mercedes and carried -her into the hut, on its threshold the boy met them, his both hands -dropping silver dollars. - - - - -THE LAMP AND THE GUITAR - - [FROM THE MEMOIRS OF MANUEL, OR MANUS, MacNEILL, AN AGENT IN THE - SECRET SERVICE OF GREAT BRITAIN DURING THE PENINSULAR CAMPAIGNS OF - 1808-13.] - - -I have not the precise date in 1811 when Fuentes and I set out for -Salamanca, but it must have been either in the third or fourth week of -July. - -In Portugal just then Lord Wellington was fencing, so to speak, with -the points of three French armies at once. On the south he had Soult, -on the north Dorsenne, and between them Marmont's troops were scattered -along the valley of the Tagus, with Madrid as their far base. Being -solidly concentrated, by short and rapid movements he could keep these -three armies impotent for offence; but _en revanche_, he could make no -overmastering attack upon any one of them. If he advanced far against -Soult or against Dorsenne he must bring Marmont down on his flank, left -or right; while, if he reached out and struck for the Tagus Valley, -Marmont could borrow from right and left without absolutely crippling -his colleagues, and roll up seventy thousand men to bar the road on -Madrid. In short, the opposing armies stood at a deadlock, and there -were rumours that Napoleon, who was pouring troops into Spain from the -north, meant to follow and take the war into his own hands. - -Now, the strength and the weakness of the whole position lay with -Marmont; while the key of it, curiously enough, was Ciudad Rodrigo, -garrisoned by Dorsenne--as in due time appeared. For the present, -Wellington, groping for the vital spot, was learning all that could -be learnt about Marmont's strength, its disposition, and (a matter of -first importance) its victualling, Spain being a country where large -armies starve. How many men were being drafted down from the north? How -was Marmont scattering his cantonments to feed them? What was the state -of the harvest? What provisions did Salamanca contain? And what stores -were accumulating at Madrid, Valladolid, Burgos? - -I had just arrived at Lisbon in a _chassemarée_ of San Sebastian, -bringing a report of the French troops, which for a month past had been -pouring across the bridge of Irun: and how I had learnt this is worth -telling. There was a cobbler, Martinez by name--a little man with a -green shade over his eyes--who plied his trade in a wooden hutch at -the end of the famous bridge. While he worked he counted every man, -horse, standard, wagon, or gun that passed, and forwarded the numbers -without help of speech or writing (for he could not even write his own -name). He managed it all with his hammer, tapping out a code known to -our fellows who roamed the shore below on the pretence of hunting for -shellfish, but were prevented by the French cordon from getting within -sight of the bridge. As for Martinez, the French Generals themselves -gossipped around his hutch while he cobbled industriously at the -soldiers' shoes. - -I had presented my report to Lord Wellington, who happened to be in -Lisbon quarrelling with the Portuguese Government and re-embarking -(apparently for Cadiz) a battering train of guns and mortars which had -just arrived from England: and after two days' holiday I was spending -an idle morning in a wine-shop by the quay, where the proprietor, a -fervid politician, kept on file his copies of the Government newspaper, -the _Lisbon Gazette_. A week at sea had sharpened my appetite for -news; and I was wrapped in study of the _Gazette_ when an orderly -arrived from headquarters with word that Lord Wellington requested my -attendance there at once. - -I found him in conference with a handsome, slightly built man--a -Spaniard by his face--who stepped back as I entered, but without -offering to retire. Instead, he took up his stand with his back to -one of the three windows overlooking the street, and so continued to -observe me, all the while keeping his own face in shade. - -The General, as his habit was, came to business at once. - -"I have sent for you," said he, "on a serious affair. Our -correspondents in Salamanca have suddenly ceased to write." - -"If your Excellency's correspondents are the same as the Government's," -said I, "'tis small wonder," and I glanced at the newspaper in his -hand--a copy of the same _Gazette_ I had been reading. - -"Then you also think this is the explanation?" He held out the paper -with the face of a man handling vermin. - -"The Government publishes its reports, the English newspapers copy -them: these in turn reach Paris; the Emperor reads them: and," -concluded I, with a shrug, "your correspondents cease to write, -probably for the good reason that they are dead." - -"That is just what I want you to find out," said he. - -"Your Excellency wishes me to go to Salamanca? Very good. And, -supposing these correspondents to be dead?" - -"You will find others." - -"That may not be easy: nevertheless, I can try. Your Excellency, by -the way, will allow me to promise that future reports are not for -publication?" - -Wellington smiled grimly, doubtless from recollection of a recent -interview with Silveira and the Portuguese Ministry. "You may rest -assured of that," said he; and added: "There may be some delay, as you -suggest, in finding fresh correspondents: and it is very necessary for -me to know quickly how Salamanca stands for stores." - -"Then I must pick up some information on my own account." - -"The service will be hazardous----" - -"Oh, as for that----" I put in, with another shrug. - -"--and I propose to give you a companion," pursued Wellington, with a -half-turn toward the man in the recess of the window. "This is Seņor -Fuentes. You are not acquainted, I believe?--as you ought to be." - -Now from choice I have always worked alone: and had the General -uttered any other name I should have been minded to protest, with the -old Greek, that two were not enough for an army, while for any other -purpose they were too many. But on hearsay the performances of this man -Fuentes and his methods and his character had for months possessed a -singular fascination for me. He was at once a strolling guitar-player -and a licentiate of the University of Salamanca, a consorter with -gypsies, and by birth a pure-blooded Castilian hidalgo. Some said that -patriotism was a passion with him; with a face made for the love of -women, he had a heart only for the woes of Spain. Others averred that -hatred of the French was always his master impulse; that they, by -demolishing the colleges of his University, and in particular his own -beloved College of San Lorenzo, had broken his heart and first driven -him to wander. Rewards he disdained; dangers he laughed at: his feats -in the service had sometimes a touch of high comedy and always a touch -of heroic grace. In short, I believe that if Spain had held a poet in -those days, Fuentes would have passed into song and lived as one of -his country's demigods. - -He came forward now with a winning smile and saluted me cordially, not -omitting a handsome compliment on my work. You could see that the man -had not an ounce of meanness in his nature. - -"We shall be friends," said he, turning to the Commander-in-Chief. -"And that will be to the credit of both, since Seņor MacNeill has an -objection to comrades." - -"I never said so." - -"Excuse me, but I have studied your methods." - -"Well, then," I replied, "I had the strongest objection, but you have -made me forget it--as you have forgotten your repugnance to visit -Salamanca." For although Fuentes flitted up and down and across Spain -like a will-o'-the-wisp, I had heard that he ever avoided the city -where he had lived and studied. - -His fine eyes clouded, and he muttered some Latin words as it were with -a voice indrawn. - -"I beg your pardon?" put in Wellington sharply. - -"Cecidit, cecidit Salmantica illa fortis," Fuentes repeated. - -"'Cecidit'--ah! I see--a quotation. Yes, they are knocking the place -about: as many as fifteen or sixteen colleges razed to the ground." He -opened the newspaper again and ran his eyes down the report. "You'll -excuse me: in England we have our own way of pronouncing Latin, and -for the moment I didn't quite catch----Yes, sixteen colleges; a clean -sweep! But before long, Seņor Fuentes, we'll return the compliment upon -their fortifications." - -"That must be my consolation, your Excellency," Fuentes made answer -with a smile which scarcely hid its irony. - -The General began to discuss our route: our precautions he left to -us. He was well aware of the extreme risk we ran, and once again made -allusion to it as he dismissed us. - -"If that were all your Excellency demanded!" - -Fuentes' gaiety returned as we found ourselves in the street. "We -shall get on together like a pair of schoolboys," he assured me. "We -understand each other, you and I. But oh, those islanders!" - - * * * * * - -We left Lisbon that same evening on muleback, taking the road for -Abrantes. So universally were the French hated that the odds were we -might have dispensed with precautions at this stage, and indeed for -the greater part of the journey. The frontier once passed we should -be travelling in our native country--Fuentes as a gypsy and I as -an Asturian, moving from one harvest-job to another. We carried no -compromising papers: and if the French wanted to arrest folks on mere -suspicion they had the entire population to practise on. Nevertheless, -having ridden north-east for some leagues beyond Abrantes--on the -direct road leading past Ciudad Rodrigo to Salamanca--we halted at -Amendoa, bartered one of our mules for a couple of skins of wine and -ten days' provisions, and, having made our new toilet in a chestnut -grove outside the town, headed back for the road leading east through -Villa Velha into the Tagus valley. - -Beyond the frontier we were among Marmont's cantonments: but these lay -scattered, and we avoided them easily. Keeping to the hill-tracks on -the northern bank of the river, and giving a wide berth to the French -posts in front of Alcantara, we struck away boldly for the north -through the Sierras: reached the Alagon, and, following up its gorges, -crossed the mountains in the rear of Bejar, where a French force -guarded the military pass. - -So far we had travelled unmolested, if toilsomely; and a pleasanter -comrade than Fuentes no man could ask for. His gaiety never failed him: -yet it was ever gentle, and I suspected that it covered either a native -melancholy or some settled sorrow--sorrow for his country, belike--but -there were depths he never allowed me to sound. He did everything -well, from singing a love-song to tickling a trout and cooking it for -our supper: and it was after such a supper, as we lay and smoked on a -heathery slope beyond Bejar, that he unfolded his further plans. - -"My friend", said he, "there were once two brothers, students of -Salamanca, and not far removed in age. Of these the elder was given to -love-making and playing on the guitar; while the other stuck to his -books--which was all the more creditable because his eyes were weak. I -hope you are enjoying this story?" - -"It begins to be interesting." - -"Yet these two brothers--they were nearly of one height, by the -way--obtained their bachelor's degrees, and in time their licentiates, -though as rewards for different degrees of learning. They were from -Villacastin, beyond Avila in Old Castille: but their father, a hidalgo -of small estates there, possessed also a farm and the remains of a -castle across the frontier in the kingdom of Leon, a league to the -west of Salvatierra on the Tormes. It had come to him as security for -a loan which was never paid: and, dying, he left this property to his -younger son Andrea. Now when the French set a Corsican upon the throne -of our kingdoms, these two brothers withdrew from Salamanca; but while -Andrea took up his abode on his small heritage, and gave security for -his good behaviour, Eugenio, the elder, turned his back on the paternal -home (which the French had ravaged), and became a rebel, a nameless, -landless man and a wanderer, with his guitar for company. You follow -me?" - -"I follow you, Seņor Don Eugenio----" - -"Not 'de Fuentes,'" he put in with a smile. "The real name you shall -read upon certain papers and parchments of which I hope to possess -myself to-night. In short, my friend, since we are on the way to -Salamanca, why should I not apply there for my doctor's degree?" - -"It requires a thesis, I have always understood." - -"That is written." - -"May I ask upon what subject?" - -"The fiend take me if I know yet! But it is written, safe enough." - -"Ah, I see! We go to Salvatierra? Yes, yes, but what of me, who know -scarcely any Latin beyond my _credo_?" - -"Why, that is where I feel a certain delicacy. Having respect to your -rank, _caballero_, I do not like to propose that you should become my -servant." - -"I am your servant already, and for a week past I have been an -Asturian. It will be promotion." - -He sprang up gaily. "What a comrade is mine!" he cried, flinging away -the end of his cigarette. "To Salvatierra, then--Santiago, and close -Spain!" - -Darkness overtook us as we climbed down the slopes: but we pushed on, -Fuentes leading the way boldly. Evidently he had come to familiar -ground. But it was midnight before he brought me, by an abominable -road, to a farmstead the walls of which showed themselves ruinous even -in the starlight--for moon there was none. At an angle of the building, -which once upon a time had been whitewashed, rose a solid tower, with a -doorway and an iron-studded door, and a narrow window overlooking it. -In spite of the hour, Fuentes advanced nonchalantly and began to bang -the door, making noise enough to wake the dead. The window above was -presently opened--one could hear, with a shaking hand. "Who is there?" -asked a man's voice no less tremulous. "Who are you, for the love of -God?" - -"_Gente de paz_, my dear brother!--not your friends the French. I hope, -by the way, you are entertaining none." - -"I have been in bed these four hours or five. 'Peace,' say you? I wish -you would take your own risks and leave me in peace! What is it you -want, this time?" - -"'Tis a good six weeks, brother, since my last visit: and, as you know, -I never call without need." - -"Well, what is it you need?" - -"I need," said Fuentes with great gravity, "the loan of your -spectacles." - -"Be serious, for God's sake! And do not raise your voice so: the French -may be following you----" - -"Dear Andrea, and if the French were to hear it, surely mine is an -innocent request. A pair of spectacles!" - -"The French----" began Don Andrea and broke off, peering down -short-sightedly into the courtyard. "Ah, there is someone else! Who is -it? Who is it you have there in the darkness?" - -"_Dios!_ A moment since you were begging for silence, and now you want -me to call out my friend's name--to who knows what ears? He has a mule, -here, and I--oh yes, beside the spectacles I shall require a horse: a -horse, and--let me see--a treatise." - -"Have you been drinking, brother?" - -"No: and, since you mention it, a cup of wine, too, would not come -amiss. Is this a way to treat the _caballero_ my friend? For the honour -of the family, brother, step down and open the door." - -Don Andrea closed the window, and by-and-by we heard the bolts -withdrawn, one by one--and they were heavy. The door opened at length, -and a thin man in a nightcap peered out upon us with an oil-lamp held -aloft over the hand shading his eyes. - -"You had best call Juan," said his brother easily, "and bid him stable -the mule. For the remainder of the night we are your guests; and, to -ensure our sleeping well, you shall fetch out the choicest of the -theses you have composed for your doctorate and read us a portion over -our wine." - -We lay that night, after a repast of thin wine and chestnuts, in a -spare chamber, and on beds across the feet of which the rats scudded. I -did not see Don Andrea again: but his brother, who had risen betimes, -awakened me from uneasy slumber and showed me his spoil. Sure enough -it included a pair of spectacles and a bulky roll of manuscript, a -leathern jerkin, a white shirt, and a pair of velvet-fustian breeches, -tawny yellow in hue and something the worse for wear. Below-stairs, in -the courtyard, we found a white-haired retainer waiting, with his grip -on the bridles of my mule and a raw-boned grey mare. - -"The _caballero_ will bring them back when he has done with them?" said -this old man as I mounted. The request puzzled me for a moment until I -met his eyes and found them fastened wistfully on my breeches. - -Assuredly Fuentes was an artist. Besides the spectacles, which in -themselves transformed him, he had borrowed a broad-brimmed hat and -a rusty black sleeveless _mancha_, which, by the way he contrived it -to hang, gave his frame an extraordinary lankiness. But his final and -really triumphant touch was simply a lengthening of the stirrups, -so that his legs dangled beneath the mare's belly like a couple of -ropes with shoes attached. If Don Andrea watched us out of sight from -his tower--as I doubt not he did--his emotions as he recognised his -portrait must have been lively. - -In this guise we ambled steadily all day along the old Roman road -leading to Salamanca, and came within sight of the city as the sun -was sinking. It stood on the eastern bank of the river, fronting the -level rays, its walls rising tier upon tier, its towers and cupolas of -cream-coloured stone bathed in gold, with recesses of shadowy purple. -A bridge of twenty-five or six arches spanned the cool river-beds, and -towards this we descended between cornfields, of which the light swept -the topmost ears while the stalks stood already in twilight. Truly it -was a noble city yet, and so I cried aloud to Fuentes. But his eyes, I -believe, saw only what the French had marred or demolished. - -A group of their soldiery idled by the bridge-end, waiting for the -guard to be relieved, and lolled against the parapet watching the -bathers, whose shouts came up to me from the chasm below. But instead -of riding up and presenting our passes, Fuentes, a furlong from the -bridge, turned his mare's head to the left and reined up at the door of -a small riverside tavern. - -The innkeeper--a brisk, athletic man, with the air of a retired -servant--appeared at the door as we dismounted. He scanned Fuentes -narrowly, while giving him affable welcome. Plainly he recognised him -as an old patron, yet plainly the recognition was imperfect. - -"Eh, my good Bartolomé, and so you still cling above the river? I hope -custom clings here too?" - -"But--but can it be the Seņor Don----" - -"Eugenio, my friend. The spectacles puzzle you: they belong to my -brother, Don Andrea, and I may tell you that after a day's wear I find -them trying to the eyes. But, you understand, there are reasons ... and -so you will suppose me to be Don Andrea, while bringing a cup of wine, -and another for my servant, to Don Eugenio's favourite seat, which was -at the end of the garden beyond the mulberry-tree, if you remember." - -"Assuredly this poor house is your Lordship's, and all that belongs to -it. The wine shall be fetched with speed. But as for the table at the -end of the garden, I regret to tell your Lordship that it is occupied -for a while. If for this evening, I might recommend the parlour----" -The innkeeper made his excuse with a certain quick trepidation which -Fuentes did not fail to note. - -"What is this? Your garden full? It appears then, my good Bartolomé, -that your custom has not suffered in these bad times." - -"On the contrary, Seņor, it has fallen off woefully! My garden has been -deserted for months, and is empty now, save for two gentlemen, who, as -luck will have it, have chosen to seat themselves in your Lordship's -favourite corner. Ah, yes, the old times were the best! and I was a -fool to grumble, as I sometimes did, when my patrons ran me off my -legs." - -"But steady, Bartolomé: not so fast! Surely there used to be three -tables beyond the mulberry-tree, or my memory is sadly at fault." - -"Three tables? Yes, it is true there are three tables. Nevertheless----" - -"I cannot see," pursued Fuentes with a musing air--"no, for the life of -me I cannot see how two gentlemen should require three tables to drink -their wine at." - -"Nor I, Seņor. It must, as you say, be a caprice: nevertheless they -charged me that on all accounts they were to have that part of the -garden to themselves." - -"A very churlish caprice, then! They are Frenchmen, doubtless?" - -"No, indeed, your Lordship: but two lads of good birth, gentlemen of -Spain, the one a bachelor, the other a student of the University." - -"All the more, then, they deserve a lesson. Bartolomé, you will -tell your tapster to bring my wine to the vacant table beyond the -mulberry-tree." - -"But, Seņor----" As Fuentes moved off, the innkeeper put forth a hand -to entreat if not to restrain him. - -"Eh?" Fuentes halted as if amazed at his impudence. "Ah, to be sure, -I am Don Andrea: but do not forget, my friend, that Don Eugenio used -to be quick-tempered, and that in members of one family these little -likenesses crop up in the most unexpected fashion." He strode away down -the shadowy garden-path over which in the tree-tops a last beam or two -of sunset lingered: and I, having hitched up our beasts, followed him, -carrying the saddle-bags and his guitar-case. - -Three tables, as he had premised, stood in the patch of garden beyond -the mulberry-tree, hedged in closely on three sides, giving a view -in front upon the towers and fortifications across the river; a nook -secluded as a stage-box facing a scene that might have been built -and lit up for our delectation. The tables, with benches alongside, -stood moderately close together--two by the river-wall, the third in -the rear, where the hedge formed an angle: and the two gentlemen so -jealous of their privacy were seated at the nearer of the two tables -overlooking the river, and on the same bench--though at the extreme -ends of it and something more than a yard apart. - -They stared up angrily at our intrusion, and for the moment the elder -of the pair seemed about to demand our business. But Fuentes walked -calmly by, took his seat at the next table, pulled out his bundle -of manuscript, adjusted his spectacles, and began to read. Having -deposited my baggage, I took up a respectful position behind him, -ignoring--somewhat ostentatiously perhaps--the strangers' presence, yet -not without observing them from the corner of my eye. - -They were young: the elder, maybe, three-and-twenty, short, thick-set, -with features just now darkened by his ill-humour, but probably -sullen enough at the best of times: the younger, tall and nervous and -extraordinarily fair for a Spaniard, with a weak, restless mouth and -restless, passionate eyes. Indeed, either this restlessness was a -disease with him or he was suffering just now from an uncontrollable -agitation. Eyes, mouth, feet, fingers--the whole man seemed to be -twitching. I set down his age at eighteen. On the table stood a large -flask of wine, from which he helped himself fiercely, and beside the -flask lay a long bundle wrapped in a cloak. - -This young man, having drained his glass at a gulp, let out an oath and -sprang up suddenly with a glare upon Fuentes, who had stretched out -his legs and was already absorbed in his reading. - -"Seņor Stranger," he began impetuously, "we would have you to know, if -the innkeeper has not already told you----" - -"Gently!" interposed his comrade. "You are going the wrong way to -work. My friend, Sir"--he addressed Fuentes, who looked up with a mild -surprise--"my friend, Sir, was about to suggest that the light is poor -for reading." - -"Oh," answered Fuentes, smiling easily, "for a minute or two--until -they bring my wine. Moreover, I wear excellent glasses." - -"But the place is not too well chosen." - -Fuentes appeared to digest this for a moment, then turned around upon -me with a puzzled air. - -"My good Pedro, you have not misled me, I hope? I am short-sighted, -gentlemen; and if we have strayed into a private garden I offer you -my profoundest apologies." He gathered his manuscript into a roll and -stood up. - -"To be plain with you, Sir," said the dark man sullenly, "this is not -precisely a private garden, and yet we desire privacy." - -"Oho?" After a glance around, Fuentes fixed his eyes on the bundle -lying on the table. "And at the point of the sword--eh?" - -The two young men started and at once began to eye each other -suspiciously. - -"No, no," Fuentes assured them, smiling; "this is no trap, believe me, -but a chance encounter; and I am no _alguacil_ in disguise, but a poor -scholar returning to Salamanca for his doctorate. Nor do I seek to know -the cause of your quarrel. But here comes the wine!" He waited until -the tapster had set flask and glasses on the table and withdrawn. "In -the interval before your friends arrive you will not grudge me, Sirs, -the draining of a glass to remembrance in a garden where I too have -loved my friends, and quarrelled with them, in days gone by--days older -now than I care to reckon." He raised the wine and held it up for a -moment against the sunset. "Youth--youth!" he sighed. - -"You are welcome, Sir," said the younger man a trifle more graciously; -"but we expect no seconds, and, believe me, we shall presently be -pressed for time." - -Fuentes raised his eyebrows. "You surprise and shock me, Sirs. In the -days to which I drank just now it was not customary for gentlemen of -the University of Salamanca to fight without witnesses. We left that to -porters and grooms." - -"And pray," sneered the darker young man, "may we know the name of him -who from the height of his years and experience presumes to intrude -this lecture on us?" - -"You may address me, if you will, as Don Andrea Galazza de Villacastin, -a licentiate of your University----" - -To my astonishment the younger man stopped him with a short offensive -laugh. "You may spare us the rest, Sir. Don Andrea Galazza is known to -us and to all honest patriots by repute: we can supply the rest of his -titles for ourselves, beginning with _renegado_----" - -"Hist!" interposed his comrade, at the same time catching up the swords -from the table. "Don't be a fool, Sebastian--speak lower, for God's -sake!--the very soldiers at the bridge will hear you!" - -"Ay, Sir," chimed in Fuentes gravely; "listen to your friend's advice, -and do not increase the peril of your remarks by the foolishness of -shouting them." - -But the youngster, flushed with wine and overstrung, had lost for the -moment all self-control. "I accept that risk," cried he, "for the -pleasure of telling Don Andrea Galazza what kind of man he passes for -among honourable folk. He, the brother of Don Eugenio--of our hero, -the noble Fuentes! He, that signed his peace while that noble heart -preferred to break!" He spat in furious contempt. - -Fuentes turned to me quietly. "Behold one of the enthusiasts we came -to seek," he murmured; "and one who will not fear risks. But these -testimonials are embarrassing, and this fame of mine swells to a -nuisance." He faced his accuser. "Nevertheless," answered he aloud, -"you make a noise that must disconcert your friend, who is in two -minds about assassinating me. Why spoil his game by arousing the -neighbourhood?" - -"Seņor Don Andrea, you know too much--thanks to my friend here," said -the dark man slowly. - -"But we are not assassins," put in the youngster. "Renegade though you -be, Don Andrea, I give you your chance." He snatched the foil from his -senior's hand and presented it solemnly, hilt foremost, to Fuentes. - -"Youth--youth!" murmured Fuentes with an appreciative laugh, as he -tucked the foil under his arm, took off his spectacles and rubbed them, -laughing again. He readjusted them carefully and, saluting, fell on -guard. "I am at your service, Sir." - -The youth stepped forward hotly, touched blades, and almost immediately -lunged. An instant later his sword, as though it had been a bird -released from his hand, flew over his shoulder into the twilight behind. - -"That was ill-luck for you, Seņor," said Fuentes lowering his point. -"But who can be sure of himself in this confounded twilight?" He swung -half-about towards the river-wall, with a glance across at the city, -where already a few lights began to twinkle in the dusk. And, so -turning, he seemed on a sudden to catch his breath. - -And almost on that instant the youngster, who had fallen back -disconcerted, sprang forward in a fresh fury and gripped his comrade -by the arm, pointing excitedly towards a group of houses above the -fortifications, whence from a high upper storey, deeply recessed -between flanking walls, a light redder than the rest twinkled across to -us. - -"The proof!" cried he. "She knew you would be here, and that is the -proof! _You_ at least I will kill before I leave this garden, as I came -to kill you to-night." - -In his new gust of fury he seemed to have forgotten his -discomfiture--to have forgotten even the existence of Fuentes, who now -faced them both with a smile which (unless the dusk distorted it) had -some bitterness in its raillery. - -"If I mistake not, Sirs, the light you were discussing signals to us -from an upper chamber in the Lesser Street of the Virgins. It can -only be seen from this garden and from the far end of it, where we -now stand. I will not ask you who lights it now: but she who lit it -in former days was named Luisa. Oh yes, she was circumspect--a good -maid then, and no doubt a good maid now: in that street of the Virgins -there was at least one prudent. Youth flies, _ay de mi_! But youth -also, as I perceive to-night, repeats itself; and Luisa--who was always -circumspect, though a conspirator--apparently repeats herself too." - -"Luisa? What do you know of Luisa?" stammered the younger man. The name -seemed to have fallen on him like the touch of an enchanter's wand, -stiffening him to stone. Like a statue he stood there, peering forward -with a white face. - -"My friend"--Fuentes turned to me--"be so good as to unstrap the case -yonder and hand me my guitar." - -He laid his foil on the table, took the guitar from me, and, having -seated himself on the bench, tried the strings softly, all the while -looking up with grave raillery at the two young men. - -"What do I know of Luisa? Listen!" Under his voice he began a -light-hearted little song, which in English might run like this, or as -nearly as I can contrive-- - - _My love, she lives in Salamanca - All up a dozen flights of stairs; - There with the sparrows night and morning - Under the roof she chirps her prayers. - They say her wisdom comes from heaven-- - So near the clouds and chimneys meet-- - I rather think Luisa's sparrows - Fetch it aloft there from the street!_ - - _What would you have? In la Verdura - All the day long she keeps a stall: - Students, bachelors buy her nosegays, - Given with a look and--well, that's all! - Go, silly boy, believe you first with her-- - Twenty at once she'll entertain. - Why love a mistress and be curst with her? - Copy Luisa--love all Spain!_ - -He paused, still eyeing them. "You recognise the tune, Sirs? Does she -play it yet? Well, then, I made it for her." - -"_You?_ How came _you_ to make her that tune?" The younger man had -found his voice at length. "No, Sir; coquette she may be, but that -she ever was friends with such a one as Andrea Galazza I will not yet -believe." - -"And you are right. Sirs, you have not yet told me your names: but in -your generous heat you have given me your secret--that you are two -lovers of Spain, and even such a pair as my friend and I have travelled -some distance to seek. In return you shall have mine. I tricked you -just now. I am not Don Andrea, but his brother Eugenio--or, as some -call him, Fuentes." - -"Fuentes! _You!_" - -"Upon my honour, yes." He pulled off his spectacles, meeting their -incredulity with a frank laugh. "What proof can I give you?" The guitar -still lay across his knees: he picked it up as if to play, but set it -down after a moment with another laugh, hard and bitter. "Let us go -together, gentlemen, to the Street of the Virgins, and ask Luisa if she -remembers me." - -It was agreed that the young men--who gave their names as Diego de -Ribalta and Sebastian Paz--should not accompany us into the city, but -wend their way back across the bridge, while we finished our wine -and mounted our beasts at leisure. The officer at the bridge-end -made no pother about our passports (borrowed, I need scarcely say, -from the estimable Don Andrea, who, as his brother explained, was a -careful man, and zealous in all dealings with the authorities); and -by-and-by we were clattering up-hill through the ill-lighted streets -of Salamanca. At the head of the first street our two friends stepped -out of the shadow and joined us in silence. In silence, too, Fuentes -regreeted them, and led the way--to an inn first, the Four Crowns, -standing almost under the shadow of the Old Cathedral, where we stabled -mare and mule; then, on foot, through a maze of zigzagging lanes and -alleys, back into the depths of a waterside quarter. Once he was at -fault--the lane we followed ending abruptly in an open space strewn -with rubble-heaps, a broad area where the French had lately been at -work. Among these heaps he blundered for a while in the darkness, and -then, retracing his steps, took up the scent again and led us down one -narrow street, across another; turned to the right, counting the houses -as he went, and knocked at the twelfth door without hesitation. The -knock was a peculiar one--five quick taps, followed, after a pause, by -one distinct and heavy. - -"But I must ask these gentlemen to do what remains," said he, turning -and addressing our companions. "Luisa has doubtless changed the -password since my time." - -"Willingly, Seņor Fuentes," agreed de Ribalta. "You will not, of -course, object to be blindfolded?--a formality, merely, in your case." - -The porter, having received the password in a whisper through the -grille, unbolted to us, and opened the door upon a pitch-dark passage. -Here we submitted to have our eyes bandaged, and Sebastian Paz took -my hand to guide me. Eight flights of stairs we mounted before the -hubbub of many voices and the tinkle of a guitar saluted my ears; two -more, and the hubbub grew louder; another, and it grew obstreperous, -deafening. At the head of the twelfth flight one of our guides rapped -on a door; the noise died down suddenly; a bolt was shot back and the -bandage dragged from my eyes. - -I found myself blinking and staring across a room filled with -tobacco-smoke, and upon a company which at first glance I took for -a crew of demons. They were, in fact, a students' chorus--young men -in black, with black silk masks covering the upper half of their -faces. All wore the same uniform--black tunic, short black cloak, -knee-breeches, and stockings. Some squatted on the floor, two lolled -on a divan by the window--each with a guitar across his knees. The -man who had opened to us held a tambourine, and he alone wore a -little round cap. The others wore black cocked hats, or had flung -them off for better ease. In a deep armchair beside the fireplace sat -a stiff-backed, middle-aged woman in black--a duenna evidently--who -regarded us with eyes like large black beads, but did not interrupt her -knitting. In the corner behind the door stood a bed, with a crucifix -above it: and on the bed, between two crates, the one of them heaped -with flowers, sat a young woman dangling a pretty pair of feet and -smoking a cigarette while she made up a posy. - -In spite of their masks one could tell that all the men were -young--mere lads, indeed. And if this were Luisa, Fuentes had slandered -her sorely. She seemed scarcely eighteen--and we had taken her, too, at -unawares, when a woman forgets for a moment her endless vigilant parry -against Time. She tossed her posy into the half-filled basket, clapped -her hands, and sprang off the bed. - -"Two new recruits! Bravo, Sebastianillo!" - -With that, as she stepped gaily forward, her eyes fell on Fuentes, and -she swayed and fell back a pace, catching at the foot of the bed. - -"Don Eugenio!" - -"Your servant, Seņorita." He bowed elaborately and coldly. "You keep -the lamp burning, and I accepted its invitation. Your cheeks, too, -Seņorita, keep the old colour. I congratulate you--and you, Doņa -Isabel." He bowed to the old lady. "To live with youth--that is the way -to live always young." - -She had moved forward again, as if to take him by both hands: but -faltered. "Yes, we have kept the lamp burning, Don Eugenio," she -answered with a voice curiously strained. "My friends"--she turned -to the young men--"rise and salute our guest of guests, Don Eugenio -Fuentes!" - -"Fuentes!" - -"What are you telling us, Luisa? _The_ Fuentes? But it is impossible!" - -"Impossible! Fuentes comes no more to Salamanca." - -Nevertheless all had sprung to their feet, and Fuentes comprehended -them all in an ironical bow. - -"That is the name by which I call myself, Sirs, since leaving the -University." - -Luisa made a dumb signal, and one of the youths handed him a guitar. He -struck but one chord to assure himself of its tune-- - - "_There's one that lives in Salamanca - All up a dozen flights of stairs; - There with the sparrows, night and morning, - Under the roof she chirps her prayers. - They say her wisdom comes from heaven_-- - -Will you not take a guitar, Seņorita, and help me with the old song? - - _So near the clouds and chimneys meet_-- - I _rather think Luisa's sparrows - Fetch it aloft there from the street!_" - -Above all things women suspect and fear irony: it is not one of their -weapons. Luisa glanced at Fuentes doubtfully, I could see, and with -some pain in her doubt. But it was the old song, after all, and he was -singing it _de bon coeur_. She caught up a guitar and chimed in with -the second verse, taking up the soprano's part, while he at once obeyed -and dropped from treble to alto-- - - _Which will you have? In la Verdura - Pretty Luisa keeps a stall: - Hands you a rose for your peseta, - Nothing to pay but a thorn--that's all! - King of her love, with no Prime Minister, - Lord of an attic blithe I'd reign. - But_ ay de mil! _from here to Finisterre - Pretty Luisa loves all Spain_. - -His eyes, as he sang, were fastened on young Sebastian Paz, and she, -noting them, played the verse to its ringing close, turned abruptly, -and laid the guitar on the bed between the flower-baskets. - -[Illustration: SHE CAUGHT UP A GUITAR AND CHIMED IN.] - -"But I think it is business brings you here, Don Eugenio." - -He had stepped to the open lattice, and with an upward glance at the -lamp, burning steadily in the windless air, leaned on the sill and -looked out over the city. Somewhere below by the waterside a dull noise -sounded--the thud of a falling beam. The French down there were working -by lantern-light, clearing away the houses from their fortifications. - -"Yes, I come on business, and from Lord Wellington. The good citizens -in Salamanca have ceased to write." - -"And small blame to them," one of the young men answered. - -"Small blame to them, I agree. And yet they must send news--this time -to Lord Wellington, who knows better than to print it." - -His eyes interrogated Luisa, who raised hers at length to meet them. - -"That will not be easy," said she, with a pucker of her pretty -forehead. "They are scared and afraid for their heads: nevertheless, -Don Eugenio might bring back their confidence, if only we can bring him -face to face with them." She seated herself on the bed's edge and mused -awhile with her hands in her lap. - -"You know where to find them?" asked Fuentes, addressing the company in -general. - -"Oh, yes, Seņor--assuredly we know where to find them!" answered one or -two. - -"Then the whole thing is very simple. You must let me join your choir, -gentlemen." - -"Yes, yes, _that_ is simple enough," put in Luisa impatiently: "the -more so, as our chorus is popular not only in the taverns, but at the -French officers' messes. But these spies of ours are slow and dull to a -degree: I think sometimes it takes a quite special clumsiness to be a -clerk of the arsenal or to swindle the country in the military stores. -We can get you into communication with them, Don Eugenio: but how are -they to pass their information to _you_? They are born bunglers, and -the French begin to use their eyes." She pursed her lips for a moment. -"Is your friend new to this work?" she asked, suddenly turning toward -me a gaze of frank inspection. - -Fuentes smiled. "You would not say so, Seņorita, were I free to tell -you his name." - -"As for that," said I, "where Seņor Don Eugenio entrusts his secret I -may not hesitate to entrust mine. My name is Manuel MacNeill, Seņorita, -and I kiss your hands and am at your service." - -Luisa rose and dropped me a very stately curtsey. "Happy were I, -Don Manuel MacNeill, to welcome you, even if you did not solve our -difficulty. You are clever at disguises, I have been told. Well, I have -a disguise for you--though not, to be sure, a pleasant one." - -"I take the downs with the ups," said I. - -"Well, then, Don Diego here is an artist. He can paint you a bunch of -grapes so that the birds come to peck at it: moreover, he has studied -at the hospital. We must find you a suit of rags, Sir, and Don Diego -shall paint you as full of sores as Lazarus." - -"And after that?" - -"After that you will go to the porch of the New Cathedral, to the -shady side of it--look you how I study your comfort--facing on the -Square of the Old College: and there you shall collect the alms of the -charitable. Many things, I am told, find their way into a beggar's hat." - -"Seņorita," said Fuentes gravely, with a glance up at the lamp, "it was -a good star that led us here to-night." - -"The star, as you call it, has not failed in all these years," she -answered, with a look of timid appeal which hardened to one of defiance. - -"Nay," answered he coldly and lightly, "I never doubted it would--while -there was oil to feed it." - -On the morrow, then, I took up my station by the porch of the -Cathedral, with a highly artistic wound in my left leg, a shade over -my right eye, and beside me a crutch and a ragged cap. The first day -brought me coppers only: but late on the second afternoon a stout -citizen, pausing on the steps and catching his breath asthmatically -before entering the Cathedral, dropped a paper pellet in with his -penny. On the third day it began to rain pellets, and I drank that -night to the assured success of our campaign. - -I saw nothing of Fuentes. It had been agreed between us that I should -play my part in my own fashion, and I played it so thoroughly as to -take lodgings in the beggars' quarter, in a thieves' den--it was little -better--off the Street of the Rosary. It was enough for me that, -however Fuentes went about the sowing, the harvest kept pouring in. As -for the Street of the Virgins, I had been brought to it and had quitted -it in the dark, and it is a question if by daylight I could have found -it again. At any rate, I did not try. - -But on the fourth day, at about five in the afternoon, as the day's -heat began to grow tolerable, I caught sight of Luisa herself picking -her way towards the Cathedral porch along the pavement under the faįade -of the University. Before entering the great doors she paused on the -step beside me, bent to drop a coin into my cap, and whispered-- - -"When I come out, follow me." - -She passed on into the Cathedral and did not reappear for a quarter of -an hour, perhaps. In this time I had made up my mind that, whatever -the risk of my obeying her, she had probably weighed it against some -risk more urgent, and perhaps brought the message direct from Fuentes. -So when she came forth, and after pausing a moment to readjust her -mantilla, tripped down the steps and away to the left down the street -leading to the Porta del Rio, I picked up my crutch, yawned, shook the -coppers in my wallet, and hobbled after her at a decent distance. - -All the way I kept my eyes open and my ears too. In the streets around -the Porta del Rio the city's traffic was beginning to flow again -after the day's siesta: but I made pretty sure that we were not being -tracked. Through half-a-dozen streets she led me, and so to one which -I supposed to be the Street of the Virgins, and to a door which I -recognised for that to which Fuentes had brought me four nights ago. - -She had already knocked and been admitted: but the door opened again as -I came abreast of it, and I stepped past the porter into the passage. -Luisa stood half-way up the first flight of stairs under a sunny window -and beckoned, and aloft I climbed after her to her attic. With her hand -on the latch of her own door, she turned. - -"You will find your clothes within," she said, and opened the door for -me to pass. "Dress--dress with speed--and find Don Eugenio. Your work -is done, and you must both be beyond the bridge before sunset." - -"Is there treachery, Seņorita?" I asked. - -"There is treachery of a kind, but not of the kind you guess. It is -important that Don Eugenio should be beyond the bridge to-night. Your -beasts at the Four Crowns are ready saddled. Find your friend, and help -him to go with all speed." - -"But where shall I find him, Seņorita? I have not set eyes on him for -three or four days." - -"Yet he has done his work surely, has he not?" - -"Far better than I could have hoped." - -"You ask where he is to be found? But where else than by the -Archbishop's College, near by where the French have pulled down his own -College of San Lorenzo, and are destroying more? You men!" She broke -out into sudden passionate contempt. "The past is all you have eyes -for--the poor, wild, blundering past. You have no eyes for the present, -and with the past you poison its living joy. We women cannot be always -seventeen: yet because we are not, you kill us--you kill us, I say!" -Then, while I stared at her in downright amaze, "Go, dress!" she cried, -thrusting me into the room. "In your coat you will find two letters. -That without address you will give to Don Eugenio when you find him: -that which is marked with a cross you will hand to him when you shall -have passed the bridge--on no account before. And now be quick, I -beseech you: for this one room is all my house." - -Almost she thrust me within, and closed the door gently upon me. When I -emerged, in my right and proper clothes, it was to find her yet waiting -there upon the landing. - -"I thank you for your speed, Seņor Don Manuel; for I, too, am in haste -to change my dress: and my dress will require care to-night, since I go -to a masquerade." She gave me her hand. "Farewell, friend!" she said. - -I found Don Eugenio behind the College of the Archbishop, seated on a -mound and watching the French sappers at their work. I gave him Luisa's -letter. - -"The wench," said he calmly, having read it, "is a born conspirator. -She cannot be happy unless she has a card hidden even from her -fellow-plotters. Still, it is usually safe to follow her advice. Our -work is pretty thoroughly done, I fancy?" - -I nodded. - -"We will see to our beasts then." - -"She tells me they are ready saddled." - -"Saints! She is in a hurry, that girl! Ah, well, then let us go and ask -no questions." - -We found our mare and mule, paid our reckoning, and rode forth from -Salamanca. At the bridge-end we showed the passports, and were bidden -to go in peace. As we climbed the hill beyond, I handed Fuentes Luisa's -second letter. - -"She bade me deliver it here," I explained. - -He read it, turned in his saddle, and looked back towards the twilit -sky. "A likely tale," said he, crushing the letter into his pocket. - - * * * * * - -Scarcely a year later--to be precise, on the 17th of June, 1812--the -Allied forces crossed the fords above and below Salamanca, and invested -the fortifications which still commanded the bridge. In the suburbs and -outlying quarters the inhabitants lit up their houses and, cheering and -weeping, thronged the streets to press the hands of the deliverers. - -On the 27th the forts fell, and these scenes were renewed. I was -passing through the Plaza Mayor that night, about eight o'clock, when a -man plucked me by the sleeve, and, turning in the light of a bonfire, I -confronted Fuentes. I had not seen him since our return to Lisbon: and -his face, in the bonfire's glare, seemed to me to have aged woefully. - -"The shells may have spared her house," said he. "Do you care to go -with me and see what remains of it?" - -He linked his arm in mine. We dived into the dark streets together. - -The Street of the Virgins had suffered from the Allies' artillery, and -we picked our way over fallen chimney-stacks and heaps of rubble to -the remembered door. It stood open, no porter guarding it: but a lamp -smoked in the stairway, and by the light of it we mounted together. - -On the topmost landing all was dark, but here within the half-open door -a light shone. Fuentes tapped on the door and pressed it open. From a -deep armchair beside the empty fireplace a woman rose to greet us. It -was the duenna, Doņa Isabel. Behind her in the open window a lamp shone -within a red shade, swaying a little in the draught. - -"I give you welcome, Sirs," quavered the old lady in a voice that -seemed to flicker, too, in the draught. "By the shouting I understood -that the forts have fallen and for some while I have been expecting -you.... It is dull up here, and a poor welcome for young gentlemen -since my darling died. But on such a night as this----" - -She gazed around her, resting both hands on the arms of her chair. - -"Luisa! Where is Luisa?" cried Fuentes sharply. - -"They come very seldom now," pursued the old woman, not hearing or not -comprehending. "It is dull, you understand. You, Sir, are Don Eugenio, -are you not?" She nodded palsywise toward the white bed, where a broken -guitar lay between two baskets of withered flowers. - -"I was to tell you----" She broke off and lifted a hand half-way to -her brow, but let it drop. "I was to tell you, if you came, that her -letter was true, and always the lamp had been lit for you only. It -burns still, you see. She loved you, my little one did; and she was -good--always, though she laughed, she was good." - -Fuentes stepped to the bed and took the guitar in his hands. Some blow -had broken in the sounding-board, and one of the strings had snapped. - -"There is no blood upon it," went on the old woman in the same tone -that seemed pitilessly striving not to hurt. "The little one scarcely -bled at all. But Don Diego struck hard, and somehow the guitar was -broken, yet it may have been with her elbow as she fell. It was -not treachery, you understand. At first she believed that in his -jealousy he meant to betray you, but he meant only to murder. And she, -discovering this, dressed herself in your clothes and took your place -in the line that night: I heard her playing down the stairs: they were -all playing 'My love, she lives in Salamanca'--that was the tune--your -own tune, Don Eugenio--and she, with her mask on, singing bravely, the -third in the line. She was short, you remember--oh, perhaps a head and -shoulders shorter than you!--but Don Diego, outside the door in the -darkness, could not see well, or maybe he was misled by your guitar. -And, afterwards, Don Sebastian ran him through. They brought her -upstairs to me and laid her on the bed. She was breathing yet, but for -a very little while: and I was to tell you--I was to tell you----" She -broke off again, seeking to remember. - -"Was it something about the lamp, Doņa Isabel?" - -"Yes, that was it--but I have told you already, eh? Only for you she -had ever lit it: for years, yet always and only for you...." - -He crept past me, the guitar beneath his arm, and I followed. He went -like a blind man, groping between the stair-rail and the wall. - - - - - PRINTED BY - WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED - LONDON AND BECCLES. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Shakespeare's Christmas and other -stories, by A. T. 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Quiller-Couch. - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - -.small { - font-size: small} - -.medium { - font-size: medium} - -.large { - font-size: large} - -.x-large { - font-size: x-large} - - - h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} -.p4 {margin-top: 4em;} -.p6 {margin-top: 6em;} - -.ph1, .ph2, .ph3, .ph4 { text-align: center; text-indent: 0em; } -.ph1 { font-size: xx-large; margin: .67em auto; } -.ph2 { font-size: x-large; margin: .75em auto; } -.ph3 { font-size: large; margin: .83em auto; } -.ph4 { font-size: medium; margin: 1.12em auto; } -.ph5 { font-size: small; margin: 1.12em auto; text-align: center; } -.ph6 { font-size: x-small; margin: 1.12em auto; text-align: center; } -.hang { - text-indent: -2em; - padding-left: 2em} - -p.drop:first-letter { - font-family: "Times New Roman", Times, serif; - font-size: xx-large; - line-height: 70%} - -.uppercase { - font-size: small; - text-transform: uppercase} - - - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; - clear: both; -} - -hr.tb {width: 45%;} -hr.chap {width: 65%} -hr.full {width: 95%;} - -hr.r5 {width: 5%; margin-top: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;} -hr.r65 {width: 65%; margin-top: 3em; margin-bottom: 3em;} - -ul.index { list-style-type: none; } -li.ifrst { margin-top: 1em; } -li.indx { margin-top: .5em; } -li.isub1 {text-indent: 1em;} -li.isub2 {text-indent: 2em;} -li.isub3 {text-indent: 3em;} - -table { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} - - .tdl {text-align: left;} - .tdr {text-align: right;} - .tdc {text-align: center;} - -.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - /* visibility: hidden; */ - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; -} /* page numbers */ - -.linenum { - position: absolute; - top: auto; - left: 4%; -} /* poetry number */ - -.blockquot { - margin-left: 5%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - - -.bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} - -.bl {border-left: solid 2px;} - -.bt {border-top: solid 2px;} - -.br {border-right: solid 2px;} - -.bbox {border: solid 2px;} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - - - - - - - -.caption {text-align: center;} - - - - - - - -/* Footnotes */ -.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} - -.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} - -.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} - -.fnanchor { - vertical-align: super; - font-size: .8em; - text-decoration: - none; -} - - - - - - - -@media handheld { - .hidehand {display: none; visibility: hidden;} -} - - - - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Shakespeare's Christmas and other stories, by -A. T. Quiller-Couch - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. 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 www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Shakespeare's Christmas and other stories - -Author: A. T. Quiller-Couch - -Release Date: March 3, 2017 [EBook #54274] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SHAKESPEARE'S CHRISTMAS *** - - - - -Produced by Graeme Mackreth and The Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - - - - - - - -<p class="ph1">SHAKESPEARE'S CHRISTMAS<br /> - -AND OTHER STORIES -</p> - -<p class="center" style="margin-top:10em;"> -<img src="images/illus01.jpg" alt="door" /> -<a id="illus01" name="illus01"></a> -</p> -<p class="caption">"UNBAR THE DOOR!" SHE COMMANDED.<br /> - - -<i>Frontispiece.</i> <i>See p. <a href="#Page_286">286</a></i></p> - - - - - -<p class="ph3" style="margin-top: 10em;"> -SHAKESPEARE'S<br /> -CHRISTMAS -</p> -<p class="ph4">AND OTHER STORIES</p> - -<p class="ph6">BY</p> -<p class="ph4">"Q"<br /> -(A.T. QUILLER-COUCH)</p> - -<p class="ph5"><i>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS</i></p> - -<p class="ph5" style="margin-top: 10em;">LONDON<br /> -SMITH, ELDER & CO., 15, WATERLOO PLACE<br /> -1905</p> - -<p class="ph6">(<i>All rights reserved</i>) -</p> - - - - -<p class="ph5" style="margin-top: 10em;"> -Copyright, 1904<br /> -In the United States of America<br /> -By <span class="smcap">A.T. Quiller-Couch</span> -</p> - - - - -<p class="ph2" style="margin-top: 5em;">CONTENTS</p> - - -<table summary="toc" width="80%"> -<tr> -<td> -</td> -<td>PAGE -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#SHAKESPEARES_CHRISTMAS"><span class="smcap">Shakespeare's Christmas</span></a> -</td> -<td><span style="margin-left: 10%;"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></span> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#YE_SEXES_GIVE_EAR"><span class="smcap">Ye Sexes, Give Ear!</span></a> -</td> -<td><span style="margin-left: 6%;"><a href="#Page_65">65</a></span> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#CAPTAIN_WYVERNS_ADVENTURES"><span class="smcap">Captain Wyvern's Adventures</span></a> -</td> -<td><a href="#Page_115">115</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#FRENCHMANS_CREEK"><span class="smcap">Frenchman's Creek</span></a> -</td> -<td><a href="#Page_157">157</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#THE_MAN_BEHIND_THE_CURTAIN"><span class="smcap">The Man Behind the Curtain</span></a> -</td> -<td><a href="#Page_207">207</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#RAIN_OF_DOLLARS"><span class="smcap">Rain of Dollars</span></a> -</td> -<td><a href="#Page_243">243</a> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><a href="#THE_LAMP_AND_THE_GUITAR"><span class="smcap">The Lamp and the Guitar</span></a> -</td> -<td><a href="#Page_291">291</a> -</td> -</tr> -</table> - - - - - - -<p class="ph2">LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</p> - - -<p style="margin-left: 20%;"> -<span class="smcap"><a href="#illus01">"Unbar the door!" she commanded.</a></span> <i>Frontispiece</i><br /> -<br /> -<span class="smcap"><a href="#illus02">Whirled down the length of the room</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="smcap"><a href="#illus03">Landlord Oke gave a flourish with his -chalk and wrote</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="smcap"><a href="#illus04">The little officer had turned white as a -sheet</a></span> -<br /> -<br /> -<span class="smcap"><a href="#illus05">"'Tis too late, my master!" Trecarrel -called cheerfully down the trap</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="smcap"><a href="#illus06">In the name of H.M. King George III. -I charge you to come along quiet</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="smcap"><a href="#illus07">Get down from your horse, Sir</a></span><br /> -<br /> -<span class="smcap"><a href="#illus08">She caught up a guitar and chimed in</a></span> -</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="SHAKESPEARES_CHRISTMAS" id="SHAKESPEARES_CHRISTMAS">SHAKESPEARE'S CHRISTMAS</a></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>"<i>And moreover, at this Fair there is at all times to be seen -Jugglings, Cheats, Games, Plays, Fools, Apes, Knaves, and Rogues, -and that of every kind.... Now, as I said, the way to the Celestial -City lies just through this town, where this lusty Fair is kept; -and he that will go to the City, and yet not go through this Town, -must needs go out of the World.</i>"—<span class="smcap">Bunyan.</span></p></blockquote> - - -<p class="center">I</p> - -<p>At the theatre in Shoreditch, on Christmas Eve, 1598, the Lord -Chamberlain's servants presented a new comedy. Never had the Burbages -played to such a house. It cheered every speech—good, bad, or -indifferent. To be sure, some of the <i>dramatis personæ</i>—Prince Hal -and Falstaff, Bardolph and Mistress Quickly—were old friends; but this -alone would not account for such a welcome. A cutpurse in the twopenny -gallery who had been paid to lead the applause gave up toiling in the -wake of it, and leaned back with a puzzled grin.</p> - -<p>"Bravo, master!" said he to his left-hand neighbour a burly, red-faced -countryman well past<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> middle age, whose laughter kept the bench -rocking. "But have a care, lest they mistake you for the author!"</p> - -<p>"The author? Ho-ho!"——but here he broke off to leap to his feet and -lead another round of applause. "The author?" he repeated, dropping -back and glancing an eye sidelong from under his handkerchief while he -mopped his brow. "You shoot better than you know, my friend: the bolt -grazes. But a miss, they say, is as good as a mile."</p> - -<p>The cutpurse kept his furtive grin, but was evidently mystified. -A while before it had been the countryman who showed signs of -bewilderment. Until the drawing of the curtains he had fidgeted -nervously, then, as now, mopping his forehead in despite of the raw -December air. The first shouts of applause had seemed to astonish as -well as delight him. When, for example, a player stepped forward and -flung an arm impressively towards heaven while he recited—</p> - -<p style= "margin-left: 30%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 13em;"><i>When we mean to build,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>We first survey the plot, then draw the model</i>—</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>and so paused with a smile, his voice drowned in thunder from every -side of the house, our friend had rubbed his eyes and gazed around -in amiable protest, as who should say, "Come,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> come, ... but let us -discriminate!" By-and-by, however, as the indifferent applause grew -warmer, he warmed with it. At the entrance of Falstaff he let out a -bellowing laugh worthy of Olympian Jove, and from that moment led the -house. The fops on the sixpenny stools began to mimic, the pit and -lower gallery to crane necks for a sight of their fugleman; a few -serious playgoers called to have him pitched out; but the mass of the -audience backed him with shouts of encouragement. Some wag hailed -him as "Burbage's Landlord," and apparently there was meaning, if -not merit, in the jest. Without understanding it he played up to it -royally, leaning forward for each tally-ho! and afterwards waving his -hat as a huntsman laying on his hounds.</p> - -<p>The pace of the performance (it had begun at one o'clock) dragged -sensibly with all this, and midway in Act IV., as the edge of a grey -river-fog overlapped and settled gradually upon the well of the -unroofed theatre, voices began to cough and call for lanterns. Two -lackeys ran with a dozen. Some they hung from the balcony at the back, -others they disposed along both sides of the stage, in front of the -sixpenny stools, the audience all the while chaffing them by their -Christian names and affectionately pelt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>ing them with nuts. Still -the fog gathered, until the lantern-rays criss-crossed the stage in -separate shafts, and among them the actors moved through Act V. in a -luminous haze, their figures looming large, their voices muffled and -incredibly remote.</p> - -<p>An idle apprentice, seated on the right of the cutpurse, began for a -game to stop and unstop his ears. This gave the cutpurse an opportunity -to search his pockets. <i>Cantat vacuus</i>: the apprentice felt him at it -and went on with his game. Whenever he stopped his ears the steaming -breath of the players reminded him of the painted figures he had seen -carried in my Lord Mayor's Show, with labels issuing from their mouths.</p> - -<p>He had stopped his ears during the scene of King Henry's reconciliation -with Chief Justice Gascoigne, and unstopped them eagerly again when -his old friends reappeared—Falstaff and Bardolph and Pistol, all -agog and hurrying, hot-foot, boot-and-saddle, to salute the rising -sun of favour. "Welcome these pleasant days!" He stamped and clapped, -following his neighbours' lead, and also because his feet and hands -were cold.</p> - -<p>Eh? What was the matter? Surely the fog had taken hold of the rogues! -What was happening to Mistress Quickly and Doll Tearsheet?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span> Poor souls, -they were but children: they had meant no harm. For certain this plaguy -fog was infecting the play; and yet, for all the fog, the play was -a play no longer, but of a sudden had become savagely real. Why was -this man turning on his puppets and rending them? The worst was, they -bled—not sawdust, but real blood.</p> - -<p>The apprentice cracked a nut and peeled it meditatively, with a glance -along the bench. The countryman still fugled; the cutpurse cackled, -with lips drawn back like a wolf's, showing his yellow teeth.</p> - -<p>"Hist, thou silly knave!" said the apprentice. "Canst not see 'tis a -tragedy?"</p> - -<p>The rascal peered at him for a moment, burst out laughing, and nudged -the countryman.</p> - -<p>"Hi, master! Breeds your common at home any such goose as this, that -cannot tell tickling from roasting?"</p> - -<p>The apprentice cracked another nut. "Give it time," he answered. "I -said a tragedy. Yours, if you will, my friend; <i>his</i> too, may -be"—with a long and curious stare at the countryman.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="center">II</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>"<i>My tongue is weary: when my legs are too, I will bid you -good-night: and so kneel down before you; but indeed to pray for -the Queen.</i>"</p></blockquote> - -<p>Play, epilogue, dance, all were over; the curtains drawn, the lanterns -hidden behind them. The cutpurse had slipped away, and the countryman -and apprentice found themselves side by side waiting while the gallery -dissolved its crowd into the fog.</p> - -<p>"A brisk fellow," remarked the one, nodding at the vacant seat as he -stowed away his handkerchief. "But why should he guess me a rustic?"</p> - -<p>"The fellow has no discernment," the apprentice answered dryly. "He -even took the play for a merry one."</p> - -<p>The countryman peered forward into the young-old face silhouetted -against the glow which, cast upward and over the curtain-rod across the -stage, but faintly reached the gallery.</p> - -<p>"I love wit, Sir, wherever I meet it. For a pint of sack you shall -prove me this play a sad one, and choose your tavern!"</p> - -<p>"I thank you, but had liefer begin and discuss the epilogue: and the -epilogue is 'Who's to pay?'"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> - -<p>"A gentleman of Warwickshire, Master What-d'ye-lack—will that content -you? A gentleman of Warwickshire, with a coat-of-arms, or the College's -promise—which, I take it, amounts to the same thing." The countryman -puffed his cheeks.</p> - -<p>"So-so?" The apprentice chuckled.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 13em;">"<i>When we mean to build</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>We first survey the plot, then search our pockets.</i></span><br /> -</p> - -<p>How goes it? Either so, or to that effect."</p> - -<p>"The devil!" The countryman, who had been fumbling in his breek -pockets, drew forth two hands blankly, spreading empty fingers.</p> - -<p>"That was your neighbour, Sir: a brisk fellow, as you were clever -enough to detect, albeit unserviceably late. I wish we had made -acquaintance sooner: 'twould have given me liberty to warn you."</p> - -<p>"It had been a Christian's merest duty."</p> - -<p>"La, la, master! In London the sneaking of a purse is no such rarity -that a poor 'prentice pays twopence to gape at it. I paid to see the -play, Sir, and fought hard for my seat. Before my master gave over -beating me, in fear of my inches and his wife (who has a liking for -me), he taught me to husband my time. For your purse, the back of my -head had eyes enough to tell me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> what befalls when a lean dog finds -himself alongside a bone."</p> - -<p>He seated himself on the bench, unstrapped a shoe, slipped two fingers -beneath his stocking, and drew forth a silver piece. "If a gentleman of -Warwickshire will be beholden to a poor apprentice of Cheapside?"</p> - -<p>"Put it up, boy; put it up! I need not your money, good lad: but I -like the spirit of that offer, and to meet it will enlarge my promise. -A pint of sack, did I say? You shall sup with me to-night, and of -the best, or I am a Dutchman. We will go see the town together, the -roaring, gallant town. I will make you free of great company: you shall -hear the talk of gods! Lord, how a man rusts in the country!—for, I -will confess it to you, lad, the rogue hit the mark: the country is my -home."</p> - -<p>"I cannot think how he guessed it."</p> - -<p>"Nor I. And yet he was wrong, too: for that cannot be called home where -a man is never at his ease. I had passed your years, lad, before ever I -saw London; and ever since, when my boots have been deepest in Midland -clay, I have heard her bells summon me, clear as ever they called to -Whittington, 'London, thou art of townes <i>a per se</i>.' Nay, almost on -that first pil<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>grimage I came to her as a son. <i>Urbem quam dicunt -Romam</i>—I was no such clodpate as that rustic of Virgil's. I came -expecting all things, and of none did she disappoint me. Give me the -capital before all! 'Tis only there a man measures himself with men."</p> - -<p>"And cutpurses?" the apprentice interjected.</p> - -<p>"Good and bad, rough and smooth," the countryman assented, with a large -and catholic smile. "'Tis no question of degrees, my friend, but of -kind. I begin to think that, dwelling in London, you have not made her -acquaintance. But you shall. As a father, lad,—for I like you,—I -will open your eyes and teach your inheritance. What say you to the -Bankside, for example?"</p> - -<p>"The Bankside—hem!—and as a father!" scoffed the youth, but his eyes -glistened. He was wise beyond his opportunities, and knew all about -the Bankside, albeit he had never walked through that quarter but in -daylight, wondering at the histories behind its house-fronts.</p> - -<p>"As a father, I said; and evil be to him who evil thinks."</p> - -<p>"I can tell you of one who will think evil; and that is my master. I -can tell you of another; and that will be the sheriff, when I am haled -before him."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p> - -<p>"You said just now—or my hearing played a trick—that your mistress -had a liking for you."</p> - -<p>"And <i>you</i> said, 'Evil be to him that evil thinks.' She hath a double -chin, and owns to fifty-five."</p> - -<p>"What, chins!"</p> - -<p>"Years, years, master. Like a grandmother she dotes on me and looks -after my morals. Nathless when you talk of Bankside——" The apprentice -hesitated: in the dusk his shrewd young eyes glistened. "Say that I -risk it?" He hesitated again.</p> - -<p>"Lads were not so cautious in my young days. I pay the shot, I tell -you—a gentleman of Warwickshire and known to the College of Arms."</p> - -<p>"It standeth on Paul's Wharf and handy for the ferry to Bankside: but -the College closes early on Christmas Eve, and the Heralds be all at -holiday. An you think of pawning your coat-of-arms with them to raise -the wind, never say that I let you take that long way round without -warning."</p> - -<p>"Leave the cost to me, once more!" The countryman gazed down into the -well of the theatre as if seeking an acquaintance among the figures -below. "But what are they doing? What a plague means this hammering? A -man cannot hear himself speak for it."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span></p> - -<p>"'Tis the play."</p> - -<p>"The play?"</p> - -<p>"The true play—the play you applauded: and writ by the same Will -Shakespeare, they tell me—some share of it at least. Cometh he not, by -the way, from your part of the world?"</p> - -<p>The countryman's eyes glistened in their turn: almost in the dusk they -appeared to shine with tears.</p> - -<p>"Ay, I knew him, down in Warwickshire: a good lad he was, though his -mother wept over him for a wild one. Hast ever seen a hen when her -duckling takes to water? So it is with woman when, haply, she has -hatched out genius."</p> - -<p>The apprentice slapped his leg. "I could have sworn it!"</p> - -<p>"Hey?"</p> - -<p>"Nay, question me not, master, for I cannot bring it to words. You tell -me that you knew him: and I—on the instant I clapped eyes on you it -seemed that somehow you were part of his world and somehow had belonged -to him. Nearer I cannot get, unless you tell me more."</p> - -<p>"I knew him: to be sure, down in Warwickshire: but he has gone somedel -beyond my ken, living in London, you see."</p> - -<p>"He goes beyond any man's kenning: he that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span> has taught us to ken the -world with new eyes. I tell you, master,"—the apprentice stretched out -a hand,—"I go seeking him like one seeking a father who has begotten -him into a new world, seeking him with eyes derived from him. Tell -me——"</p> - -<p>But the countryman was leaning over the gallery-rail and scanning the -pit again. He seemed a trifle bored by a conversation if not of less, -then certainly of other, wit than he had bargained for. Somebody had -drawn the curtains back from the stage, where the two lackeys who had -decked the balcony with lanterns were busy now with crowbars, levering -its wooden supports from their sockets.</p> - -<p>"Sure," said he, musing, "they don't lift and pack away the stage every -night, do they? Or is this some new law to harass players?" He brought -his attention back to the apprentice with an effort. "If you feel that -way towards him, lad," he answered, "why not accost him? He walks -London streets; and he has, if I remember, a courteous, easy manner."</p> - -<p>"If the man and his secret were one! But they are not, and there lies -the fear—that by finding one I shall miss the other and recover it -never. I cannot dare either risk: I want them both.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> You saw, this -afternoon, how, when the secret came within grasp, the man slipped -away; how, having taught us to know Falstaff as a foot its old shoe, he -left us wondering on a sudden why we laughed! And yet 'twas not sudden, -but bred in the play from the beginning; no, nor cruel, but merely -right: only he had persuaded us to forget it."</p> - -<p>The countryman put up a hand to hide a yawn: and the yawn ended in a -slow chuckle.</p> - -<p>"Eh? that rogue Falstaff was served out handsomely: though, to tell the -truth, I paid no great heed to the last scene, my midriff being sore -with laughing."</p> - -<p>The apprentice sighed.</p> - -<p>"But what is happening below?" the other went on impatiently. "Are they -taking the whole theatre to pieces?"</p> - -<p>"That is part of the play."</p> - -<p>"A whole regiment of workmen!"</p> - -<p>"And no stage-army, neither. Yet they come into the play—not the play -you saw without understanding, but the play you understood without -seeing. They call it <i>The Phœnix</i>. Be seated, master, while I -unfold the plot: this hammering deafens me. The Burbages, you must -know——"</p> - -<p>"I knew old James, the father. He brought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> me down a company of players -to our town the year I was High Bailiff; the first that ever played in -our Guildhall. Though a countryman, I have loved the arts—even to the -length of losing much money by them. A boon fellow, old James! and yet -dignified as any alderman. He died—let me see—was it two year agone? -The news kept me sad for a week."</p> - -<p>"A good player, too,"—the apprentice nodded,—"though not a patch upon -his son Richard. Cuthbert will serve, in ripe sententious parts that -need gravity and a good memory for the lines. But Richard bears the -bell of the Burbages. Well, Sir, old James being dead, and suddenly, -and (as you say) these two years come February, his sons must go suing -to the ground landlord, the theatre being leased upon their dad's life. -You follow me?"</p> - -<p>The countryman nodded in his turn.</p> - -<p>"Very well. The landlord, being a skinflint, was willing to renew -the lease, but must raise the rent. If they refuse to pay it, the -playhouse fell to him. You may fancy how the Burbages called gods and -men to witness. Being acquainted with players, you must know how little -they enjoy affliction until the whole town shares it. Never so rang -Jerusalem with all the woes of Jeremy as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span> did City and suburb,—from -north beyond Bishopsgate to south along the river, with the cursings -of this landlord, who—to cap the humour of it—is a precisian, and -never goes near a playhouse. Nevertheless, he patched up a truce for -two years ending to-night, raising the rent a little, but not to the -stretch of his demands. To-morrow—or, rather, the day after, since -to-morrow is Christmas—the word is pay or quit. But in yielding this -he yielded our friends the counterstroke. They have bought a plot -across the water, in the Clink Liberty: and to-morrow, should he pass -this way to church, no theatre will be here for him to smack his -Puritan lips over. But for this hammering and the deep slush outside -you might even now hear the rumbling of wagons; for wagons there be, a -dozen of them, ready to cart the Muses over the bridge before midnight. -'Tis the proper vehicle of Thespis. See those dozen stout rascals -lifting the proscenium——"</p> - -<p>The countryman smote his great hands together, flung back his head, and -let his lungs open in shout after shout of laughter.</p> - -<p>"But, master——"</p> - -<p>"Oh—oh—oh! Hold my sides, lad, or I start a rib.... Nay, if you keep -st-staring at me with that s-sol-ol-ol-emn face. Don't—oh, <i>don't</i>!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Now I know," murmured the apprentice, "what kind of jest goes down in -the country: and, by'r Lady, it goes deep!"</p> - -<p>But an instant later the man had heaved himself upon his feet; his eyes -expanded from their creases into great O's; his whole body towered and -distended itself in gigantic indignation. "The villain! The nipcheese -curmudgeonly villain! And we tarry here, talking, while such things are -done in England! A Nabal, I say. Give me a hammer!" He heaved up an -enormous thigh and bestrode the gallery-rail.</p> - -<p>"Have a care, master: the rail——"</p> - -<p>"A hammer! Below there. A hammer!" He leaned over, bellowing. The gang -of workmen lifting the proscenium stared up open-mouthed into the foggy -gloom—a ring of ghostly faces upturned in a luminous haze.</p> - -<p>Already the man's legs dangled over the void. Twelve, fifteen feet -perhaps, beneath him projected a lower gallery, empty but for three -tiers of disordered benches. Plumb as a gannet he dropped, and an -eloquent crash of timber reported his arrival below. The apprentice, -craning over, saw him regain his feet, scramble over the second rail, -and vanish. Followed an instant's silence, a dull thud, a cry from the -workmen in the area.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> The apprentice ran for the gallery stairs and -leapt down them, three steps at a time.</p> - -<p>It took him, maybe, forty seconds to reach the area. There already, -stripped to the shirt, in a whirl of dust and voices, stood his friend -waving a hammer and shouting down the loudest. The man was possessed, -transformed, a Boanerges; his hammer, a hammer of Thor! He had caught -it from the hand of a douce, sober-looking man in a plum-coloured -doublet, who stood watching but taking no active share in the work.</p> - -<p>"By your leave, Sir!"</p> - -<p>"With or without my leave, good Sir, since you are determined to have -it," said the quiet man, surrendering the hammer.</p> - -<p>The countryman snatched and thrust it between his knees while he -stripped. Then, having spat on both hands, he grasped the hammer and -tried its poise. "'Tis odd, now," said he, as if upon an afterthought, -staring down on the quiet man, "but methinks I know your voice?"</p> - -<p>"Marry and there's justice in that," the quiet man answered; "for 'tis -the ghost of one you drowned erewhile."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="center">III</p> - -<p>"Tom! What, Tom! Where be the others? I tell thee, Tom, there have been -doings...."</p> - -<p>"Is that Dick Burbage?" A frail, thin windle-straw of a man came -coughing across the foggy courtyard with a stable-lantern, holding -it high. Its rays wavered on his own face, which was young but -extraordinarily haggard, and on the piles of timber between and over -which he picked his way—timbers heaped pell-mell in the slush of the -yard or stacked against the boundary wall, some daubed with paint, -others gilded wholly or in part, and twinkling as the lantern swung. -"Dick Burbage already? Has it miscarried, then?"</p> - -<p>"Miscarried? What in the world was there to miscarry? I tell thee, -Tom—but where be the others?"</p> - -<p>The frail man jerked a thumb at the darkness behind his shoulder. "Hark -to them, back yonder, stacking the beams! Where should they be? and -what doing but at work like galley-slaves, by the pace you have kept us -going? Look around. I tell you from the first 'twas busy-all to get the -yard clear between the wagons' coming, and at the fifth load we gave -it up. My shirt<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> clings like a dish-clout; a chill on this will be the -death o' me. What a plague! How many scoundrels did you hire, that they -take a house to pieces and cart it across Thames faster than we can -unload it?"</p> - -<p>"That's the kernel of the story, lad. I hired the two-score rogues -agreed on, neither more nor less: but one descended out of heaven and -raised the number to twelve-score. Ten-score extra, as I am a sinner; -and yet but one man, for I counted him. His name, he told me, was -Legion."</p> - -<p>"Dick," said the other sadly, "when a sober man gives way to -drinking—I don't blame you: and your pocket will be the loser more -than all the rest if you've boggled to-night's work; but poor Cuthbert -will take it to heart."</p> - -<p>"There was a man, I tell you——"</p> - -<p>"Tut, tut, pull yourself together and run back across bridge. Or let me -go: take my arm now, before the others see you. You shall tell me on -the way what's wrong at Shoreditch."</p> - -<p>"There is naught wrong with Shoreditch, forby that it has lost a -theatre: and I am not drunk, Tom Nashe—no, not by one-tenth as drunk -as I deserve to be, seeing that the house is down, every stick of it, -and the bells scarce yet tolling midnight. 'Twas all this man, I tell -you!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Down? The Theatre down? Oh, go back, Dick Burbage!"</p> - -<p>"Level with the ground, I tell you—his site a habitation for the -satyr. <i>Cecidit, cecidit Babylon illa magna!</i> and the last remains of -it, more by token, following close on my heels in six wagons. Hist, -then, my Thomas, my Didymus, my doubting one!—Canst not hear the -rumble of their wheels? and—and—oh, good Lord!" Burbage caught his -friend by the arm and leaned against him heavily. "<i>He's</i> there, and -following!"</p> - -<p>The wagons came rolling over the cobbles of the Clink along the roadway -outside the high boundary-wall of the yard: and as they came, clear -above their rumble and the slow clatter of hoofs a voice like a trumpet -declaimed into the night—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"<i>Above all ryvers thy Ryver hath renowne,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Whose beryall streamys, pleasaunt and preclare,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Under thy lusty wallys renneth downe,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Where many a swan doth swymme with wyngis fair,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Where many a barge doth sail and row with are</i>——</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>We had done better—a murrain on their cobbles!—we had done better, -lad, to step around by Paul's Wharf and take boat.... This jolting ill -agrees with a man of my weight....</p> - -<p> -<span style="margin-left: 30%;"><i>Where many a barge doth sail aund row with are</i>—</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> - -<p>Gr-r-r! Did I not warn thee beware, master wagoner, of the kerbstones -at the corners? We had done better by water, what though it be dark.... -Lights of Bankside on the water ... no such sight in Europe, they -tell me.... My Lord of Surrey took boat one night from Westminster -and fired into their windows with a stone-bow, breaking much glass -... drove all the long-shore queans screaming into the streets in -their night-rails.... He went to the Fleet for it ... a Privy Council -matter.... I forgive the lad, for my part: for only think of it—all -those windows aflame on the river, and no such river in Europe!—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Where many a barge doth sail and row with are;</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Where many a ship doth rest with top-royall.</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>O towne of townes! patrone and not compare,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>London, thou art the flow'r of Cities all!</i></span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Who-oop!"</p> - -<p>"In the name of——" stammered Nashe, as he listened, Burbage all the -while clutching his arm.</p> - -<p>"He dropped from the top gallery, I tell you—clean into the pit from -the top gallery—and he weighs eighteen stone if an ounce. 'Your -servant, Sir, and of all the Muses,' he says, picking himself up; -and with that takes the hammer from my hand and plays Pyrrhus in -Troy—Pyrrhus with all the ravening Danai behind him: for those<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> hired -scoundrels of mine took fire, and started ripping out the bowels of the -poor old theatre as though it had been the Fleet and lodged all their -cronies within! It went down before my eyes like a sand-castle before -the tide. Within three hours they had wiped the earth of it. The Lord -be praised that Philip Gosson had ne'er such an arm, nor could command -such! Oh, but he's a portent! Troy's horse and Bankes's bay gelding -together are a fool to him: he would harness them as Samson did the -little foxes, and fire brushwood under their tails...."</p> - -<p>"Of a certainty you are drunk, Dick."</p> - -<p>"Drunk? I?" Burbage gripped the other's thin arm hysterically. "If you -want to see a man drunk come to the gate. Nay, then, stay where you -are: for there's no escaping him."</p> - -<p>Nor was there. Between them and the wagoners' lanterns at the gate a -huge shadow thrust itself, the owner of it rolling like a ship in a -sea-way, while he yet recited—</p> - -<p> -<span style="margin-left: 30%;">"<i>Strong be thy wallis that about thee standis</i>,</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>(meaning the Clink, my son),</p> - -<p> -<span style="margin-left: 30%;"><i>Wise be the people that within thee dwellis</i>,</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>(which you may take for the inhabitants thereof),</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Fresh is thy ryver with his lusty strandis,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Blith be thy chirches, wele sowning be thy bellis.</i>"</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>"Well sounding is my belly, master, any way," put in a high, thin -voice; "and it calls on a gentleman of Warwickshire to redeem his -promise."</p> - -<p>"He shall, he shall, lad—in the fullness of time: 'but before dining -ring at the bell,' says the proverb. Grope, lad, feel along the -gate-posts if this yard, this courtlage, this base-court, hath any such -thing as bell or knocker.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>And when they came to mery Carleile</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>All in the mornyng tyde-a,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>They found the gates shut them until</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>About on every syde-a.</i></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Then Adam Bell bete on the gates</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>With strokes great and stronge-a</i></span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Step warely, lad. Plague of this forest! Have we brought timber to -Sherwood?</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>With strokes great and stronge-a</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>The porter marveiled who was thereat,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>And to the gates he thronge-a.</i></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>They called the porter to counsell,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>And wrange his necke in two-a,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>And caste him in a depe dungeon,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>And took hys keys hym fro-a.</i></span><br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span></p> - -<p>Within! You rascal, there, with the lantern!... Eh? but these be two -gentlemen, it appears? I cry your mercy, Sirs."</p> - -<p>"For calling us rascals?" Nashe stepped forward. "'T hath been done to -me before now, in print, upon as good evidence; and to my friend here -by Act of Parliament."</p> - -<p>"But seeing you with a common stable-lantern——"</p> - -<p>"Yet Diogenes was a gentleman. Put it that, like him, I am searching -for an honest man."</p> - -<p>"Then we are well met. I' faith we are very well met," responded the -countryman, recognising Burbage's grave face and plum-coloured doublet.</p> - -<p>"Or, as one might better say, well overtaken," said Burbage.</p> - -<p>"Marry, and with a suit. I have some acquaintance, Sir, with members -of your honourable calling, as in detail and at large I could prove to -you. Either I have made poor use of it or I guess aright, as I guess -with confidence, that after the triumph will come the speech-making, -and the supper's already bespoken."</p> - -<p>"At Nance Witwold's, by the corner of Paris Garden, Sir, where you -shall be welcome."</p> - -<p>"I thank you, Sir. But my suit is rather for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span> this young friend of -mine, to whom I have pledged my word."</p> - -<p>"He shall be welcome, too."</p> - -<p>"He tells me, Sir, that you are Richard Burbage. I knew your father -well, Sir—an honest Warwickshire man: he condescended to my roof and -tasted my poor hospitality many a time; and belike you, too, Sir, being -then a child, may have done the same: for I talk of prosperous days -long since past—nay, so long since that 'twould be a wonder indeed -had you remembered me. The more pleasure it gives me, Sir, to find -James Burbage's sappy virtues flourishing in the young wood, and by the -branch be reminded of the noble stock."</p> - -<p>"The happier am I, Sir, to have given you welcome or ever I heard your -claim."</p> - -<p>"Faith!" said the apprentice to himself, "compliments begin to fly -when gentlefolks meet." But he had not bargained to sup in this high -company, and the prospect thrilled him with delicious terror. He -glanced nervously across the yard, where some one was approaching with -another lantern.</p> - -<p>"My claim?" the countryman answered Burbage. "You have heard but a part -of it as yet. Nay, you have heard none of it, since I use not past -hospitalities with old friends to claim a return<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> from their children. -My claim, Sir, is a livelier one——"</p> - -<p>"Tom Nashe! Tom Nashe!" called a voice, clear and strong and masculine, -from the darkness behind the advancing lantern.</p> - -<p>"Anon, anon, Sir," quoted Nashe, swinging his own lantern about and -mimicking.</p> - -<p>"Don't tell me there be yet more wagons arrived?" asked the voice.</p> - -<p>"Six, lad—six, as I hope for mercy: and outside the gate at this -moment."</p> - -<p>"There they must tarry, then, till our fellows take breath to unload -'em. But—six? How is it managed, think you? Has Dick Burbage called -out the train-bands to help him? Why, hullo, Dick! What means——" -The newcomer's eyes, round with wonder as they rested a moment on -Burbage, grew rounder yet as they travelled past him to the countryman. -"Father?" he stammered, incredulous.</p> - -<p>"Good evening, Will! Give ye good evening, my son! Set down that -lantern and embrace me, like a good boy: a good boy, albeit a man of -fame. Didst not see me, then, in the theatre this afternoon? Yet was I -to the fore there, methinks, and proud to be called John Shakespeare."</p> - -<p>"Nay, I was not there; having other fish to fry."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Shouldst have heard the applause, lad; it warmed your old father's -heart. Yet 'twas no more than the play deserved. A very neat, pretty -drollery—upon my faith, no man's son could have written a neater!"</p> - -<p>"But what hath fetched you to London?"</p> - -<p>"Business, business: a touch, too, maybe, of the old homesickness: but -business first. Dick Quiney——But pass me the lantern, my son, that I -may take a look at thee. Ay, thou hast sobered, thou hast solidified: -thy beard hath ta'en the right citizen's cut—'twould ha' been a -cordial to thy poor mother to see thee wear so staid a beard. Rest her -soul! There's nothing like property for filling out a man's frame, -firming his eye, his frame, bearing, footstep. Talking of property, -I have been none so idle a steward for thee. New Place I have made -habitable—the house at least; patched up the roof, taken down and -rebuilt the west chimney that was overleaning the road, repaired the -launders, enlarged the parlour-window, run out the kitchen passage to a -new back-entrance. The garden I cropped with peas this summer, and have -set lettuce and winter-kale between the young apple-trees, whereof the -whole are doing well, and the mulberry likewise I look for to thrive. -Well, as I was saying, Dick Quiney——"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span></p> - -<p>"—Is in trouble again, you need not tell."</p> - -<p>"None so bad but it could be mended by the thirty pounds whereof I -wrote. Mytton will be security with him, now that Bushell draws back. -He offers better than those few acres at Shottery you dealt upon in -January."</p> - -<p>"Land is land."</p> - -<p>"And ale is ale: you may take up a mortgage on the brewhouse. Hast ever -heard, Mr. Burbage"—John Shakespeare swung about—"of a proverb we -have down in our Warwickshire? It goes—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Who buys land buys stones,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Who buys meat buys bones,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Who buys eggs buys shells,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>But who buys ale buys nothing else.</i></span><br /> -</p> - -<p>And that sets me in mind, Will, that these friends of yours have bidden -me to supper: and their throats will be dry an we keep 'em gaping at -our country discourse. Here come I with Thespis, riding on a wagon: -but where tarries the vintage feast? Where be the spigots? Where be -the roasted geese, capons, sucking-pigs? Where the hogs-puddings, the -trifles, the custards, the frumenties? Where the minstrels? Where the -dancing girls? I have in these three hours swallowed as many pecks -of dust. I am for the bucket before the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> manger and for good talk -after both—high, brave translunary talk with wine in the veins of -it—Hippocras with hippocrene: with music too—some little kickshaw -whatnots of the theorbo or viol da gamba pleasantly thrown in for -interludes. 'Tis a fog-pated land I come from, with a pestilent rheumy -drip from the trees and the country scarce recovered from last year's -dearth——"</p> - -<p>"Dick Quiney should have made the better prices for that dearth," put -in his son, knitting his great brow thoughtfully. "With wheat at fifty -shillings, and oats——"</p> - -<p>"The malt, lad, the malt! His brewhouse swallowed malt at -twenty-eight or nine which a short two years before had cost him -twelve-and-threepence the quarter. A year of dearth, I say. It took -poor Dick at unawares. But give him time: he will pull round. Sure, we -be slow in the country, but you have some in this town that will beat -us. How many years, lad, have I been battering the doors of Heralds' -College for that grant of arms, promised ere my beard was grey and -yours fully grown?"</p> - -<p>"Malt at twenty-eight, you say?"</p> - -<p>"Last year, lad—a year of dearth. Call it a good twenty in these -bettering times, and wheat anything under forty-five shillings."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Well, we will talk it over." His son seemed to come out of a brown -study. "We will talk it over," he repeated briskly, and added, "How? -The chimney overleaning the road? 'Twas a stout enough chimney, as I -remember, and might have lasted another twenty years. Where did you -draw the bricks?"</p> - -<p>Nashe glanced at his friend with a puzzled smile. Burbage—better used, -no doubt, to the businesslike ways of authors—betrayed no surprise. -The apprentice stared, scarcely believing his ears. Was this the talk -of Shakespeare? Nay, rather the talk of Justice Shallow himself—"How a -good yoke of bullocks at Stamford Fair?" "How a score of ewes now?"</p> - -<p>A heavy tread approached from the gateway.</p> - -<p>"Are we to bide here all night, and on Christmas morn, too?" a gruff -voice demanded. "Unpack, and pay us our wage, or we tip the whole load -of it into Thames." Here the wagoner's shin encountered in the darkness -with a plank, and he cursed violently.</p> - -<p>"Go you back to your horses, my friend," answered Burbage. "The -unloading shall begin anon. As for your wage, your master will tell you -I settled it at the time I bargained for his wagons—ay, and paid. I -hold his receipt."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span></p> - -<p>"For tenpence a man—mowers' wages," growled the wagoner.</p> - -<p>"I asked him his price and he fixed it. 'Tis the current rate, I -understand, and a trifle over."</p> - -<p>"Depends on the job. I've been talkin' with my mates, and we don't like -it. We're decent labouring men, and shifting a lot of play-actors' -baggage don't come in our day's work. I'd as lief wash dirty linen -for my part. Therefore," the fellow wound up lucidly, "you'll make it -twelvepence a head, master. We don't take a groat less."</p> - -<p>"I see," said Burbage blandly: "twopence for salving your conscience, -hey? And so, being a decent man, you don't stomach players?"</p> - -<p>"No, nor the Bankside at this hour o' night. I live clean, I tell you."</p> - -<p>"'Tis a godless neighbourhood and a violent." Burbage drew a silver -whistle from his doublet and eyed it. "Listen a moment, master wagoner, -and tell me what you hear."</p> - -<p>"I hear music o' sorts. No Christmas carols, I warrant."</p> - -<p>"Aught else?"</p> - -<p>"Ay: a sound like a noise of dogs baying over yonder."</p> - -<p>"Right again: it comes from the kennels by the Bear-Pit. Have you a -wish, my friend, to make<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span> nearer acquaintance with these dogs? No? With -the bears, then? Say the word, and inside of a minute I can whistle up -your two-pennyworth."</p> - -<p>The wagoner with a dropping jaw stared from one to another of the ring -of faces in the lantern-light. They were quiet, determined. Only the -apprentice stood with ears pricked, as it were, and shivered at the -distant baying.</p> - -<p>"No offence, Sir; I meant no offence, you'll understand," the wagoner -stammered.</p> - -<p>"Nay, call your mates, man!" spoke up William Shakespeare, sudden -and sharp, and with a scornful ring in his voice which caused our -apprentice to jump. "Call them in and let us hear you expound Master -Burbage's proposal. I am curious to see how they treat you—having an -opinion of my own on crowds and their leaders."</p> - -<p>But the wagoner had swung about surlily on his heel.</p> - -<p>"I'll not risk disputing it," he growled. "'Tis your own dung-hill, and -I must e'en take your word that 'tis worse than e'er a man thought. But -one thing I'll not take back. You're a muck of play-actors, and a man -that touches ye should charge for his washing. Gr-r!" he spat—"ye're -worse than Patty Ward's sow, and <i>she</i> was no lavender!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="center">IV</p> - -<p>The Bankside was demure. But for the distant baying of dogs which kept -him shivering, our apprentice had been disappointed in the wickedness -of it.</p> - -<p>He had looked to meet with roisterers, to pass amid a riot of taverns, -to happen, belike, upon a street scuffle, to see swords drawn or -perchance to come upon a body stretched across the roadway and hear the -murderers' footsteps in the darkness, running. These were the pictures -his imagination had drawn and shuddered at: for he was a youth of small -courage.</p> - -<p>But the Bankside was demure; demure as Chepe. The waterside lanes -leading to Mistress Witwold's at the corner of Paris Gardens differed -only from Chepe in this—that though the hour was past midnight, every -other door stood open or at least ajar, showing a light through the -fog. Through some of these doorways came the buzz and murmur of voices, -the tinkling of stringed instrument. Others seemed to await their -guests. But the lanes themselves were deserted.</p> - -<p>From the overhanging upper storeys lights showed here and there through -the chinks of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span> shutters or curtains. Once or twice in the shadows -beneath, our apprentice saw, or thought he saw, darker shadows draw -back and disappear: and gradually a feeling grew upon him that all -these shadows, all these lidded upper windows, were watching, following -him with curious eyes. Again, though the open doorways were bright -as for a fęte, a something seemed to subdue the voices within—a -constraint, perhaps an expectancy—as though the inmates whispered -together in the pauses of their talk and between the soft thrumming of -strings. He remarked, too, that his companions had fallen silent.</p> - -<p>Mother Witwold's door, when they reached it, stood open like the rest. -Her house overhung a corner where from the main street a short alley -ran down to Paris Garden stairs. Nashe, who had been leading along -the narrow pavement, halted outside the threshold to extinguish his -lantern; and at the same moment jerked his face upward. Aloft, in one -of the houses across the way, a lattice had flown open with a crash of -glass.</p> - -<p>"Jesu! help!"</p> - -<p>The cry ended in a strangling sob. The hands that had thrust the -lattice open projected over the sill. By the faint foggy light of -Mother Wit<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>wold's doorway our apprentice saw them out-stretched for a -moment; saw them disappear, the wrists still rigid, as some one drew -them back into the room. But what sent the horror crawling through the -roots of his hair was the shape of these hands.</p> - -<p>"You there!" called Nashe, snatching the second lantern from Burbage's -hand and holding it aloft towards the dim house-front. "What's wrong -within?"</p> - -<p>A woman's hand came around the curtain and felt for the lattice -stealthily, to close it. There was no other answer.</p> - -<p>"What's wrong there?" demanded Nashe again.</p> - -<p>"Go your ways!" The voice was a woman's, hoarse and angry, yet -frightened withal. The curtain still hid her. "Haven't I trouble enough -with these tetchy dwarfs, but you must add to it by waking the streets?"</p> - -<p>"Dwarfs?" Nashe swung the lantern so that its rays fell on the -house-door below: a closed door and stout, studded with iron nails. -"Dwarfs?" he repeated.</p> - -<p>"Let her be," said Burbage, taking his arm. "I know the woman. She -keeps a brace of misbegotten monsters she picked up at Wapping off a -ship's captain. He brought 'em home from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span> the Isle of Serendib, or -Cathay, or some such outlandish coast, or so she swears his word was."</p> - -<p>"Swears, doth she? Didst hear the poor thing cry out?"</p> - -<p>"Ay, like any Christian; as, for aught I know, it may be. There's -another tale that she found 'em down in Gloucestershire, at a country -fair, and keeps 'em pickled in walnut juice. But monsters they be, -whether of Gloucester or Cathay, for I have seen 'em; and so hath the -Queen, who sent for them the other day to be brought to Westminster, -and there took much delight in their oddity."</p> - -<p>While the others hesitated, William Shakespeare turned on his heel and -walked past them into Mother Witwold's lighted doorway.</p> - -<p>His father glanced after him. "Well, to be sure, the poor thing cried -out like a Christian," he said. "But dwarfs and monsters be kittle -cattle to handle, I am told." As the lattice closed on their debate -he linked his arm in the apprentice's, and they too passed into the -doorway.</p> - -<p>From it a narrow passage led straight to a narrow staircase; and at -the stairs' foot the apprentice had another glimpse into the life of -this Bankside. A door stood wide there upon an ill-lighted room, and -close within the door sat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> two men—foreigners by their black-avised -faces—casting dice upon a drumhead. In a chair, beyond, a girl, -low-bodiced, with naked gleaming shoulders, leaned back half asleep; -and yet she did not seem to sleep, but to regard the gamesters with a -lazy scorn from under her dropped lashes. A tambourine tied with bright -ribbons rested in the lap of her striped petticoat, kept from sliding -to the floor by the careless crook—you could see it was habitual—of -her jewelled fingers. The two men looked up sharply, almost furtively, -at the company mounting the stairs. The girl scarcely lifted her eyes. -Scornful she looked, and sullen and infinitely weary, yet she was -beautiful withal. The apprentice wondered while he climbed.</p> - -<p>"Yes," his patron was saying, "'tis the very mart and factory of -pleasure. Ne'er a want hath London in that way but the Bankside can -supply it, from immortal poetry down to—to——"</p> - -<p>"—Down to misshapen children. Need'st try no lower, my master."</p> - -<p>"There be abuses, my son: and there be degrees of pleasure, the -lowest of which (I grant you) be vile, sensual, devilish. Marry, I -defend not such. But what I say is that a great city should have -delights proportionate to her great<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>ness; rich shows and pageants -and processions by land and water; plays and masques and banquets -with music; and the men who cater for these are citizens as worthy -as the rest. Take away Bankside, and London would be the cleaner of -much wickedness: yet by how much the duller of cheer, the poorer in -all that colour, that movement which together be to cities the spirit -of life! Where would be gone that glee of her that lifts a man's -lungs and swells his port when his feet feel London stones? Is't of -her money the country nurses think when to wondering children they -fable of streets all paved with gold? Nay, lad: and this your decent, -virtuous folk know well enough—your clergy, your aldermen—and use -the poor players while abusing them. Doth the parish priest need a -miracle-play for his church? Doth my Lord Mayor intend a show? To the -Bankside they hie with money in their purses: and if his purse be long -enough, my Lord Mayor shall have a fountain running with real wine, -and Mass Thomas a Hell with flames of real cloth-in-grain, or at least -a Lazarus with real sores. Doth the Court require a masque, the Queen -a bull-baiting, the City a good roaring tragedy, full of blood and -impugned innocence——Will! Will, I say! Tarry a moment!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> - -<p>They had reached the landing, and looked down a corridor at the end -of which, where a lamp hung, Shakespeare waited with his hand on a -door-latch. From behind the door came a buzz of many voices.</p> - -<p>"Lad, lad, let us go in together! Though the world's applause weary -thee, 'tis sweet to thine old father."</p> - -<p>As he pressed down the latch the great man turned for an instant with a -quick smile, marvellously tender.</p> - -<p>"He <i>can</i> smile, then?" thought the apprentice to himself. "And I was -doubting that he kept it for his writing!"</p> - -<p>Within the room, as it were with one shout, a great company leapt to -its feet, cheering and lifting glasses. Shakespeare, pausing on the -threshold, smiled again, but more reservedly, bowing to the homage as -might a king.</p> - - -<p class="center">V</p> - -<p>Three hours the feast had lasted: and the apprentice had listened -to many songs, many speeches, but scarcely to the promised talk of -gods. The poets, maybe, reserved such talk for the Mermaid. Here they -were outnumbered by the players and by such ladies as the Bankside<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> -(which provided everything) furnished to grace the entertainment; and -doubtless they subdued their discourse to the company. The Burbages, -Dick and Cuthbert, John Heminge, Will Kempe—some half-a-dozen of -the crew perhaps—might love good literature: but even these were -pardonably more elate over the epilogue than over the play. For months -they, the Lord Chamberlain's servants, had felt the eyes of London -upon them: to-night they had triumphed, and to-morrow London would -ring with appreciative laughter. It is not every day that your child -of pleasure outwits your man of business at his own game: it is not -once in a generation that he scores such a hit as had been scored -to-day. The ladies, indeed, yawned without dissembling, while Master -Jonson—an ungainly youth with a pimply face, a rasping accent, and -a hard pedantic manner—proposed success to the new comedy and long -life to its author; which he did at interminable length; spicing -his discourse with quotations from Aristotle, Longinus, Quintilian, -the <i>Ars Poetica</i>, Persius, and Seneca, authors less studied than -the Aretine along Bankside. He loved Will Shakespeare.... A comedy -of his own (as the company might remember) owed not a little to his -friend Will Shakespeare's acting.... Here<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span> was a case in which love -and esteem—yes, and worship—might hardly be dissociated.... In -short, speaking as modestly as a young man might of his senior, Will -Shakespeare was the age's ornament and, but for lack of an early -gruelling in the classics, might easily have been an ornament for any -age. Cuthbert Burbage—it is always your quiet man who first succumbs -on these occasions—slid beneath the table with a vacuous laugh and lay -in slumber. Dick Burbage sat and drummed his toes impatiently. Nashe -puffed at a pipe of tobacco. Kempe, his elbows on the board, his chin -resting on his palms, watched the orator with amused interest, mischief -lurking in every crease of his wrinkled face. Will Shakespeare leaned -back in his chair and scanned the rafters, smiling gently the while. -His speech, when his turn came to respond, was brief, almost curt. He -would pass by (he said) his young friend's learned encomiums, and come -to that which lay nearer to their thoughts than either the new play or -the new play's author. Let them fill and drink in silence to the demise -of an old friend, the vanished theatre, the first ever built in London. -Then, happening to glance at Heminge as he poured out the wine—"Tut, -Jack!" he spoke up sharply: "keep that easy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> rheum for the boards. -Brush thine eyes, lad: we be all players here—or women—and know the -trade."</p> - -<p>It hurt. If Heminge's eyes had begun to water sentimentally, they -flinched now with real pain. This man loved Shakespeare with a dog's -love. He blinked, and a drop fell and rested on the back of his hand as -it fingered the base of his wine-glass. The apprentice saw and noted it.</p> - -<p>"And another glass, lads, to the Phœnix that shall arise! A toast, -and this time not in silence!" shouted John Shakespeare, springing up, -flask in one hand and glass in the other. Meat or wine, jest or sally -of man or woman, dull speech or brisk—all came alike to him. His -doublet was unbuttoned; he had smoked three pipes, drunk a quart of -sack, and never once yawned. He was enjoying himself to the top of his -bent. "Music, I say! Music!" A thought seemed to strike him; his eyes -filled with happy inspiration. Still gripping his flask, he rolled to -the door, flung it open, and bawled down the stairway—</p> - -<p>"Ahoy! Below, there!"</p> - -<p>"Ahoy, then, with all my heart!" answered a voice, gay and youthful, -pat on the summons. "What is't ye lack, my master?"</p> - -<p>"Music, an thou canst give it. If not——"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> - -<p>"My singing voice broke these four years past, I fear me."</p> - -<p>"Your name, then, at least, young man, or ever you thrust yourself upon -private company."</p> - -<p>"William Herbert, at your service." A handsome lad—a boy, -almost—stood in the doorway, having slipped past John Shakespeare's -guard: a laughing, frank-faced boy, in a cloak slashed with -orange-tawny satin. So much the apprentice noted before he heard a -second voice, as jaunty and even more youthfully shrill, raised in -protest upon the stairhead outside.</p> - -<p>"And where the master goes," it demanded, "may not his page follow?"</p> - -<p>John Shakespeare seemingly gave way to this second challenge as to the -first. "Be these friends of thine, Will?" he called past them as a -second youth appeared in the doorway, a pretty, dark-complexioned lad, -cloaked in white, who stood a pace behind his companion's elbow and -gazed into the supper-room with eyes at once mischievous and timid.</p> - -<p>"Good-evening, gentles!" The taller lad comprehended the feasters and -the disordered table in a roguish bow. "Good-evening, Will!" He singled -out Shakespeare, and nodded.</p> - -<p>"My Lord Herbert!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span></p> - -<p>The apprentice's eye, cast towards Shakespeare at the salutation given, -marked a dark flush rise to the great man's temples as he answered the -nod.</p> - -<p>"I called thee 'Will,'" answered Herbert lightly.</p> - -<p>"You called us 'gentles,'" Shakespeare replied, the dark flush yet -lingering on either cheek. "A word signifying bait for gudgeons, bred -in carrion."</p> - -<p>"Yet I called thee Will," insisted Herbert more gently. "'Tis my name -as well as thine, and we have lovingly exchanged it before now, or my -memory cheats me."</p> - -<p>"'Tis a name lightly exchanged in love." With a glance at the -white-cloaked page Shakespeare turned on his heel.</p> - -<p>"La, Will, where be thy manners?" cried one of the women. "Welcome, my -young Lord; and welcome the boy beside thee for his pretty face! Step -in, child, that I may pass thee round to be kissed."</p> - -<p>The page laughed and stepped forward with his chin defiantly tilted. -His eyes examined the women curiously and yet with a touch of fear.</p> - -<p>"Nay, never flinch, lad! I'll do thee no harm," chuckled the one who -had invited him. "Mass o' me, how I love modesty in these days of -scandal!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Music? Who called for music?" a foreign voice demanded: and now in -the doorway appeared three newcomers, two men and a woman—the same -three of whom the apprentice had caught a glimpse within the room at -the stairs' foot. The spokesman, a heavily built fellow with a short -bull-neck and small cunning eyes, carried a drum slung about his -shoulders and beat a rub-a-dub on it by way of flourish. "Take thy -tambourine and dance, Julitta—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Julie, prends ton tambourin;</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Toi, prends ta flute, Robin</i>,"</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>he hummed, tapping his drum again.</p> - -<p>"So? So? What foreign gabble is this?" demanded John Shakespeare, -following and laying a hand on his shoulder.</p> - -<p>"A pretty little carol for Christmas, Signore, that we picked up on our -way through Burgundy, where they sing it to a jargon I cannot emulate. -But the tune is as it likes you—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Au son ces instruments—</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Turelurelu, patapatapan—</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Nous dirons Noël gaîment!</i></span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Goes it not trippingly, Signore? You will say so when you see my -Julitta dance to it."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Eh—eh? Dance to a carol?" a woman protested. "'Tis inviting the earth -to open and swallow us."</p> - -<p>"Why, where's the harm on't?" John Shakespeare demanded. "A pretty -little concomitant, and anciently proper to all religions, nor among -the heathen only, but in England and all parts of Christendom—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>In manger wrapped it was—</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>So poorly happ'd my chance—</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Between an ox and a silly poor ass</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>To call my true love to the dance!</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Sing O, my love, my love, my love....</i></span><br /> -</p> - -<p>There's precedent for ye, Ma'am—good English precedent. Zooks! I'm a -devout man, I hope; but I bear a liberal mind and condemn no form of -mirth, so it be honest. The earth swallow us? Ay, soon or late it will, -not being squeamish. Meantime, dance, I say! Clear back the tables -there, and let the girl show her paces!"</p> - -<p>Young Herbert glanced at Burbage with lifted eyebrow, as if to demand, -"Who is this madman?" Burbage laughed, throwing out both hands.</p> - -<p>"But he is gigantic!" lisped the page, as with a wave of his two great -arms John Shakespeare seemed to catch up the company and fling them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> -to work pell-mell, thrusting back tables, piling chairs, clearing the -floor of its rushes. "He is a whirlwind of a man!"</p> - -<p class="center"> -<img src="images/illus02.jpg" alt="dance" /> -<a id="illus02" name="illus02"></a> -</p> -<p class="caption"> WHIRLED DOWN THE LENGTH OF THE ROOM.</p> - -<p>"Come, Julitta!" called the man with the drum. "Francisco, take thy -pipe, man!—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Au son de ces instruments</i>—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Turelurelu, patapatapan</i>—"</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>As the music struck up, the girl, still with her scornful, impassive -face, leapt like a panther from the doorway into the space cleared -for her, and whirled down the room in a dance the like of which our -apprentice had never seen nor dreamed of. And yet his gaze at first was -not for her, but for the younger foreigner, the one with the pipe. For -if ever horror took visible form, it stood and stared from the windows -of that man's eyes. They were handsome eyes, too, large and dark and -passionate: but just now they stared blindly as though a hot iron had -seared them. Twice they had turned to the girl, who answered by not so -much as a glance; and twice with a shudder upon the man with the drum, -who caught the look and blinked wickedly. Worst of all was it when -the music began, to see that horror fixed and staring over a pair of -cheeks ludicrously puffing at a flageolet. A face for a gargoyle! The -apprentice<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> shivered, and glanced from one to other of the company: but -they, one and all, were watching the dancer.</p> - -<p>It was a marvellous dance, truly. The girl, her tambourine lifted high, -and clashing softly to the beat of the music, whirled down the length -of the room, while above the pipe's falsetto and rumble of the drum the -burly man lifted his voice and trolled—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"<i>Turelurelu, patapatapan—</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Au son de ces instruments</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Faisons la nique ā Satan!</i>"</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>By the barricade of chairs and tables, under which lay Cuthbert Burbage -in peaceful stupor, she checked her onward rush, whirling yet, but -so lazily that she seemed for the moment to stand poised, her scarf -outspread like the wings of a butterfly: and so, slowly, very slowly, -she came floating back. Twice she repeated this, each time narrowing -her circuit, until she reached the middle of the floor, and there began -to spin on her toes as a top spins when (as children say) it goes to -sleep. The tambourine no longer clashed. Balanced high on the point -of her uplifted forefinger, it too began to spin, and span until its -outline became a blur. Still, as the music rose shriller and wilder, -she revolved more and more rapidly,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> yet apparently with less and less -of effort. Her scarf had become a mere filmy disc rotating around a -whorl of gleaming flesh and glancing jewels.</p> - -<p>A roar of delight from John Shakespeare broke the spell. The company -echoed it with round upon round of hand-clapping. The music ceased -suddenly, and the dancer, dipping low until her knees brushed the -floor, stood erect again, dropped her arms, and turned carelessly to -the nearest table.</p> - -<p>"Bravo! bravissimo!" thundered John Shakespeare. "A cup of wine for -her, there!"</p> - -<p>The girl had snatched up a crust of bread and was gnawing it -ravenously. He thrust his way through the guests and poured out wine -for her. She took the glass with a steady hand, scarcely pausing in her -meal to thank him.</p> - -<p>"But who is your master of ceremonies?" demanded the page's piping -voice.</p> - -<p>William Shakespeare heard it and turned. "He is my father," said he -quietly.</p> - -<p>But John Shakespeare had heard also. Wheeling about, wine-flask in -hand, he faced the lad with a large and mock-elaborate bow. "That, -young Sir, must be my chief title to your notice. For the rest, I am -a plain gentleman of Warwick<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>shire, of impaired but (I thank God) -bettering fortune; my name John Shakespeare; my coat, or, a bend sable, -charged with a lance proper. One of these fine days I may bring it to -Court for you to recognise: but, alas! says Skelton—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Age is a page</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>For the Court full unmeet,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>For age cannot rage</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Nor buss her sweet sweet.</i></span><br /> -</p> - -<p>I shall bide at home and kiss the Queen's hand, through my son, more -like."</p> - -<p>"Indeed," said the page, "I hear reports that her Majesty hath already -a mind to send for him."</p> - -<p>"Is that so, Will?" His father beamed, delighted.</p> - -<p>"In some sort it is," answered Herbert, "and in some sort I am her -messenger's forerunner. She will have a play of thee, Will."</p> - -<p>"The Queen?" Shakespeare turned on him sharply. "This is a fool's trick -you play on me, my Lord." Yet his face flushed in spite of himself.</p> - -<p>"I tell thee, straight brow and true man, I heard the words fall from -her very lips. 'He shall write us a play,' she said; 'and this Falstaff -shall be the hero on't, with no foolish royalties to overlay and clog -his mirth.'"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span></p> - -<p>"And, you see," put in the page maliciously, "we have come express to -the Boar's Head to seek him out."</p> - -<p>"That," Herbert added, "is our suit to-night."</p> - -<p>"Will, lad, thy fortune's made!" John Shakespeare clapped a hand on his -son's shoulder. "I shall see thee Sir William yet afore I die!"</p> - -<p>If amid the general laughter two lines of vexation wrote themselves for -a moment on Shakespeare's brow they died out swiftly. He stood back a -pace, eyed his father awhile with grave and tender humour, and answered -the pair of courtiers with a bow.</p> - -<p>"Her Majesty's gracious notion of a play," said he, "must needs be her -poor subject's pattern. If then I come to Court in motley, you, Sirs, -at least will be indulgent, knowing how much a suit may disguise." The -page, meeting his eye, laughed uneasily. "'Tis but a frolic——" he -began.</p> - -<p>"Ay, there's the pity o't," interrupted a deep voice—Kempe's.</p> - -<p>The page laughed again, yet more nervously. "I should have said the -Queen—God bless her!—desires but a frolic. And I had thought"—here -he lifted his chin saucily and looked Kempe in the face—"that on -Bankside they took a frolic less seriously."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Why, no," answered Kempe: "they have to take it seriously, and the -cost too,—that being their business."</p> - -<p>"'Tis but a frolic, at any rate, that her Majesty proposes, with a -trifling pageant or dance to conclude, in which certain of the Court -may join."</p> - -<p>A harsh laugh capped this explanation. It came from the dancing-girl, -who, seated at the disordered table, had been eating like a hungry -beast. She laid down her knife, rested her chin on her clasped hands, -and, munching slowly, stared at the page from under her sullen, -scornful brows.</p> - -<p>"Wouldst learn to dance, child?" she demanded.</p> - -<p>"With thee for teacher," the page answered modestly. "I have no skill, -but a light foot only."</p> - -<p>"A light foot!" the woman mimicked and broke into a laugh horrible to -hear. "Wouldst achieve such art as mine with a light foot? I tell thee -that to dance as I dance thy feet must go deep as hell!" She pushed -back her plate, and, rising, nodded to the musicians. "Play, you!" she -commanded.</p> - -<p>This time she used no wild whirl down the room to give her impetus. She -stood in the cleared space of floor, her arms hanging limp, and at the -first shrill note of the pipe began to revolve on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span> the points of her -toes, her eyes, each time as they came full circle, meeting the gaze of -the page, and slowly fascinating, freezing it. As slowly, deliberately, -her hand went up, curved itself to the armpit of her bodice; and lo! as -she straightened it aloft, a snake writhed itself around her upper arm, -lifting its head to reach the shining bracelets, the jewelled fingers. -A curving lift of the left arm, and on that too a snake began to coil -and climb. Effortless, rigid as a revolving statue, she brought her -finger-tips together overhead and dipped them to her bosom.</p> - -<p>A shriek rang out, piercing high above the music.</p> - -<p>"Catch her! She faints!" shouted Kempe, darting forward. But it was -Shakespeare who caught the page's limp body as it dropped back on his -arm. Bearing it to the window, he tore aside the curtain and thrust -open a lattice to the dawn. The unconscious head drooped against his -shoulder.</p> - -<p>"My Lord"—he turned on Herbert as though the touch maddened him—"you -are a young fool! God forgive me that I ever took you for better! Go, -call a boat and take her out of this."</p> - -<p>"Nay, but she revives," stammered Herbert, as the page's lips parted in -a long, shuddering sigh.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Go, fetch a boat, I say!—and make way there, all you by the door!"</p> - - -<p class="center">VI</p> - -<p>"Tut! tut!—the wench will come to fast enough in the fresh air. A -dare-devil jade, too, to be sparking it on Bankside at this hour! -But it takes more than a woman, they say, to kill a mouse, and with -serpents her sex hath an ancient feud. What's her name, I wonder?"</p> - -<p>The candles, burning low and guttering in the draught of the open -window, showed a banquet-hall deserted, or all but deserted. A small -crowd of the guests—our apprentice among them—had trooped downstairs -after Shakespeare and his burden. Others, reminded by the grey dawn, -had slipped away on their own account to hire a passage home from the -sleepy watermen before Paris Garden Stairs.</p> - -<p>"Can any one tell me her name, now?" repeated John Shakespeare, rolling -to the table and pouring himself yet another glass of wine. But no -one answered him. The snake-woman had folded back her pets within her -bodice and resumed her meal as though nothing had happened. The burly -drummer had chosen a chair beside her and fallen to on the remains of a -pasty. Both were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> eating voraciously. Francisco, the pipe-player, sat -sidesaddle-wise on a form at a little distance and drank and watched -them, still with the horror in his eyes. One or two women lingered, and -searched the tables, pocketing crusts—searched with faces such as on -battlefields, at dawn, go peering among the dead and wounded.</p> - -<p>"But hullo!" John Shakespeare swung round, glass in hand, as the -apprentice stood panting in the doorway. "Faith, you return before I -had well missed you."</p> - -<p>The lad's eyes twinkled with mischief.</p> - -<p>"An thou hasten not, master, I fear me thou may'st miss higher game; -with our hosts—your son amongst 'em—even now departing by boat and, -for aught I know, leaving thee to pay the shot."</p> - -<p>"Michael and all his angels preserve us! I had forgot——"</p> - -<p>John Shakespeare clapped a hand on his empty pocket, and ran for the -stairhead. "Will!" he bawled. "Will! My son Will!"</p> - -<p>The apprentice laughed and stepped toward the window, tittuping -slightly; for (to tell the truth) he had drunk more wine than agreed -with him. Standing by the window, he laughed again vacuously, drew a -long breath, and so spun round on his heels at the sound of a choking -cry and a rush of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> feet. With that he saw, as in a haze—his head being -yet dizzy—the heavy man catch up his drum by its strap and, using -it as a shield, with a backward sweep of the arm hurl off the youth -Francisco, who had leapt on him knife in hand. Clutching the curtain, -he heard the knife rip through the drum's parchment and saw the young -man's face of hate as the swift parry flung him back staggering, -upsetting a form, against the table's edge. He saw the glasses there -leap and totter from the shock, heard their rims jar and ring together -like a peal of bells.</p> - -<p>The sound seemed to clear his brain. He could not guess what had -provoked the brawl; but in one and the same instant he saw the drummer -reach back an arm as if to draw the dancing woman on his knee; heard -his jeering laugh as he slipped a hand down past her bare shoulder; saw -her unmoved face, sullenly watching; saw Francisco, still clutching his -knife, gather himself up for another spring. As he sprang the drummer's -hand slid round from behind the woman's back, and it too grasped a -knife. An overturned chair lay between the two, and the rail of it as -Francisco leapt caught his foot, so that with a clutch he fell sideways -against the table. Again the glasses jarred and rang, and yet again -and more loudly as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> the drummer's hand went up and drove the dagger -through the neck, pinning it to the board. The youth's legs contracted -in a horrible kick, contracted again and fell limp. There was a gush of -blood across the cloth, a sound of breath escaping and choked in its -escape: and as the killer wrenched out his knife for a second stroke, -the body slid with a thud to the floor.</p> - -<p>The apprentice had feasted, and feasted well; yet throughout the feast -(he bethought himself of this later), no serving-man and but one -serving-maid had entered the room. Wines and dishes had come at call to -a hatch in the wall at the far end of the room. One serving-maid had -done all the rest, moving behind the guests' chairs with a face and -mien which reminded him of a tall angel he had seen once borne in a car -of triumph at a City show. But now as he left his curtain, twittering, -crazed with fear, spreading out both hands toward the stain on the -tablecloth, a door beside the hatch opened noiselessly, and swift and -prompt as though they had been watching, two men entered, flung a dark -coverlet over the body, lifted and bore it off, closing the door behind -them. They went as they had come, swiftly, without a word. He had seen -it as plainly as he saw now the murderer sheathing his knife, the -woman<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> sullenly watching him. The other women, too, had vanished—they -that had been gleaning among the broken crusts. Had they decamped, -scurrying, at the first hint of the brawl? He could not tell: they had -been, and were not.</p> - -<p>He stretched out both hands towards the man, the woman—would they, -too, vanish?—and the damning stain? A cry worked in his throat, but -would not come.</p> - -<p>"Gone!" a voice called, hearty at once and disconsolate, from the -doorway behind him. "Gone—given me the slip, as I am a Christian -sinner. What? You three left alone here? But where is our friend the -piper?"</p> - -<p>The apprentice made a snatch at a flask of wine, and, turning, let its -contents spill wildly over the bloodied tablecloth.</p> - -<p>"Art drunk, lad—shamefully drunk," said John Shakespeare, lurching -forward. "They have given me the slip, I say, and ne'er a groat have I -to redeem my promises."</p> - -<p>"They paid the score below—I saw them; and this thy son charged me to -hand to thee." The apprentice drew a full purse from his pocket and -flung it on the table. "I—I played thee a trick, master: but let me -forth into fresh air. This room dizzies me...."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Go thy ways—go thy ways, child. For my part I was ever last at a -feast to leave it, and would crack one more cup with these good folk. -To your health, Madam!" He reached a hand for the wine-flask as the -apprentice set it down and went forth, tottering yet.</p> - - -<p class="center">VII</p> - -<p>Dawn was breaking down the river; a grey dawn as yet, albeit above the -mists rolling low upon the tideway a clear sky promised gold to come—a -golden Christmas Day. The mist, however, had a chill which searched the -bones. The red-eyed waterman pulled as though his arms were numb. Tom -Nashe coughed and huddled his cloak about him, as he turned for a last -backward glance on Bankside, where a few lights yet gleamed, and the -notes of a belated guitar tinkled on, dulled by the vapours, calling -like a thin ghost above the deeper baying of the hounds.</p> - -<p>"Take care of thyself, lad," said Shakespeare kindly, stretching out a -hand to help his friend draw the cloak closer.</p> - -<p>"Behoved me think of that sooner, I doubt," Nashe answered, glancing up -with a wry, pathetic smile, yet gratefully. He dropped his eyes to the -cloak and quoted—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span></p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"<i>Sometime it was of cloth-in-grain,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>'Tis now but a sigh-clout, as you may see;</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>It will hold out neither wind nor rain</i>—</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>and—and—I thank thee, Will——</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>But I'll take my old cloak about me.</i></span><br /> -</p> - -<p>There's salt in the very warp of it, good Yarmouth salt. Will?"</p> - -<p>"Ay, lad?"</p> - -<p>"Is't true thou'rt become a landowner, down in thy native shire?"</p> - -<p>"In a small way, Tom."</p> - -<p>"A man of estate? with coat-of-arms and all?"</p> - -<p>"Even that too, with your leave."</p> - -<p>"I know—I know. <i>Nescio qua natale solum</i>—those others did not -understand: but I understood. Yes, and now I understand that fifth act -of thine, which puzzled me afore, and yet had not puzzled me; but I -fancied—poor fool!—that the feeling was singular in me. 'Twas a vile -life, Will." He jerked a thumb back at Bankside.</p> - -<p>"Ay, 'tis vile."</p> - -<p>"My cough translates it into the past tense; but—then, or now, or -hereafter—'tis vile. Count them up, Will—the lads we have drunk with -aforetime. There was Greene, now——"</p> - -<p>Shakespeare bent his head for tally.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span></p> - -<p>"—I can see his poor corse staring up at the rafters: there on the -shoemaker's bed, with a chaplet of laurel askew on the brow. The woman -meant it kindly, poor thing!... She forgot to close his eyes, though. -With my own fingers I closed 'em, and borrowed two penny pieces of her -for weights. 'Twas the first dead flesh I had touched, and I feel it -now.... But George Peele was worse, ten times worse. I forget if you -saw him?"</p> - -<p>Again Shakespeare bent his head.</p> - -<p>"And poor Kit? You saw Kit, I know ... with a hole below the eye, -they told me, where the knife went through. And that was our Kit, our -hope, pride, paragon, our Daphnis. Damnation, and this is art! Didst -hear that blotch-faced youngster, that Scotchman, how he prated of it, -laying down the law?"</p> - -<p>"That Jonson, Tom, is a tall poet, or will be."</p> - -<p>"The devil care I! Tall poet or not, he is no Englishman and -understands not the race. Art is not for us. We have dreamed dreams, -thou and I: and thy dreams are coming to glory. But the last dream of a -true Englishman is to own a few good English acres and die respected in -a dear, if narrow, round. Dear Will, there is more in this than greed. -There is the call of the land, which is home. For me—thou knowest—I -had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> ne'er the gift of saving. My bolt is shot, or almost: two years -at farthest must see the end of me. But when thou rememberest, bethink -thee that I understood the call. Wilt guess what I am writing, now at -the last? A great book—a sound book—and all of the red-herring! Ay, -the red-herring, staple of my own Yarmouth. Canst never, as an inland -man, rise to the virtues of that fish nor to the merit of my handling. -But I have read some pages of it to my neighbours there and I learn -from their approving looks that I shall die respected. Yet I, too, -forgot and dreamed of art...."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>On the Bankside at the foot of Paris Garden Stairs, deserted now of -watermen, a youth sat with his teeth chattering.</p> - -<p>Above, while he tried to clench his teeth, a window opened stealthily. -There was a heavy splash on the tideway, and the window shut to, softly -as it had opened. He watched. He was past fear. The body bobbed once to -the surface, half a furlong below the spreading, fading circles thrown -to the foot of Paris Garden Stairs. It did not rise again. The Bankside -knew its business.</p> - -<p>A heavy footfall came down the steps to the landing-stage.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p> - -<p>"A glorious night!"</p> - -<p>The apprentice watched the river.</p> - -<p>"A glorious night! A night to remember! Tell me, lad, have I made good -my promises, or have I not?"</p> - -<p>"They rise thrice before sinking, I have always heard," twittered the -lad.</p> - -<p>"What the devil art talking of? Here, take my cloak, if thou feelest -the chill. The watermen here ply by shifts, and we shall hail a boat -anon to take us over. Meanwhile, if thou hast eyes, boy, look on the -river—see the masts there, below bridge, the sun touching them!—see -the towers yonder, in the gold of it!</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>London, thou art the flower of cities all!</i></span><br /> -</p> - -<p>—Eh, lad?"</p> - -<p>The sun's gold, drifted through the fog, touched the side of a small -row-boat nearing the farther shore. Behind, and to right and left along -Bankside, a few guitars yet tinkled. Across the tide came wafted the -voices of London's Christmas bells.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="YE_SEXES_GIVE_EAR" id="YE_SEXES_GIVE_EAR">YE SEXES, GIVE EAR!</a></p> - -<p class="center">A STORY FROM A CHIMNEY-CORNER</p> - - -<p>A good song, and thank 'ee, Sir, for singing it! Time was, you'd never -miss hearing it in these parts, whether 'twas feast or harvest-supper -or Saturday night at the public. A virtuous good song, too; and the -merry fellow that made it won't need to cast about and excuse himself -when the graves open and he turns out with his fiddle under his arm. -My own mother taught it to me; the more by token that she came from -Saltash, and "Ye sexes, give ear" was a terrible favourite with the -Saltash females by reason of Sally Hancock and her turn-to with the -press-gang. Hey? You don't tell me, after singing the song, that you -never heard tell of Sally Hancock? Well, if——I Here, take and fill my -mug, somebody!</p> - -<p>'Tis an instructive tale, too.... This Sally was a Saltash fishwoman, -and you must have heard of <i>them</i> at all events. There was Bess -Rablin, too, and Mary Kitty Climo, and Thomasine Oliver, and Long Eliza -that married Treleaven<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> the hoveller, and Pengelly's wife Ann; these made -up the crew Sally stroked in the great race. And besides these there was -Nan Scantlebury—she took Bess Rablin's oar the second year, Bess being -a bit too fond of lifting her elbow, which affected her health—and -Phemy Sullivan, an Irishwoman, and Long Eliza's half-sister Charlotte -Prowse, and Rebecca Tucker, and Susan Trebilcock, that everybody called -"Apern," and a dozen more maybe: powerful women every one, and proud of -it. The town called them Sally Hancock's Gang, she being their leader, -though they worked separate, shrimping, cockling, digging for lug and -long-lining, bawling fish through Plymouth streets, even a hovelling -job at times—nothing came amiss to them, and no weather. For a trip -to Plymouth they'd put on sea-boots belike, or grey stockings and -clogs: but at home they went bare-legged, and if they wore anything -'pon their heads 'twould be a handkerchief, red or yellow, with a man's -hat clapped a-top; coats too, and guernseys like men's, and petticoats -a short few inches longer; for I'm telling of that back-along time -when we fought Boney and while seafaring men still wore petticoats—in -these parts at any rate. Well, that's how Sally and her mates looked -on week-a-days, and that's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span> how they behaved: but you must understand -that, though rough, they were respectable; the most of them Wesleyan -Methodists; and on Sundays they'd put on bonnet and sit in chapel, -and drink their tea afterwards and pick their neighbours to pieces -just like ordinary Christians. Sal herself was a converted woman, and -greatly exercised for years about her husband's condition, that kept -a tailor's shop half-way down Fore Street and scoffed at the word -of Grace; though he attended public worship, partly to please his -customers and partly because his wife wouldn't let him off.</p> - -<p>The way the fun started was this. In June month of the year 'five -(that's the date my mother always gave) the Wesleyans up at the London -Foundry sent a man down to preach a revival through Cornwall, starting -with Saltash. He had never crossed the Tamar before, but had lived the -most of his life near Wolverhampton—a bustious little man, with a -round belly and a bald head and high sense of his own importance. He -arrived on a Saturday night, and attended service next morning, but -not to take part in it: he "wished to look round," he said. So the -morning was spent in impressing everyone with his shiny black suit of -West-of-England broad<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>cloth and his beautiful neckcloth and bunch of -seals. But in the evening he climbed the pulpit, and there Old Nick -himself, that lies in wait for preachers, must have tempted the poor -fellow to preach on Womanly Perfection, taking his text from St. Paul.</p> - -<p>He talked a brave bit about subjection, and how a woman ought to submit -herself to her husband, and keep her head covered in places of public -worship. And from that he passed on to say that 'twas to this beautiful -submissiveness women owed their amazing power for good, and he, for his -part, was going through Cornwall to tackle the women-folk and teach 'em -this beautiful lesson, and he'd warrant he'd leave the whole county a -sight nearer righteousness than he found it. With that he broke out -into axtempory prayer for our dear sisters, as he called them, dusted -his knees, and gave out the hymn, all as pleased as Punch.</p> - -<p>Sal walked home from service alongside of her husband, very thoughtful. -Deep down in the bottom of his heart he was afraid of her, and she knew -it, though she made it a rule to treat him kindly. But knowing him for -a monkey-spirited little man, and spiteful as well as funny, you could -never be sure when he wouldn't break out.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> To-night he no sooner gets -inside his own door than says he with a dry sort of a chuckle—</p> - -<p>"Powerful fine sermon, this evenin'. A man like that makes you <i>think</i>."</p> - -<p>"Ch't!" says Sally, tossing her bonnet on to the easy-chair and groping -about for the tinder-box.</p> - -<p>"Sort of doctrine that's badly needed in Saltash," says he. "But I'd -ha' bet 'twould be wasted on you. Well, well, if you can't understand -logic, fit and fetch supper, that's a good soul!"</p> - -<p>"Ch't!" said Sally again, paying no particular attention, but wondering -what the dickens had become of the tinder-box. She couldn't find it on -the chimney-piece, so went off to fetch the kitchen one.</p> - -<p>When she came back, there was my lord seated in the easy-chair—that -was hers by custom—and puffing away at his pipe—a thing not allowed -until after supper. You see, he had collared the tinder-box when he -first came in, and had hidden it from her.</p> - -<p>Sal lit the lamp, quiet-like. "I s'pose you know you're sittin' 'pon my -best bonnet?" said she.</p> - -<p>This took him aback. He jumped up, found<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> the bonnet underneath him -sure enough, and tossed it on to the table. "Gew-gaws!" said he, -settling himself down again and puffing. "Gew-gaws and frippery! That -man'll do good in this country; he's badly wanted."</p> - -<p>Sal patted the straw of her bonnet into something like shape and -smoothed out the ribbons. "If it'll make you feel like a breadwinner," -said she, "there's a loaf in the bread-pan. The cold meat and pickles -are under lock and key, and we'll talk o' them later." She fitted the -bonnet on and began to tie the strings.</p> - -<p>"You don't tell me, Sarah, that you mean to go gadding out at this time -of the evening?" cries he, a bit chapfallen, for he knew she carried -the keys in an under-pocket beneath her skirt.</p> - -<p>"And you don't suppose," answers she, "that I can spare the time to -watch you play-actin' in my best chair? No, no, my little man! Sit -there and amuse yourself: what <i>you</i> do don't make a ha'porth of odds. -But there's others to be considered, and I'm going to put an end to -this nonsense afore it spreads."</p> - -<p>The time of the year, as I've told you, was near about midsummer, when -a man can see to read print out-of-doors at nine o'clock. Service over, -the preacher had set out for a stroll across the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> hayfields towards -Trematon, to calm himself with a look at the scenery and the war-ships -in the Hamoaze and the line of prison-hulks below, where in those days -they kept the French prisoners. He was strolling back, with his hands -clasped behind him under his coat-tails, when on the knap of the hill, -between him and the town, he caught sight of a bevy of women seated -among the hay-pooks—staid middle-aged women, all in dark shawls and -bonnets, chattering there in the dusk. As he came along they all rose -up together and dropped him a curtsey.</p> - -<p>"Good evenin', preacher dear," says Sally, acting spokeswoman; "and a -very fine night for the time of year."</p> - -<p>I reckon that for a moment the preacher took a scare. Monstrous fine -women they were to be sure, looming up over him in the dimmety light, -and two or three of them tall as Grenadiers. But hearing himself -forespoken so pleasantly, he came to a stand and peered at them through -his gold-rimmed glasses.</p> - -<p>"Ah, good evening, ladies!" says he. "You are, I presoom, members -of the society that I've just had the privilege of addressin'?" And -thereupon they dropped him another curtsey altogether. "Like me, I dare -say you find the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span> scent of the new-mown hay refreshingly grateful. And -what a scene! What a beautiful porch, so to speak, to the beauties of -Cornwall!—beauties of which I have often heard tell."</p> - -<p>"Yes, Sir," answers Sal demurely. "Did you ever hear tell, too, why Old -Nick never came into Cornwall?"</p> - -<p>"H'm—ha—some proverbial saying, no doubt? But—you will excuse me—I -think we should avoid speaking lightly of the great Enemy of Mankind."</p> - -<p>"He was afraid," pursued Sal, "of being put into a pie." She paused at -that, giving her words time to sink in. The preacher didn't notice yet -awhile that Long Eliza Treleaven and Thomasine Oliver had crept round a -bit and planted themselves in the footpath behind him.</p> - -<p>After a bit Sal let herself go in a comfortable smile, and says she, in -a pretty, coaxing voice, "Sit yourself down, preacher, that's a dear: -sit yourself down, nice and close, and have a talk!"</p> - -<p>The poor fellow fetched a start at this. He didn't know, of course, -that everyone's "my dear" in Cornwall, and I'm bound to say I've seen -foreigners taken aback by it—folks like commercial travellers, not -given to shyness as a rule.</p> - -<p>"You'll excuse me, Madam."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> - -<p>"No, I won't: not if you don't come and sit down quiet. Bless the man, -I'm not going to eat 'ee—wouldn't harm a hair of your dear little -head, if you had any! What? You refuse?"</p> - -<p>"How dare you, Madam!" The preacher drew himself up, mighty dignified. -"How dare you address me in this fashion!"</p> - -<p>"I'm addressin' you for your good," answered Sally. "We've been -talkin' over your sermon, me and my friends here—all very respectable -women—and we've made up our minds that it won't do. We can't have it -'pon our conscience to let a gentleman with your views go kicking up -Jack's delight through the West. We owe something more to our sex. -'Wrestlin'' with 'em—that was one of your expressions—'wrestlin' with -our dear Cornish sisters'!"</p> - -<p>"In the spirit—a figure of speech," explained the poor man, -snappy-like.</p> - -<p>Sal shook her head. "They know all about wrestlin' down yonder. -I tell you, 'twon't do. You're a well-meaning man, no doubt; but -you're terribly wrong on some points. You'd do an amazing amount -of mischief if we let you run loose. But we couldn't take no such -responsibility—indeed we couldn't: and the long and short of it is, -you've got to go."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p> - -<p>She spoke these last words very firmly. The preacher flung a glance -round and saw he was in a trap.</p> - -<p>"Such shameless behaviour——" he began.</p> - -<p>"You've got to go back," repeated Sally, nodding her head at him. "Take -my advice and go quiet."</p> - -<p>"I can only suppose you to be intoxicated," said he, and swung round -upon the path where Thomasine Oliver stood guard. "Allow me to pass, -Madam, if you please!"</p> - -<p>But here the mischief put it into Long Eliza to give his hat a flip by -the brim. It dropped over his nose and rolled away in the grass. "Oh, -what a dear little bald head!" cried Long Eliza; "I declare I must kiss -it or die!" She caught up a handful of hay as he stooped, and—well, -well, Sir! Scandalous, as you say! Not a word beyond this would any of -them tell: but I do believe the whole gang rolled the poor man in the -hay and took a kiss off him—"making sweet hay," as 'tis called. 'Twas -only known that he paid the bill for his lodging a little after dawn -next morning, took up his bag, and passed down Fore Street towards the -quay. Maybe a boat was waiting for him there: at all events, he was -never seen again—not on this side of Tamar.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> - -<p>Sal went back, composed as you please, and let herself in by the -front-door. In the parlour she found her man still seated in the -easy-chair and smoking, but sulky-like, and with most of his -monkey-temper leaked out of him.</p> - -<p>"What have you been doin', pray?" asks he.</p> - -<p>Sal looked at him with a twinkle. "Kissin'," says she, untying her -bonnet: and with that down she dropped on a chair and laughed till her -sides ached.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Her husband ate humble pie that night before ever he set fork in the -cold meat: and for some days after, though she kept a close eye on -him, he showed no further sign of wanting to be lord of creation. -"Nothing like promptness," thought Sally to herself. "If I hadn't -taken that nonsense in hand straight off, there's no telling where it -wouldn't have spread." By the end of the week following she had put all -uneasiness out of her head.</p> - -<p>Next Saturday—as her custom was on Saturdays—she traded in Plymouth, -and didn't reach home until an hour or more past nightfall, having -waited on the Barbican for the evening fish-auction, to see how prices -were ruling. 'Twas near upon ten o'clock before she'd moored her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> -boat, and as she went up the street past the Fish and Anchor she heard -something that fetched her to a standstill.</p> - -<p>She stood for a minute, listening; then walked in without more ado, -set down her baskets in the passage, and pushed open the door of the -bar-room. There was a whole crowd of men gathered inside, and the place -thick with tobacco-smoke. And in the middle of this crew, with his back -to the door, sat her husband piping out a song—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Ye sexes, give ear to my fancy;</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>In the praise of good women I sing,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>It is not of Doll, Kate, or Nancy,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>The mate of a clown nor a King</i>—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>With my fol-de-rol, tooral-i-lay!</i></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Old Adam, when he was creyated,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Was lord of the Universe round;</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Yet his happiness was not complated</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Until that a helpmate he'd found.</i></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>He had all things for food that was wanting,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Which give us content in this life;</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>He had horses and foxes for hunting,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Which many love more than a wife,</i>—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>With my fol-de-rol, tooral-i-lay!</i></span><br /> -</p> - -<p>He had sung so far and was waving his pipestem for the chorus when the -company looked up and saw Sal straddling in the doorway with her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> fists -on her hips. The sight daunted them for a moment: but she held up a -finger, signing them to keep the news to themselves, and leaned her -shoulder against the door-post with her eyes steady on the back of her -husband's scrag neck. His fate was upon him, poor varmint, and on he -went, as gleeful as a bird in a bath—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>He'd a garden so planted by natur'</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>As man can't produce in this life;</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>But yet the all-wise great Creaytor</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Perceived that he wanted a wife.</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 4em;"><i>With his fol-de-rol, tooral-i-lay!</i></span><br /> -</p> - -<p>"You chaps might be a bit heartier with the chorus," he put in. "A man -would almost think you was afraid of your wives overhearin'—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Old Adam was laid in a slumber,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>And there he lost part of his side;</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>And when he awoke in great wonder</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>He beyeld his beyeautiful bride.</i></span><br /> -</p> - -<p><i>With</i> my fol-de-rol, tooral—why, whatever's wrong with 'ee all? -You're as melancholy as a passel of gib-cats." [And with that he caught -the eye of a man seated opposite, and slewed slowly round to the door.]</p> - -<p>I tell you that even Sal was forced to smile, and the rest, as you may -suppose, rolled to and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span> fro and laughed till they cried. But when the -landlord called for order and they hushed themselves to hear more, the -woman had put on a face that made her husband quake.</p> - -<p>"Go ahead, Hancock!" cried one or two. "'With transport he gazčd——' -Sing away, man!"</p> - -<p>"I will not," said the tailor, very sulky. "This here's no fit place -for women: and a man has his feelin's. I'm astonished at you, Sarah—I -reely am. The wife of a respectable tradesman!" But he couldn't look -her straight in the face.</p> - -<p>"Why, what's wrong with the company?" she asks, looking around. "Old, -young, and middle-aged, I seem to know them all for Saltash men: -faults, too, they have to my knowledge: but it passes me what I need -to be afeared of. And only a minute since you was singing that your -happiness wouldn't be completed until that a helpmate you'd found. -Well, you've found her: so sing ahead and be happy."</p> - -<p>"I will not," says he, still stubborn.</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes you will, my little man," says she in a queer voice, which -made him look up and sink his eyes again.</p> - -<p>"Well," says he, making the best of it, "to please the missus, -naybours, we'll sing the whole<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> randigal through. And after that, -Sarah"—here he pretended to look at her like one in command—"you'll -walk home with me straight."</p> - -<p>"You may lay to that," Sal promised him: and so, but in no very firm -voice, he pitched to the song again—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>With transport he gazčd upon her,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>His happiness then was complate;</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>And he blessčd the marvellous forethought</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>That on him bestowed such a mate</i>—</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>"I reckon, friends, we'll leave out the chorus!"</p> - -<p>They wouldn't hear of this, but ri-tooralled away with a will, Sal -watching them the while from the doorway with her eyebrows drawn down, -like one lost in thought.</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>She was not took out of his head,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>To reign or to triumph o'er man;</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>She was not took out of his feet,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>By man to be tramped upon.</i></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>But she was took out of his side,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>His equal and partner to be:</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Though they be yunited in one,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Still the man is the top of the tree!</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;"><i>With my fol-de-rol, tooral-i-lay!</i></span><br /> -</p> - -<p>"Well, and what's wrong wi' that?" Hancock wound up, feeling for his -courage again.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Get along with 'ee, you ninth-part-of-a-man! <i>Me</i> took out of <i>your</i> -side!"</p> - -<p>"Be that as it may, the Fish and Anchor is no place for discussing of -it," the man answered, very dignified. "Enough said, my dear! We'll be -getting along home." He stood up and knocked the ashes out of his pipe.</p> - -<p>But Sally was not to be budged. "I knew how 'twould be," she spoke up, -facing the company. "I took that preacher-fellow on the ground hop, as -I thought, and stopped his nonsense; but something whispered to me that -'twas a false hope. Evil communications corrupt good manners, and now -the mischief's done. There's no peace for Saltash till you men learn -your place again, and I'm resolved to teach it to 'ee. You want to know -how? Well, to start with, by means of a board and a piece o' chalk, -same as they teach at school nowadays."</p> - -<p>She stepped a pace further into the room, shut home the door behind -her, and cast her eye over the ale-scores on the back of it. There were -a dozen marks, maybe, set down against her own man's name; but for the -moment she offered no remark on this.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Oke," says she, turning to the landlord, "I reckon you never go -without a piece o' chalk<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> in your pocket. Step this way, if you -please, and draw a line for me round what these lords of creation owe -ye for drink. Thank'ee. And now be good enough to fetch a chair and -stand 'pon it; I want you to reach so high as you can—Ready? Now take -your chalk and write, beginning near the top o' the door: 'I, Sarah -Hancock——'"</p> - -<p class="center"> -<img src="images/illus03.jpg" alt="landlord"/> -<a id="illus03" name="illus03"></a> -</p> -<p class="caption"> LANDLORD OKE GAVE A FLOURISH WITH HIS CHALK AND WROTE.</p> - -<p>Landlord Oke gave a flourish with his chalk and wrote, Sally -dictating,—</p> - -<p>'I, Sarah Hancock—do hereby challenge all the men in Saltash -Borough—that me and five other females of the said Borough—will row -any six of them any distance from one to six statute miles—and will -beat their heads off—pulling either single oars or double paddles or -in ran-dan—the stakes to be six pound aside. And I do further promise, -if beaten, to discharge all scores below.'</p> - -<p>"Now the date, please—and hand me the chalk."</p> - -<p>She reached up and signed her name bold and free, being a fair scholar. -"And now, my little fellow," says she, turning to her husband, "put -down that pipe and come'st along home. The man's at the top of the -tree, is he? You'll wish you were, if I catch you at any more tricks!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p> - -<p>Well, at first the mankind at the Fish and Anchor allowed that Sal -couldn't be in earnest; this challenge of hers was all braggadoshy; -and one or two went so far as to say 'twould serve her right if she -was taken at her word. In fact, no one treated it seriously until four -days later, at highwater, when the folks that happened to be idling -'pon the Quay heard a splash off Runnell's boat-building yard, and, -behold! off Runnell's slip there floated a six-oared gig, bright as -a pin with fresh paint. 'Twas an old condemned gig, that had lain in -his shed ever since he bought it for a song off the <i>Indefatigable</i> -man-o'-war, though now she looked almost too smart to be the same boat. -Sally had paid him to put in a couple of new strakes and plane out a -brand-new set of oars in place of the old ashen ones, and had painted a -new name beneath the old one on the sternboard, so that now she was the -<i>Indefatigable Woman</i> for all the world to see. And that very evening -Sally and five of her mates paddled her past the Quay on a trial spin, -under the eyes of the whole town.</p> - -<p>There was a deal of laughing up at the Fish and Anchor that night, the -most of the customers still treating the affair as a joke. But Landlord -Oke took a more serious view.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p> - -<p>"'Tis all very well for you fellows to grin," says he, "but I've been -trying to make up in my mind the crew that's going to beat these -females, and, by George! I don't find it so easy. There's the boat, -too."</p> - -<p>"French-built, and leaks like a five-barred gate," said somebody. "The -Admiralty condemned her five year' ago."</p> - -<p>"A leak can be patched, and the Admiralty's condemning goes for nothing -in a case like this. I tell you that boat has handsome lines—handsome -as you'd wish to see. You may lay to it that what Sal Hancock doesn't -know about a boat isn't worth knowing."</p> - -<p>"All the same, I'll warrant she never means to row a race in that -condemned old tub. She've dragged it out just for practice, and painted -it up to make a show. When the time comes—if ever it do—she'll fit -and borrow a new boat off one of the war-ships. We can do the same."</p> - -<p>"Granted that you can, there's the question of the crew. Sal has her -thwarts manned—or womanned, as you choose to put it—and maybe a -dozen reserves to pick from in case of accident. She means business, -I tell you. There's Regatta not five weeks away, and pretty fools we -shall look if she sends round the crier on Regatta Day<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span> 'O-yessing' to -all the world that Saltash men can't raise a boat's crew to match a -passel of females, and two of 'em"—he meant Mary Kitty Climo and Ann -Pengelly—"mothers of long families."</p> - -<p>They discussed it long and they discussed it close, and this way and -that way, until at last Landlord Oke had roughed-out a crew. There was -no trouble about a stroke. That thwart went <i>nem. con.</i> to a fellow -called Seth Ede, that worked the ferry and had won prizes in his day -all up and down the coast: indeed, the very Plymouth men had been -afraid of him for two or three seasons before he gave up racing, which -was only four years ago. Some doubted that old Roper Retallack, who -farmed the ferry that year, would spare Seth on Regatta-day: but Oke -undertook to arrange this. Thwart No. 4 went with no more dispute to -a whackin' big waterman by the name of Tremenjous Hosken, very useful -for his weight, though a trifle thick in the waist. As for strength, he -could break a pint mug with one hand, creaming it between his fingers. -Then there was Jago the Preventive man, light but wiry, and a very -tricky wrestler: "a proper angle-twitch of a man," said one of the -company; "stank<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a> 'pon both ends of 'en, he'll<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span> rise up in the middle -and laugh at 'ee." So they picked Jago for boat-oar. For No. 5, after -a little dispute, they settled on Tippet Harry, a boat-builder working -in Runnell's yard, by reason that he'd often pulled behind Ede in the -double-sculling, and might be trusted to set good time to the bow-side. -Nos. 2 and 3 were not so easily settled, and they discussed and put -aside half a score before offering one of the places to a long-legged -youngster whose name I can't properly give you: he was always called -Freckly-Faced Joe, and worked as a saddler's apprentice. In the end he -rowed 2: but No. 3 they left vacant for the time, while they looked -around for likely candidates.</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Stank = tread.</p></div> - -<p>Landlord Oke made no mistake when he promised that Sally -meant business. Two days later she popped her head in at his -bar-parlour—'twas in the slack hours of the afternoon, and he happened -to be sitting there all by himself, tipping a sheaf of churchwarden -clays with sealing-wax—and says she—</p> - -<p>"What's the matter with your menkind?"</p> - -<p>"Restin'," says Oke with a grin. "I don't own 'em, missus; but, from -what I can hear, they're restin' and recoverin' their strength."</p> - -<p>"I've brought you the stakes from our side,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span> says Sally, and down she -slaps a five-pound note and a sovereign upon the table.</p> - -<p>"Take 'em up, missus—take 'em up. I don't feel equal to the -responsibility. This here's a public challenge, hey?"</p> - -<p>"The publicker the better."</p> - -<p>"Then we'll go to the Mayor about it and ask his Worship to hold the -stakes." Oke was chuckling to himself all this while, the reason being -that he'd managed to bespeak the loan of a six-oared galley belonging -to the Water-Guard, and, boat for boat, he made no doubt she could show -her heels to the <i>Indefatigable Woman</i>. He unlocked his strong-box, -took out and pocketed a bag of money, and reached his hat off its peg. -"I suppose 'twouldn't do to offer you my arm?" says he.</p> - -<p>"Folks would talk, Mr. Oke—thanking you all the same."</p> - -<p>So out they went, and down the street side by side, and knocked at the -Mayor's door. The Mayor was taking a nap in his back-parlour with a -handkerchief over his face. He had left business soon after burying his -wife, who had kept him hard at work at the cheesemongering, and now he -could sleep when he chose. But he woke up very politely to attend to -his visitors' business.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Yes, for sure, I'll hold the stakes," said he: "and I'll see it put in -big print on the Regatta-bill. It ought to attract a lot of visitors. -But lor' bless you, Mr. Oke!—if you win, it'll do <i>me</i> no good. -She"—meaning his wife—"has gone to a land where I'll never be able to -crow over her."</p> - -<p>"Your Worship makes sure, I see, that we women are going to be beat?" -put in Sal.</p> - -<p>"Tut-tut!" says the Mayor. "They've booked Seth Ede for stroke." And -with that he goes very red in the gills and turns to Landlord Oke. "But -perhaps I oughtn't to have mentioned that?" says he.</p> - -<p>"Well," says Sal, "you've a-let the cat out of the bag, and I see that -all you men in the town are in league. But a challenge is a challenge, -and I mustn't go back on it." Indeed, in her secret heart she was -cheerful, knowing the worst, and considering it none so bad: and after -higgling a bit, just to deceive him, she took pretty well all the -conditions of the race as Oke laid 'em down. A tearing long course it -was to be, too, and pretty close on five miles: start from nearabouts -where the training-ship lays now, down to a mark-boat somewheres off -Torpoint, back, and finish off Saltash Quay.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p> - -<p>"My dears," she said to her mates later on, "I don't mind telling you I -was all of a twitter, first-along, wondering what card that man Oke was -holding back—he looked so sly and so sure of hisself. But if he've no -better card to play than Seth Ede, we can sleep easy."</p> - -<p>"Seth Ede's a powerful strong oar," Bess Rablin objected.</p> - -<p>"<i>Was</i>, you mean. He've a-drunk too much beer these four years past to -last over a five-mile course; let be that never was his distance. And -here's another thing: they've picked Tremenjous Hosken for one th'art."</p> - -<p>"And he's as strong as a bullock."</p> - -<p>"I dessay: but Seth Ede pulls thirty-eight or thirty-nine to the -minute all the time he's racing—never a stroke under. I've watched -him a score o' times. If you envy Hosken his inside after two miles o' -<i>that</i>, you must be like Pomery's pig—in love with pain. They've hired -or borrowed the Preventive boat, I'm told; and it's the best they could -do. She's new, and she looks pretty. She'll drag aft if they put their -light weights in the bows: still, she's a good boat. I'm not afeared of -her, though. From all I can hear, the <i>Woman</i> was known for speed in -her time, all through the fleet. You can <i>feel</i> she's fast,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span> and <i>see</i> -it, if you've half an eye: and the way she travels between the strokes -is a treat. The Mounseers can build boats. But oh, my dears, you'll -have to pull and stay the course, or in Saltash the women take second -place for ever!"</p> - -<p>"Shan't be worse off than other women, even if that happens," said -Rebecca Tucker, that was but a year married and more than half in love -with her man. Sally had been in two minds about promoting Rebecca to -the bow-oar in place of Ann Pengelly, that had been clipping the stroke -short in practice: but after that speech she never gave the woman -another thought.</p> - -<p>Next evening the men brought out their opposition boat—she was called -the <i>Nonpareil</i>—and tried a spin in her. They had found a man for No. -3 oar—another of the Water-Guard, by name Mick Guppy and by nation -Irish, which Sal swore to be unfair. She didn't lodge any complaint, -however: and when her mates called out that 'twas taking a mean -advantage, all she'd say was: "Saltash is Saltash, my dears; and I -won't go to maintain that a Saltash crew is anyways improved by a chap -from Dundalk."</p> - -<p>So no protest was entered. I needn't tell you that, by this time, news -of the great race had spread to Plymouth, and north away to Callington<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> -and all the country round. Crowds came out every evening to watch -the two boats at their practising; and sometimes, as they passed one -another, Seth Ede, who had the reputation for a wag, would call out to -Sal and offer her the odds by way of chaff. Sal never answered. The -woman was in deadly earnest, and moreover, I daresay, a bit timmersome, -now that the whole Borough had its eyes on her, and defeat meant -disgrace.</p> - -<p>She never showed a sign of any doubt, though; and when the great day -came, she surpassed herself by the way she dressed. I daresay you've -noticed that when women take up a man's job they're inclined to overdo -it; and when Sal came down that day with a round tarpaulin-hat stuck -on the back of her head, and her hair plaited in a queue like a Jack -Tar's, her spiteful little husband fairly danced.</p> - -<p>"'Tis onwomanly," said he. "Go upstairs and take it off!"</p> - -<p>"Ch't," said she, "if you're so much upset by a tarpaulin-hat, you've -had a narra escape; for 'tis nothing to the costume I'd a mind to -wear—and I'd a mind to make you measure the whole crew for it."</p> - -<p>And as it was, I'm told, half the sightseers that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span> poured into Saltash -that day in their hundreds couldn't tell the women's crew from the -men's by their looks or their dress. And these be the names and -weights, more or less—</p> - -<p>The <i>Indefatigable Woman</i>: Bow, Ann Pengelly, something under eleven -stone; No. 2, Thomasine Oliver, ditto; No. 3, Mary Kitty Climo, eleven -and a half; No. 4, Long Eliza, thirteen and over, a woman very heavy -in the bone; No. 5, Bess Rablin, twelve stone, most of it in the ribs -and shoulders; Stroke, Sarah Hancock, twelve stone four; Coxswain, Ann -Pengelly's fourth daughter Wilhelmina, weight about six stone. The -<i>Indefatigable Woman</i> carried a small distaff in the bows, and her crew -wore blue jerseys and yellow handkerchiefs.</p> - -<p>The <i>Nonpareil</i>: Bow, T. Jago, ten stone and a little over; No. 2, -Freckly-faced Joe, twelve stone; No. 3, M. Guppy, twelve stone and -a half; No. 4, Tremenjous Hosken, eighteen stone ten; No. 5, Tippet -Harry, twelve stone eight; Stroke, Seth Ede, eleven six. And I don't -know who the boy was that steered. The <i>Nonpareil</i> carried a red, -white, and blue flag, and her crew wore striped jerseys, white and blue.</p> - -<p>They were started by pistol; and Seth Ede, jumping off with a stroke of -forty to the minute,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> went ahead at once. In less than twenty strokes -he was clear, the <i>Nonpareil</i> lifting forward in great heaves that made -the spectators tell each other that though 'twas no race they had seen -something for their money. They didn't see how sweetly the other boat -held her way between the strokes, nor note that Sally had started at a -quiet thirty-four, the whole crew reaching well out and keeping their -blades covered to the finish—coming down to the stroke steadily, too, -though a stiffish breeze was with them as well as the tide.</p> - -<p>I suppose the longest lead held by the <i>Nonpareil</i> during the race -was a good forty yards. She must have won this within four minutes -of starting, and for half a mile or so she kept it. Having so much -in hand, Ede slowed down—for flesh and blood couldn't keep up such -a rate of striking over the whole course—and at once he found out -his mistake. The big man Hosken, who had been pulling with his arms -only, and pulling like a giant, didn't understand swinging out; tried -it, and was late on stroke every time. This flurried Ede, who was -always inclined to hurry the pace, and he dropped slower yet—dropped -to thirty-five, maybe, a rate at which he did himself no justice, -bucketting forward fast,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> and waiting over the beginning till he'd -missed it. In discontent with himself he quickened again; but now -the oars behind him were like a peal of bells. By sheer strength -they forced the boat along somehow, and with the tide under her she -travelled. But the <i>Indefatigable Woman</i> by this time was creeping up.</p> - -<p>They say that Sally rowed that race at thirty-four from the start to -within fifty yards of the finish; rowed it minute after minute without -once quickening or once dropping a stroke. Folks along shore timed her -with their watches. If that's the truth, 'twas a marvellous feat, and -the woman accounted for it afterwards by declaring that all the way she -scarcely thought for one second of the other boat, but set her stroke -to a kind of tune in her head, saying the same verse over and over—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>But she was took out of his side,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>His equal and partner to be:</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Though they be yunited in one,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Still the man is the top of the tree!</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 5em;"><i>With my fol-de-rol, tooral-i-lay—We'll see about</i> that!</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>The <i>Indefatigable Woman</i> turned the mark not more than four lengths -astern. They had wind and tide against them now, and with her crew -swinging out slow and steady, pulling the stroke<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span> clean through -with a hard finish, she went up hand-over-fist. The blades of the -<i>Nonpareil</i> were knocking up water like a moorhen. Tremenjous Hosken -had fallen to groaning between the strokes, and I believe that from the -markboat homeward he was no better than a passenger—an eighteen-stone -passenger, mind you. The only man to keep it lively was little Jago at -bow, and Seth Ede—to do him justice—pulled a grand race for pluck. He -might have spared himself, though. Another hundred yards settled it: -the <i>Indefatigable Woman</i> made her overlap and went by like a snake, -and the Irishman pulled in his oar and said—</p> - -<p>"Well, Heaven bless the leddies, anyway!"</p> - -<p>Seth Ede turned round and swore at him vicious-like, and he fell to -rowing again: but the whole thing had become a procession. "Eyes in the -boat!" commanded Sal, pulling her crew together as they caught sight of -their rivals for the first time and, for a stroke or two, let the time -get ragged. She couldn't help a lift in her voice, though, any more -than she could help winding up with a flourish as they drew level with -Saltash town, a good hundred yards ahead, and heard the band playing -and the voices cheering. "Look out for the quicken!"—and up went a -great roar<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span> as the women behind her picked the quicken up and rattled -past the Quay and the winning-gun at forty to the minute!</p> - -<p>They had just strength enough left to toss oars: and then they leaned -forward with their heads between their arms, panting and gasping out, -"Well rowed, Sal!" "Oh—oh—well rowed all!" and letting the delight -run out of them in little sobs of laughter. The crowd ashore, too, was -laughing and shouting itself hoarse. I'm sorry to say a few of them -jeered at the <i>Nonpareil</i> as she crawled home: but, on the whole, the -men of Saltash took their beating handsome.</p> - -<p>This don't include Sal's husband, though. Landlord Oke was one of the -first to shake her by the hand as she landed, and the Mayor turned over -the stakes to her there and then with a neat little speech. But Tailor -Hancock went back home with all kinds of ugliness and uncharitableness -working in his little heart. He cursed Regatta Day for an interruption -to trade, and Saltash for a town given up to idleness and folly. A -man's business in this world was to toil for his living in the sweat of -his brow; and so, half-an-hour later he told his wife.</p> - -<p>The crowd had brought her along to her house-door: and there she left -'em with a word or two<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span> of thanks, and went in very quiet. Her victory -had uplifted her, of course; but she knew that her man would be sore in -his feelings, and she meant to let him down gently. She'd have done it, -too, if he'd met her in the ordinary way: but when, after searching the -house, she looked into the little back workshop and spied him seated on -the bench there, cross-legged and solemn as an idol, stitching away at -a waistcoat, she couldn't hold back a grin.</p> - -<p>"Why, whatever's the matter with you?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"Work," says he, in a hollow voice. "Work is the matter. I can't see -a house—and one that used to be a happy home—go to rack and ruin -without some effort to prevent it."</p> - -<p>"I wouldn't begin on Regatta Day, if I was you," says Sal cheerfully. -"Has old Smithers been inquiring again about that waistcoat?"</p> - -<p>"He have not."</p> - -<p>"Then he's a patient man: for to my knowledge this is the third week -you've been putting him off with excuses."</p> - -<p>"I thank the Lord," says her husband piously, "that more work gets put -on me than I can keep pace with. And well it is, when a man's wife -takes to wagering and betting and pulling in low<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> boat-races to the -disgrace of her sex. <i>Someone</i> must keep the roof over our heads: but -the end may come sooner than you expect," says he, and winds up with a -tolerable imitation of a hacking cough.</p> - -<p>"I took three pairs of soles and a brill in the trammel this very -morning; and if you've put a dozen stitches in that old waistcoat, -'tis as much as ever! I can see in your eye that you know all about -the race; and I can tell from the state of your back that you watched -it from the Quay, and turned into the Sailor's Return for a drink. -Hockaday got taken in over that blue-wash for his walls: it comes off -as soon as you rub against it."</p> - -<p>"I'll trouble you not to spy upon my actions, Madam," says he.</p> - -<p>"Man alive, <i>I</i> don't mind your taking a glass now and then in -reason—specially on Regatta Day! And as for the Sailor's Return, 'tis -a respectable house. I hope so, anyhow, for we've ordered supper there -to-night."</p> - -<p>"Supper! You've ordered supper at the Sailor's Return?"</p> - -<p>Sal nodded. "Just to celebrate the occasion. We thought, first-along, -of the Green Dragon: but the Dragon's too grand a place for ease, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span> -Bess allowed 'twould look like showing off. She voted for cosiness: so -the Sailor's Return it is, with roast ducks and a boiled leg of mutton -and plain gin-and-water."</p> - -<p>"Settin' yourselves up to be men, I s'pose?" he sneered.</p> - -<p>"Not a bit of it," answered Sal. "There'll be no speeches."</p> - -<p>She went off to the kitchen, put on the kettle, and made him a dish of -tea. In an ordinary way she'd have paid no heed to his tantrums: but -just now she felt very kindly disposed t'wards everybody, and really -wished to chat over the race with him—treating it as a joke now that -her credit was saved, and never offering to crow over him. But the more -she fenced about to be agreeable the more he stitched and sulked.</p> - -<p>"Well, I can't miss <i>all</i> the fun," said she at last: and so, having -laid supper for him, and put the jug where he could find it and draw -his cider, she clapped on her hat and strolled out.</p> - -<p>He heard her shut-to the front door, and still he went on stitching. -When the dusk began to fall he lit a candle, fetched himself a jugful -of cider, and went back to his work. For all the notice Sal was ever -likely to take of his perversity, he might just as well have stepped -out into the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> streets and enjoyed himself: but he was wrought up into -that mood in which a man will hurt himself for the sake of having a -grievance. All the while he stitched he kept thinking, "Look at me -here, galling my fingers to the bone, and that careless fly-by-night -wife o' mine carousin' and gallivantin' down at the Sailor's Return! -Maybe she'll be sorry for it when I'm dead and gone; but at present -if there's an injured, misunderstood poor mortal in Saltash Town, I'm -that man." So he went on, until by-and-by, above the noise of the drum -and cymbals outside the penny theatre, and the hurdy-gurdies, and the -showmen bawling down by the waterside, he heard voices yelling and -a rush of folks running down the street past his door. He knew they -had been baiting a bull in a field at the head of the town, and, the -thought coming into his head that the animal must have broken loose, he -hopped off his bench, ran fore to the front door, and peeked his head -out cautious-like.</p> - -<p>What does he see coming down the street in the dusk but half-a-dozen -sailor-men with an officer in charge! Of course he knew the meaning -of it at once. 'Twas a press-gang off one of the ships in Hamoaze or -the Sound, that was choosing Regatta Night to raid the streets and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span> -had landed at the back of the town and climbed over the hill to take -the crowds by surprise. They'd made but a poor fist of this, by reason -of the officer letting his gang get out of hand at the start; and by -their gait 'twas pretty plain they had collared a plenty of liquor up -the street. But while Hancock peeped out, taking stock of them, a nasty -monkey-notion crept into his head, and took hold of all his spiteful -little nature; and says he, pushing the door a bit wider as the small -officer—he was little taller than a midshipman—came swearing by—</p> - -<p>"Beg your pardon, Sir!"</p> - -<p>"You'd best take in your head and close the door upon it," snaps the -little officer. "These fools o' mine have got their shirts out, and are -liable to make mistakes to-night."</p> - -<p>"What, <i>me</i>?—a poor tailor with a hackin' cough!" But to himself: "So -much the better," he says, and up he speaks again. "Beggin' your pardon -humbly, commander; but I might put you in the way of the prettiest -haul. There's a gang of chaps enjoyin' theirselves down at the Sailor's -Return, off the Quay, and not a 'protection' among them. Fine lusty -fellows, too! They might give your men a bit of trouble to start -with——"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Why are you telling me this?" the officer interrupts, suspicious-like.</p> - -<p>"That's my affair," says Hancock boldly, seeing that he nibbled. "Put -it down to love o' my country, if you like; and take my advice or leave -it, just as you please. I'm not asking for money, so you won't be any -the poorer."</p> - -<p>"Off the Quay, did you say? Has the house a quay-door?"</p> - -<p>"It has: but you needn't to trouble about that. They can't escape that -way, I promise you, having no boat alongside."</p> - -<p>The little officer turned and whispered for a while with two of the -soberest of his gang: and presently these whispered to two more, and -the four of them marched away up the hill.</p> - -<p>"'<i>HANCOCK—TAILOR</i>,'" reads out the officer aloud, stepping back into -the roadway and peering up at the shop-front. "Very well, my man, -you'll hear from us again——"</p> - -<p>"I'm not askin' for any reward, Sir"</p> - -<p>"So you've said: and I was about to say that, if this turns out to be -a trick, you'll hear from us again, and in a way you'll be sorry for. -And now, once more, take your ugly head inside. 'Tis my duty to act on -information, but I don't love informers."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span></p> - -<p>For the moment the threat made the tailor uncomfortable: but he felt -pretty sure the sailors, when they discovered the trick, wouldn't be -able to do him much harm. The laugh of the whole town would be against -them: and on Regatta Night the press—unpopular enough at the best of -times—would gulp down the joke and make the best of it. He went back -to his bench; but on second thoughts not to his work. 'Twould be on the -safe side, anyway, to be not at home for an hour or two, in case the -sailors came back to cry quits: playing the lonely martyr, too, wasn't -much fun with this mischief working inside of him and swelling his -lungs like barm.<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> He took a bite of bread and a sup of cider, blew -out the candle, let himself forth into the street after a glance to -make sure that all was clear, and headed for the Fish and Anchor.</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Barm=yeast.</p></div> - -<p>He found the bar-room crowded, but not with the usual Regatta Night -throng of all-sorts. The drinkers assembled were either burgesses like -himself or waterside men with protection-papers in their pockets: for -news of the press-gang had run through the town like wildfire, and the -company had given over discussing the race of the day and taken up with -this new subject.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> Among the protected men his eye lit on Treleaven the -hoveller, husband to Long Eliza, and Caius Pengelly, husband to Ann, -that had pulled bow in the race. He winked to them mighty cunning. The -pair of 'em seemed dreadfully cast down, and he knew a word to put them -in heart again.</p> - -<p>"Terrible blow for us, mates, this woman's mutiny!" says he, dropping -into a chair careless-like, pulling out a short pipe, and speaking high -to draw the company's attention.</p> - -<p>"Oh, stow it!" says Caius Pengelly, very sour. "We'd found suthin' -else to talk about; and if the women have the laugh of us to-day, -who's responsible, after all? Why, you—<i>you</i>, with your darned silly -song about Adam and Eve. If you hadn't provoked your wife, this here -wouldn't ha' happened."</p> - -<p>"Indeed?" says the monkey-fellow, crossing his legs and puffing. "So -you've found something better to talk about? What's that, I'd like to -know?"</p> - -<p>"Why, there's a press-gang out," says Treleaven. "But there! a fellow -with your shaped legs don't take no interest in press-gangs, I reckon."</p> - -<p>"Ah, to be sure," says the little man—but he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> winced and uncrossed his -legs all the same, feeling sorry he'd made 'em so conspicuous—"ah, to -be sure, a press-gang! I met 'em; but, as it happens, that's no change -of subject."</p> - -<p>"Us don't feel in no mood to stomach your fun to-night, Hancock; and so -I warn 'ee," put in Pengelly, who had been drinking more than usual and -spoke thick. "If you've a meaning up your sleeve, you'd best shake it -out."</p> - -<p>Hancock chuckled. "You fellows have no invention," he said; "no -resource at all, as I may call it. You stake on this race, and, when -the women beat you, you lie down and squeal. Well, you may thank me -that I'm built different: I bide my time, but when the clock strikes -I strike with it. I never did approve of women dressing man-fashion: -but what's the use of making a row in the house? 'The time is bound -to come,' said I to myself; and come it has. If you want a good story -cut short, I met the press-gang just now and turned 'em on to raid the -Sailor's Return: and if by to-morrow the women down there have any crow -over us, then I'm a Dutchman, that's all!"</p> - -<p>"Bejimbers, Hancock," says Treleaven, standing up and looking uneasy, -"you carry it far, I must say!"</p> - -<p>"Far? A jolly good joke, <i>I</i> should call it,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> answers Hancock, making -bold to cross his legs again.</p> - -<p>And with that there comes a voice crying pillaloo in the passage -outside; and, without so much as a knock, a woman runs in with a face -like a sheet—Sam Hockaday's wife, from the Sailor's Return.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Mr. Oke—Mr. Oke, whatever is to be done! The press has collared -Sally Hancock and all her gang! Some they've kilt, and wounded others, -and all they've a-bound and carried off and shipped at the quay-door. -Oh, Mr. Oke, our house is ruined for ever!"</p> - -<p>The men gazed at her with their mouths open. Hancock found his legs -somehow; but they shook under him, and all of a sudden he felt himself -turning white and sick.</p> - -<p>"You don't mean to tell me——" he began.</p> - -<p>But Pengelly rounded on him and took him by the ear so that he -squeaked. "Where's my wife, you miserable joker, you?" demanded -Pengelly.</p> - -<p>"They c-can't be in earnest!"</p> - -<p>"You'll find that I am," said Pengelly, feeling in his breeches-pocket, -and drawing out a clasp-knife almost a foot long. "What's the name of -the ship?"</p> - -<p>"I—I don't know! I never inquired! Oh,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> please let me go, Mr. -Pengelly! Han't I got my feelings, same as yourself?"</p> - -<p>"There's a score of vessels atween this and Cawsand," put in Treleaven, -catching his breath like a man hit in the wind, "and half-a-dozen of -'em ready to weigh anchor any moment. There's naught for it but to take -a boat and give chase."</p> - -<p>Someone suggested that Sal's own boat, the <i>Indefatigable Woman</i>, would -be lying off Runnell's Yard; and down to the waterside they all ran, -Pengelly gripping the tailor by the arm. They found the gig moored -there on a frape, dragged her to shore, and tumbled in. Half-a-dozen -men seized and shipped the oars: the tailor crouched himself in the -stern-sheets. Voices from shore sang out all manner of different -advice: but 'twas clear that no one knew which way the press-boat had -taken, nor to what ship she belonged.</p> - -<p>To Hancock 'twas all like a sick dream. He hated the water; he had -on his thinnest clothes; the night began to strike damp and chilly, -with a lop of tide running up from Hamoaze and the promise of worse -below. Pengelly, who had elected himself captain, swore to hail every -ship he came across: and he did—though from the first he met with no -encouragement. "Ship, ahoy!" he shouted, coming down with a rush upon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> -the stern-windows of the first and calling to all to hold water. "Ahoy! -Ship!"</p> - -<p>A marine poked his head over the taffrail. "Ship it is," said he. "And -what may be the matter with you?"</p> - -<p>"Be you the ship that has walked off with half-a-dozen women from -Saltash?"</p> - -<p>The marine went straight off and called the officer of the watch, -"Boat-load of drunk chaps under our stern, Sir," says he, saluting. -"Want to know if we've carried off half-a-dozen women from Saltash."</p> - -<p>"Empty a bucket of slops on 'em," said the officer of the watch, "and -tell 'em, with my compliments, that we haven't."</p> - -<p>The marine saluted, hunted up a slop-bucket, and poured it over with -the message. "If you want to know more, try the guard-ship," said he.</p> - -<p>"That's all very well, but where in thunder be the guard-ship?" said -poor Pengelly, scratching his head.</p> - -<p>Everyone knew, but everyone differed by something between a quarter -and half a mile. They tried ship after ship, getting laughter from -some and abuse from others. And now, to make matters worse, the wind -chopped and blew up from the sou'-west, with a squall of rain and a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> -wobble of sea that tried Hancock's stomach sorely. At one time they -went so far astray in the dark as to hail one of the prison-hulks, and -only sheered off when the sentry challenged and brought his musket down -upon the bulwarks with a rattle. A little later, off Torpoint, they -fell in with the water-police, who took them for a party rowing home to -Plymouth from the Regatta, and threatened 'em with the lock-up if they -didn't proceed quiet. Next they fell foul of the guard-ship, and their -palaver fetched the Admiral himself out upon the little balcony in his -nightshirt. When he'd done talking they were a hundred yards off, and -glad of it.</p> - -<p>Well, Sir, they tried ship after ship, the blessed night through, till -hope was nigh dead in them, and their bodies ached with weariness and -hunger. Long before they reached Devil's Point the tumble had upset -Hancock's stomach completely. He had lost his oar; somehow it slipped -off between the thole-pins, and in his weakness he forgot to cry out -that 'twas gone. It drifted away in the dark—the night all round was -black as your hat, the squalls hiding the stars—and he dropped off his -thwart upon the bottom-boards. "I'm a dying man," he groaned, "and I -don't care. I don't care how soon it comes!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> 'Tis all over with me, and -I shall never see my dear Sally no more!"</p> - -<p>So they tossed till day broke and showed Drake's Island ahead of them, -and the whole Sound running with a tidy send of sea from the south'ard, -grey and forlorn. Some were for turning back, but Pengelly wouldn't -hear of it. "We must make Cawsand Bay," says he, "if it costs us our -lives. Maybe we'll find half-a-dozen ships anchored there and ready for -sea."</p> - -<p>So away for Cawsand they pulled, hour after hour, Hancock all the while -wanting to die, and wondering at the number of times an empty man could -answer up to the call of the sea.</p> - -<p>The squalls had eased soon after daybreak, and the sky cleared and let -through the sunshine as they opened the bay and spied two sloops-of-war -and a frigate riding at anchor there. Pulling near with the little -strength left in them, they could see that the frigate was weighing for -sea. She had one anchor lifted and the other chain shortened in: her -top-sails and topgallant sails were cast off, ready to cant her at the -right moment for hauling in. An officer stood ready by the crew manning -the capstan, and right aft two more officers were pacing back and forth -with their hands clasped under their coat-tails.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Lord!" groaned Pengelly, "if my poor Ann's aboard of she, we'll never -catch her!" He sprang up in the stern-sheets and hailed with all his -might.</p> - -<p>Small enough chance had his voice of reaching her, the wind being dead -contrary: and yet for the moment it looked as if the two officers aft -had heard; for they both stepped to the ship's side, and one put up a -telescope and handed it to the other. And still the crew of the gig, -staring over their shoulders while they pulled weakly, could see the -men by the capstan standing motionless and waiting for orders.</p> - -<p>"Seems a'most as if they were expectin' somebody," says Pengelly with a -sudden hopefulness: and with that Treleaven, that was pulling stroke, -casts his eyes over his right shoulder and gives a gasp.</p> - -<p>"Good Lord, look!" says he. "The tender!"</p> - -<p>And sure enough, out of the thick weather rolling up away over Bovisand -they spied now a Service cutter bearing across close-hauled, leaning -under her big tops'l and knocking up the water like ginger-beer with -the stress of it. When first sighted she couldn't have been much more -than a mile distant, and, pull as they did with the remains of their -strength, she crossed their bows<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> a good half-mile ahead, taking in -tops'l as she fetched near the frigate.</p> - -<p>"Use your eyes—oh, use your eyes!" called out Pengelly: but no soul -could they see on her besides two or three of the crew forward and a -little officer standing aft beside the helmsman. Pengelly ran forward, -leaping the thwarts, and fetched the tailor a rousing kick. "Sit up!" -he ordered, "and tell us if that's the orficer you spoke to last night!"</p> - -<p>The poor creature hoisted himself upon his thwart, looking as yellow as -a bad egg. "I—I think that's the man," said he, straining his eyes, -and dropped his head overside.</p> - -<p>"Pull for your lives, boys," shouted Pengelly. And they did pull, to -the last man. They pulled so that they reached the frigate just as -the tender, having run up in the wind and fallen alongside, began -uncovering hatches.</p> - -<p>Two officers were leaning overside and watching—and a couple of the -tender's crew were reaching down their arms into the hold. They were -lifting somebody through the hatchway, and the body they lifted clung -for a moment to the hatchway coaming, to steady itself.</p> - -<p>"Sally!" screamed a voice from the gig.</p> - -<p>The little officer in the stern of the tender cast<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> a glance back at -the sound and knew the tailor at once. He must have owned sharp sight, -that man.</p> - -<p>"Oh, you've come for your money, have you?" says he. And, looking up at -the two officers overhead, he salutes, saying: "We've made a tidy haul, -Sir—thanks to that man."</p> - -<p>"I don't want your money. I want my wife!" yelled Hancock.</p> - -<p>"And I mine!" yelled Pengelly.</p> - -<p>"And I mine!" yelled Treleaven.</p> - -<p>By this time the gig had fallen alongside the tender, and the women in -the tender's hold were coming up to daylight, one by one. Sal herself -stood watching the jail-delivery; and first of all she blinked a bit, -after the darkness below, and next she let out a laugh, and then she -reached up a hand and began unplaiting her pigtail.</p> - -<p>"Be you the Captain of this here ship?" asks she, looking up and -addressing herself to one of the officers leaning overside.</p> - -<p>"Yes, my man; this here's the <i>Ranger</i> frigate, and I'm her Captain. -I'm sorry for you—it goes against my grain to impress men in this -fashion: but the law's the law, and we're ready for sea, and if you've -any complaints to make I hope you'll cut'em short."</p> - -<p class="center"> -<img src="images/illus04.jpg" alt="officer" /> -<a id="illus04" name="illus04"></a> -</p> -<p class="caption">THE LITTLE OFFICER HAD TURNED WHITE AS A SHEET.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I don't know," says Sal, "that I've any complaints to make, except -that I was born a woman. That I went on to marry that pea-green tailor -yonder is my own fault, and we'll say no more about it."</p> - -<p>By this time all the women on the tender was following Sal's example -and unshredding their back-hair. By this time, too, every man aboard -the frigate was gathered at the bulwarks, looking down in wonderment. -There beneath 'em stood a joke too terrible to be grasped in one moment.</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon, Mr. Rogers," says the Captain in a voice cold as a -knife, "but you appear to have made a mistake."</p> - -<p>The little officer had turned white as a sheet: but he managed to get -in his say before the great laugh came. "I have, Sir, to my sorrow," -says he, turning viciously on Hancock; "a mistake to be cast up against -me through my career. But I reckon," he adds, "I leave the punishment -for it in good hands." He glanced at Sally.</p> - -<p>"You may lay to that, young man!" says she heartily. "You may lay to -that every night when you says your prayers."</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class ="ph2"><a name="CAPTAIN_WYVERNS_ADVENTURES" id="CAPTAIN_WYVERNS_ADVENTURES">CAPTAIN WYVERN'S ADVENTURES</a></p> - - -<p class="center">I</p> - -<p>A philosophical man will go far before he discover a pastime more -grateful or better soothing to his mind than painting in water-colours. -I have heard angling preached up for a better; and when I answered on -behalf of water-colours that it does not matter how ill you do it, was -replied to that the same holds with angling if cheerfully practised. -Well, then, at angling I make a cast and hitch my line over a bough, or -it drops into some thicket, and thereat how can a man keep tranquil? -No, no: I had liefer stain paper any day of the week.</p> - -<p>On Saturday afternoon, the 10th of August, 1644—a very fair hot -day—while I sat in the pleasant shady church of Boconnoc, near by Lord -Mohun's house in Cornwall, copying down the writings on the monuments -and the scutcheons in the windows in their right colours, it came into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> -my mind to consider much that had happened to me in two years: how -that fate had made a soldier of me, a plain Essex squire; how that, -not content, it had promoted me to command a troop in his Majesty's -regiment of horse; how that I, who had often desired to visit Cornwall -for the sake of its ancient monuments, but had never thought (being by -habit lethargic) to make so far a journey, was not only arrived there, -but had leisure to follow my studies amid the fret and drilling of a -great army.</p> - -<p>Yet it was all very simple. On the 1st of August we had marched with -his Majesty across the passes of the Tamar, the Earl of Essex giving -ground before us and daily withdrawing his forces closer around Fowey; -where, having a good harbour, he could easily fetch his victuals in -from the sea. I will not tell how little by little we prevented him, -and at last, surprising a fort by the harbour's entry, cut him off -from aid of his shipping. All this was to come. Meanwhile, though pent -in a few miles of ground, he had a fair back-door for his needs. The -campaign was brought to a lock, and for almost two weeks we pushed -matters half-heartedly; I believe, because the King had hopes of -bringing the enemy to terms. Many letters came and went by trumpet;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> -but in our camp on the moors over Boconnoc we did little from day to -day save meet and picquer with small bodies of the rebel horse.</p> - -<p>My duties giving me leisure, I turned to recreation; and Lord! how -good it seemed to be antiquary again after two years of soldiering! -That afternoon I played with my box of paints as a child who comes -home for his first holidays, and takes down his familiar toys from the -shelf. "Let others," said I, forgetting all the distractions of our -poor realm of England, "let others have the making of history so I may -keep the enjoying of it!" They were famous scutcheons, too, that I sat -a-copying, the Mohuns having been Earls of Somerset, Lords of Dunster, -and a great family in their day. Mohun, indeed, had come with the -Conqueror—</p> - -<p> -<span style="margin-left: 30%;"><i>Le viel William de Moion</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 30%;"><i>Ont avec li maint compagnon</i>,</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>said the rhyme, as I remembered: and, behold! a fair monument against -the north wall of the chancel (where I began) carried the royal coat of -England and France with a label, impaling the ground <i>or</i> and engrailed -cross <i>sable</i> of the Mohuns—this for a Philippa of their house that -married with Edward, Duke of York, slain at Agincourt:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> and, beside it, -Courtenay's three torteaux and FitzWilliam's three bendlets, Bevill -and Brewer, Strange and Redvers, a coat <i>vert</i> with three bucks' heads -having their antlers depressed (which I took for Hayre), and another -coat to set an antiquary thinking, for it bore <i>azure</i> a bend <i>or</i>, -with a label of three points <i>gules</i>. "Scrope or Grosvenor," said I to -myself, looking up from my work towards the East windows, where the -same scutcheon was repeated. "I wonder which claims you in these parts."</p> - -<p>The shield that bore this famous device had it quartered on the -sinister side with Courtenay and Redvers; and impaling these on the -dexter side were, quarterly: (1) A space patched with clear glass -(originally Mohun, no doubt); (2) <i>Vert</i> three stags' heads <i>or</i> -(?Hayre); (3) <i>azure</i> three bendlets <i>or</i> (FitzWilliam); (4) a device -which again puzzled me. It seemed to be an arm habited in a maunch, or -sleeve, <i>ermine</i>, holding in the hand a golden flower.</p> - -<p>Now while I painted, an old man had been moving about the far end -of the church, whom I took for the sexton. I had passed him in the -churchyard outside, when he was scything down the grass upon a grave; -and had noted no more of his back than that he wore the clothes of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> -hind with a scrap of sacking over his shoulders—nor perhaps would have -noted so much as this, had not his clothing seemed over-warm for the -time of year.</p> - -<p>But now, while I stood conning the coats in the East window, he drew -towards me and spoke, stretching forward a hand timidly, almost -touching my elbow.</p> - -<p>"Sir," said he, and his voice and face bore instant witness together of -gentle birth, "I am gladly at your service if anything there perplex -you." With that he nodded towards the coats-of-arms.</p> - -<p>In a trice I had recovered myself. "Then you, too, have a taste for -such trifles?" answered I. "We are well met, Sir."</p> - -<p>He shook his head, avoiding my look. You might have called his a noble -face, but more than anything else it was patient. "I belong to these -parts," said he; "and would ask a stranger to use my small knowledge: -but, for myself, all such things may pass with me into oblivion, and I -say 'Amen.'"</p> - -<p>Said I then, "Maybe you can tell me of that coat in the fourth quarter -dexter—the hand grasping a gold fleur-de-lys."</p> - -<p>"Willingly," said he. "That is another device<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> of the Mohuns, who in -later times changed it for the sable cross engrailed. At the first they -bore a man's hand in a sleeve: the flower it grasps came to them in -this way: There was a certain Reginald Mohun, Lord of Dunster, who gave -himself entirely to good works and founded a great abbey at Newenham, -on the Somerset border. That was in Henry the Third's time—I think in -twelve hundred and forty-six or, maybe, fifty. Having seen his abbey -consecrated, he passed to the Court of Rome, which in those days was -held at Lyons, to have his charters confirmed, and he happened there -in Lent, when the Pope's custom was, on a day after hearing <i>Laetare -Jerusalem</i>, to give a rose or flower of gold to the most honourable -man then to be found at his court. They made inquiry that year and -found the most honourable to be this Reginald Mohun, of whom the Pope -asked what rank he bore in England. Mohun answered, 'a plain Knight -bachelor.' 'Fair son,' said the Pope, 'hardly can I give you then this -flower, which has never been given to one below a King or a Duke, -or, at least, an Earl; therefore we will that you shall be Earl of -Este'—which, as you know, is Somerset. Mohun answered, 'Holy Father, I -have not wherewithal to maintain that title.' So the Pope<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> gave him two -hundred marks a year out of the Peter's pence; and so the Mohuns added -golden flowers to their arms."</p> - -<p>"I thank you, Sir," said I. "But whose is this other noble coat of -<i>azure</i> with the bend <i>or</i>? Did Grosvenor ever wed in these parts? Or -Scrope?"</p> - -<p>"Neither," said he. "That coat is mine."</p> - -<p>"Yours?" I cried, surprised out of good manners. "But this, Sir, is the -very coat over which Scrope and Grosvenor contended."</p> - -<p>"Any are welcome to it now," he answered. "But it is Carminowe, and I -am Carminowe."</p> - -<p>"I ought to have known of a third claimant," said I, musing. "I have -indeed heard of Carminowe: but I had thought the family to be long -since perished."</p> - -<p>He drew back a little and scanned me. "<i>Finis rerum</i>," said he quietly. -"It comes to all; but sometimes it lingers, and—as with me—lingers -overlong. I believe, Sir, that you are a Captain in his Majesty's -Troop, and will have seen your share of fighting and of life in camp. -Your present occupation proves you to be a contemplative man. Will you -answer if I put to you a question or two?"</p> - -<p>"Willingly," said I.</p> - -<p>"You are unmarried?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I am."</p> - -<p>"And you volunteered for the King's service in a hot-fit of loyalty; -or maybe in a hot-fit of indignation at the perils threatening him, or -against the insolence of Parliament? You had come to an age when with -cooling judgment these fits grow rare, yet have not quite given over -their patient to the calm of middle life.—You will tell me if I guess -amiss?"</p> - -<p>"But on the contrary, Sir," said I; "you have read me correctly. 'Twas -in a passion of loyalty that I took up arms."</p> - -<p>"And in the quest of it," he went on, "you fancied that all the -currents of your nature had been swept into a fresh channel; that you -were a new man; that this upheaving strife altered the face of all -things, and you along with it."</p> - -<p>"Why, and so it has!" cried I.</p> - -<p>"Nay, but think awhile! You have marched and countermarched for—how -long?—two years?—two years of that period of life when honest -thoughtful men turn to making account with themselves, try to learn why -they were sent into the world and what to do, observe the hopes and -ambitions of their fellows, prove their own limits, and so set up their -rest against old age and death. You rode from home under a sudden<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span> -persuasion that your business in the world, and the business of all -these thousands of different men, was to defend his Majesty. How long -this persuasion held you I will not guess; yet I do not doubt that, as -the days went by, you observed all these particles of an army returning -to their true natures—the young gentlemen of your troop picquering -in bravado, or in mere love of a skirmish, because their blood is -hot; coarser fellows lusting to break heads for the sake of plunder; -craftier knaves, who know that war is insanely wasteful, robbing their -own side at less risk; calculators such as Wilmot, Grenville, Goring, -playing for high stakes under the fence of warfare, which of itself -interests them not a jot. As for you, Sir—I took note of your horse -just now at the churchyard gate. You see well to his grooming."</p> - -<p>"I groom him always with my own hand," said I.</p> - -<p>"To be sure—a man of method, strict and punctual in all soldierly -duties! But the savour has gone out of them. Where the treasure is, -there will the heart lie also." He nodded toward my drawings.</p> - -<p>Now there lurked a nettle of truth in his words, and it stung me.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p> - -<p>"And where may your treasure lie, Sir?" I asked pretty sharply.</p> - -<p>"Come," said he, and led the way out into the churchyard. The sun -was fast declining, and the light fell in warm beams against the -gravestones and over the belted trees that ringed the prospect. He -waved a hand.</p> - -<p>"From the high land above us, Sir, you may look almost to two seas; -and between these two seas all was once Carminowe's. Two hundred years -before the Normans came, Carminowe was a great man; and for four -hundred years after."</p> - -<p>"A wide treasure," said I.</p> - -<p>"You will not find my heart hid beneath a single turf of it, but here -only," said he, and pointed; and I looked down upon a green grave.</p> - -<p>"I think that I understand, Sir," said I, as gently as might be. "He -was your son."</p> - -<p>He bent his head. Yet anon shook it, patiently dissenting. "He was my -son; the child of my old age. But, to understand, you must first be -father to such an one, and outlive him."</p> - -<p>Now I was casting about for a word or two of comfort, albeit knowing -how idle they needs must be, when I heard a galloping on the drive and -my name shouted lustily; and there came<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> riding down to the gate from -northward our Colonel Digby, waving a paper in his hand.</p> - -<p>"Wyvern!" he called, as he reined up. "I have a favour to ask, and have -ridden to ask it in person. Read you this letter; but first mount and -ride with me to the ridge."</p> - -<p>So I untethered my horse, mounted and rode with him to the ridge.</p> - -<p>"Tell me what you see yonder."</p> - -<p>I stood up in my stirrups, shading my eyes. "I see," said I, "a troop -of horse on the third rise. To all appearance the riders are dressed in -white."</p> - -<p>"They are in their shirts, the dogs! Now read their challenge: for they -attend on our answer."</p> - -<p>"Tush!" said I, having glanced over the paper in my hand. 'Twas a -foolish challenge, signed by one Straughan, Colonel of Horse in the -Parliament forces, and dared us to a combat of cavalry, one hundred -upon each side—in shirt and breeches, each man carrying but one pistol -besides his sword. "Are we boys, that we should heed such braggart -nonsense?"</p> - -<p>I heard a chuckle beside me, and looked down to see that old Carminowe -had run and caught up with us. He lifted the palm of his hand under -which he scanned the foe, and his eyes met mine mockingly.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span></p> - -<p>"They have wind," said Digby, "of the Earl's letter." (That morning -a trumpet had returned with an answer to his Majesty's latest -propositions; and it ran that Essex had no authority from Parliament -to treat, nor could do so without breach of trust.) "And that wind has -overblown their vanity."</p> - -<p>"Then, with submission, Colonel," I said, "I would send them no answer, -but let them cool in their shirts."</p> - -<p>"And I agree," he answered. "But, as luck will have it, his Majesty has -dictated an answer, and that answer is already on its way."</p> - -<p>"To what effect did his Majesty answer?"</p> - -<p>"To the same as a certain King of Israel who said, 'Let the young men -arise and play before us.' There was no need to drum for volunteers, -neither."</p> - -<p>"Nay," I grunted, "we had never yet a lack of hot-headed fools!" I -had no care to meet the gaze of old Carminowe, but I knew that it was -upon me: for he stood close by my stirrup. I knew moreover that it was -saying, "You, a staid man, mixt up in this folly! And this King who -forwards it for sport—is this he whom your life's business was to -defend?"</p> - -<p>Now—as the army would understand it—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span> our Colonel's seeking me in -person, when so many would have striven for the chance to shine under -his Majesty's eyes, was a high compliment; and the higher since certain -of the hottest young bloods had (as I heard later) stipulated for my -company. Yet for the moment I was angered, reading old Carminowe's -thought and knowing it to be true. I had no natural taste for this -bravery of mere fighting: and that I had arrived to be a man sought -out for fighting was but a proof how emptily the mass of men exalts it -above civil pursuits, seeing that my credit rested wholly on certain -habits of steadiness and caution that in any other business I should -have applied as cheerfully. I felt no desire at all to shine for his -Majesty's light approbation, albeit, two years ago, I had enlisted in -a fervour to die for his crown; and feeling my uneasiness under old -Carminowe's gaze, I cursed him silently for having read me better than -hitherto I had read myself.</p> - -<p>But Digby would understand nothing of this. He was a good fighter and a -good fellow, bred and trained in military vanities.</p> - -<p>So I answered him curtly that, if this folly were afoot and now -inevitable, I would come. I spoke too sourly perhaps, and my words, as -I could see, wounded him.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> - -<p>"My dear Wyvern," said he, "I thought of you at once, and rode for you -expressly. Other men are biting their mustachios at the bare chance of -it. The King himself will be looking on."</p> - -<p>"You were always my friend," said I, as we spurred forward together.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>I wish to waste no words over that foolish combat. We were a hundred -a side, drawn up in our shirt-sleeves on two opposing slopes, and we -encountered in the hollow between. Digby, who led us, had given the -word to hold our pistol-fire for close quarters, and I on the left -had wasted an harangue on my troopers to the same effect. But, once -the trumpets had sounded "charge," the whole affair became but a wild -paper-chase. At forty yards' distance some young fools on the extreme -right began popping off their pistols, and in half a dozen strides -this infection had run like a wildfire along one line. With ordinary -seasoned men of my own troop I had done far better; but these were the -picked fools of an army, and the main of them under twenty years old. -It is always short work between two bodies of horse meeting in full -shock: one swerves and flies, or else goes under; the other presses on: -there can be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span> no other way. For me, I managed to unsaddle a man and -break through the enemy's right with three troopers after me. Wheeling -then, we saw the body of our friends in full flight; and a dozen of -our foes, wheeling at the same instant, bore down on us nimbly. We -spurred to meet them in second shock: but, as we encountered, one -clever round-pate, who had reserved his fire, sent a bullet through -my charger's shoulder-pin. I had at that instant a thrust to deliver -under the arm of another fellow, and the poor brute's fall took me at -unawares. I was flung heavily and stunned; and, the game being over, no -doubt his Majesty rode moodily off to supper. Like other Kings, he was -trained to sport; but I doubt if he ever arrived at enjoying it.</p> - - -<p class="center">II</p> - -<p>The main body of the Parliament horse and two regiments at least -of their foot were quartered at Lestithiel, in the valley under -Boconnoc—a neat tidy town, but not commodious for so great a mob. It -stands by an ancient bridge of eight arches, where the tidal water -running up from Fowey spends the last of its strength; and there is -a Hall and Exchequer where the Dukes of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> Cornwall had been used to -receive their Stannary accounts, with a small prison beside for debtors -and offenders under the laws of Stannary.</p> - -<p>This prison being crowded already with prisoners taken by the rebels, -the Provost Marshal clapped me, with nine others made captive in the -above skirmish, in the parish church of St. Bartholomew; and there set -a guard over us, using us more gently (I suppose) for that we had come -to him in more ceremonious fashion than by the ordinary hazard of war. -The rebel cavalry had turned the church into a stable, and defiled -it past description. Also I heard a tale of their having led a horse -to the font and christened him Charles—a double insult to God and -to their King; but will say in fairness that they practised no such -blasphemy during my sojourn there, nor seemed the men to do it, but -went about their grooming and feeding of their horses soberly enough, -making no more of the church than if it had indeed been a stable. Over -us they kept strict watch, but fed us as well as they themselves fared, -and showed us no incivility; nay, at my request one found pen, ink, and -paper for me that I might pass the time away by copying the scutcheons -in the windows, the glass of which they had spared.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span></p> - -<p>Among us ten unfortunates were two young gentlemen of Cornwall, -Humphrey Grylls and John Trecarrel (but as "Jack" saluted by everyone). -They both had hurts: Grylls a shot through the flesh of an arm, with -two broken ribs to boot; Trecarrel a slight glancing wound across the -left lower ribs. For myself, I had taken no harm beyond the bruise -of my tumble, though my head swam for days after and I suffered from -frequent fits of nausea. The other seven were common troopers, decent -fellows; and one carried in his breeches' pocket a pack of cards, which -kept us well amused until a Roundhead sergeant, discovering our play, -reported it to the Provost-Marshal, who took the cards away.</p> - -<p>In this church of Lestithiel, then, I dwelt from the day of my capture -(August 10) until the last of the month, and on the whole very -cheerfully; for we saw that the rebels intended us no injury, and from -some of them we had news of Sir Jacob Astley's seizing the forts at the -entry of Fowey Haven and so cutting off Essex from his supplies by sea; -wherefore we told ourselves that the Earl must either surrender or make -a desperate push to cut a way through his Majesty's posts, and that, -whichever he might choose, our liberty would not be long delayed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span></p> - -<p>Also, and besides my copying of the scutcheons, I pleased myself with -composing of a chronogramma which I here present to the reader. I -thought it mighty ingenious at the time: and so it is, and I spent four -days upon it—</p> - -<p> -<span style="margin-left: 30%;"><i>VIVat reX, CoMes esseXIVs DIssIpatVr.</i></span><br /> -</p> - -<p>or, in English, "Long live the King, the Earl of Essex is put to the -rout." You will see that, by taking out from the Latin all the letters -that stand for Roman numerals—and no other—you get the Annus Domini -1644: in this way—</p> - -<table summary="puzzzle" width="35%"> -<tr> -<td><i>MDC together make sixteen hundred</i> -</td> -<td align="left"> } -</td> -<td rowspan="5"><i>the total</i> 1644. -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>and</i> -</td> -<td align="left">} -</td> -<td> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>XXVVVV, forty</i> -</td> -<td align="left">} -</td> -<td> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>and</i> -</td> -<td align="left">} -</td> -<td> -</td> -</tr> -<tr> -<td><i>IIII, four</i> -</td> -<td align="left">} -</td> -<td> -</td> -</tr> -</table> - - - -<p>I have shown it to many in private, and all agree that no better -chronogramma was made during the late troubles: but, to be sure, I had -leisure for it.</p> - -<p>To leave these toys—on the last day but one of August, and a little -before nine in the evening, there came into the church (that was lit by -a few lanterns only) two foot-soldiers bearing a ladder between them -and a rope, which presently they set down in a corner by the belfry and -departed.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span> They being scarce gone, by-and-by there entered two other -soldiers with a prisoner, whom they unbound—for his arms had been -trussed behind him—and bade make what cheer he might until the morrow. -Now, whether he had spied us or not as they brought him in I cannot -say; but, being loosed, he moved at first down the aisle uncertainly as -a man might who found even the dull light too strong for his eyes—then -with a quick tottering step towards us, that were gathered around a -lantern and taking our supper near the belfry: and as he drew toward us -I knew him for old Carminowe.</p> - -<p>"Why, what harm can they have found in <i>you</i>?" asked I, taking his -hand (as fellows will in misfortune) and giving him a seat beside us. -At this distance of time I will own that this speech of mine seems not -over-delicate; yet these were the words I used, and, be sure, I meant -them well.</p> - -<p>He put my question aside. "You had ill-luck," he said. "I watched you -from the high ground, and my heart went with you; that is to say, -with <i>you</i>, Sir—and with <i>you</i>." Here he bowed to Grylls and Jack -Trecarrel, and went on as if explaining his performance lucidly. "My -son, Sirs, had he lived, would have been about your age. He died at -eighteen and a few months:<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> but I think of him year by year as alive -and growing, and so I seem to share in his hopes and his high mettle."</p> - -<p>My companions—as well they might—stared at him, and from him to me; -thinking, no doubt, that here was some madman.</p> - -<p>"Excuse me," said I, and presented him formally. "This gentleman and I -are, in a fashion, acquaintances. He is a countryman of yours, by name -Carminowe."</p> - -<p>"Carminowe?" Young Grylls looked at him musingly. "I have read the name -on a hundred old parchments at home."</p> - -<p>"The estates, Sir," said Carminowe, "have passed into many hands, but -into none worthier than that of Grylls."</p> - -<p>"Faith, that's handsomely said!" answered Grylls, perceiving now that, -in spite of the old man's dress, he had to do with a gentleman. "And, -as for the estates, our greed (which, a generation or two back, was a -scandal) has not swallowed them all, I hope?—though, for that matter, -if these crop-ears prevail, 'tis little enough that any of us will -inherit."</p> - -<p>"They will not prevail at this bout," said the old man. "At Fowey, -they tell me, the Earl has but six days' provisions and is planning to -slip<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> away by sea. Between this and the coast the soldiers have eaten -all bare; in a day or two they must break through or surrender, and I -think, gentlemen, I can promise that you will be soon enlarged."</p> - -<p>"You speak with assurance, Sir," said I, handing him a crust and -filling a pannikin for him from our common pail of water.</p> - -<p>"And yet," said he, with a faint smile, "I am no combatant: no, nor -even a spy—though to-morrow morning they are to hang me for one."</p> - -<p>He spoke the words quietly and fell to munching his crust. The three of -us—and the troopers too—stared at him amazed: and for explanation, -his jaws being occupied, he pointed a thin finger at the ladder and -rope.</p> - -<p>"But surely," I began, "since you are no spy, someone can speak for -you——"</p> - -<p>"Lord, Sirs!" he took me up; "what does it matter? I had yet left to -me a small estate in St. Teath parish, which they have twice pillaged. -My son they slew on outpost duty, before the first Braddock fight." -He turned to me again. "What says the Mohun motto, Sir? <i>Generis -revocamus honores</i>, is it not? Well, there is no chance of that for the -Carminowes. Let the Mohuns paint up their ancestral hand clutching<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> -the Pope's golden flower: I have held a fairer in mine, and seen it -wither. I have lived through the bitterness of death; I have seen the -end of things. The last Carminowe goes down the blind way of fate—goes -out in obloquy to-morrow, hanged for a spy by mistake. I have finished -my quarrel with the gods: they are strong, and I make no complaint -that they choose to wind up with a jest. I do assure you, Sirs, that I -neither fear death nor disdain any way of it."</p> - -<p>But here Jack Trecarrel, that had been staring gloomily at the wall -opposite, suddenly rubbed his eyes and sat up with a laugh.</p> - -<p>"By the Lord, Master Carminowe! and if that be how you take it, you may -yet turn the jest against the gods."</p> - -<p>We stared at him all, trying to read his meaning.</p> - -<p>"Nay," he went on, "I have a slow wit, and you must give me time. The -notion in my head may be worth much or little. Only you must tell me, -Master Carminowe, on what ground you promised us that our liberty was -nigh at hand: for something will depend on that."</p> - -<p>"'Tis that fortunate knowledge unfortunately brings me here," answered -the old man with a grave smile. "You know the narrow road that passes -for a space along the left bank above the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> bridge, and so strikes -away to the north-east over the downs? It has deep hedges, you will -remember, and at the bend stands a mean cottage. For days we have heard -talk that the enemy would try to break away by this road; and a week -ago Goring moved down a body of horse to the fields hard by and posted -a strong picket in and about the cottage, to counter this design. Well, -then, I, to-night, taking my ramble after sunset (as my custom is, and -known to our sentries), came down to this cottage, supposing myself -to be well within our lines. To my concern no one challenged me, and, -creeping a little closer, I found the place empty. But while I stood, -puzzling this out, a man called softly from a little way down the lane, -where between the hedges all was dark to my eyesight, whom I approached -without fear, supposing him to be one of our sergeants in command of a -picquet, and that maybe he had a message for me to take back to Goring. -'Give the password, friend, and tell us, What time did he say?' this -man demanded of me. I, taken aback by these words, stood still: and, -with that, I saw beyond the hedge the faint light of the stars shining -on many scores of morions and breastplates. 'Twas a whole troop of -horse drawn up and standing silent in the field below.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> At once I knew -that these must be rebels; that the pass had been sold by some traitor; -and that I had tumbled by mistake into the part of his messenger. -Heaven knows if, using my wit and naming an hour boldly, I might yet -have escaped and carried back warning to camp. I think not: for they -would have pressed me for the password. As it was, being dumbfoundered, -I broke away and tried to run: but the fellow was after me in a trice, -and my old legs carried me but a dozen yards before he had me down -and flung on my back. You can guess, Sirs, what remains to tell. They -marched me down here; and to-morrow—supposing me to know what would -implicate, no doubt, several men of standing in both armies—they will -close my mouth for ever. For 'tis certain the King's interests have -been betrayed, and the rogues will break through to-night, no one -hindering. They have a river-fog, too, to help them. Now, whether or -not the infantry will make a dash for it after the horse I cannot tell -you: but to-morrow his Majesty will march down into Lestithiel and you -will be free."</p> - -<p>"Then a few hours would suffice to save you, Master Carminowe?" said -Trecarrel, still pondering.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> - -<p>The old gentleman shrugged his shoulders. "They will get my business -done early," said he. "I pray you, feel no more concern about it." -He turned to me and asked if I had amused myself with sketching the -monuments of this church as well as of Boconnoc. The windows being dark -against the lantern-light, we could see no more than the outlines of -their blazonries: but he seemed to know them by heart. I told him how -that among them I had found his own coat twice depicted—<i>azure</i>, a -bend <i>or</i>, but this time without the three-pointed label of difference.</p> - -<p>He nodded. "And that is right," said he; "we have no business with the -label." He went on to tell that in Edward the Third's time, in the -English camp before Paris, Carminowe of Cornwall had challenged Sir -Richard Scrope with wrongfully bearing his arms; and that six knights -appointed to decide the controversy had found Carminowe to be descended -of a lineage armed <i>azure</i>, a bend <i>or</i>, since the time of King Arthur. -This led us into converse on the Scrope and Grosvenor dispute. "'Tis -curious," said he after a while, "that we may be the last men in -England to sit awake talking over these old tales. For when the rebels -have dispossessed his Majesty—as they surely will—and have destroyed -the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> fountain of honour, who would light his pipe with such-like -straws?"</p> - -<p>But I would not allow the King's cause to be hopeless, and showed him -my chronogramma, not without complacency.</p> - -<p>He took the paper in hand, and was holding it close to the lantern, to -con it, when at that instant Jack Trecarrel started up on his straw -pallet into a sitting posture, and nudged Grylls—who, with the rest of -our comrades, lay in a sound sleep; but, feeling his elbow jogged, he -opened his eyes.</p> - -<p>Having wakened Grylls, Trecarrel motioned to us both to do as he did -without questioning, and began very cautiously to pull off his boots. -While he did this a new thought seemed to strike him, for he puckered -his brows awhile, and leaning towards me whispered across the back of -Carminowe (who still bent forward, studying my scrap of paper), "Rouse -the men on your side—softly as you can! They may all be useful." He -turned to Grylls and whispered (as I suppose) the same order: for -Grylls at once touched the shoulder of the trooper lying next him, and -put finger to lip as the fellow stirred in his sleep and blinked up at -him.</p> - -<p>I on my part, having pulled off my boots<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> obediently, began to rouse -the men nigh me with similar caution; so that presently we had the -whole ring awake and staring, their eyes asking what we intended. -"Heaven help me if <i>I</i> know!" I muttered to myself, but endeavoured to -answer the looks bent upon me by looking extremely wise.</p> - -<p>"Most ingenious!" said Carminowe aloud, who all this while had been -working out my riddle, observant of none of these preparations. He -turned to me. "May I ask, Sir——"</p> - -<p>"Hist!" commanded Trecarrel, laying a hand on his arm and peering -into the space of darkness between us and the chancel, where three -stable-lanterns shone foggily—one tilted on the cushion of the -pulpit-desk, the other two set side by side on the altar itself. In the -choir-stalls and on the floor between (where the altar-step, with a -coat laid upon it, served for their pillow) maybe a score of rebels lay -snoring. These did not belong to our regular guard, and indeed by night -I never discovered that we had a guard: but some four hundred soldiers -bivouacked, as a rule, in the churchyard outside, with sentries posted; -which from the first had been a dead-wall to all our projects of -breaking prison.</p> - -<p>After peering for half a minute or so, Trecarrel raised himself to a -kind of crouching posture,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> Grylls, at the same time, imitating him. -They beckoned to a couple of our troopers to follow them; and, backing -out of the lantern's rays, in a trice all four made a sudden dart -across for the shadow of the belfry arch.</p> - -<p>Then in a trice I understood what was forward; and, pointing to -Carminowe's feet, signalled to him to slip off his shoes. The tower of -Lestithiel church rises to a spire, and its belfry chamber stood then -on a raised floor, approached, not as in most belfries by a winding -stair, but through a trapway by a ladder reaching up from the ground. -During our captivity this ladder had been removed and perhaps cast down -outside in the grass of the churchyard. But now I followed Trecarrel's -guess that the same had been found and carelessly brought back for -Carminowe's hanging on the morrow. I knelt and unlaced the old man's -shoes. He suffered this, eying me as if to ask what it meant, but -making no protest.</p> - -<p>One by one our comrades slipped away into the shadow under the belfry. -I heard the ladder raised softly and then a light scraping as its upper -end touched the stonework aloft. It seemed to me, too, that I heard -a footstep mounting the rungs; but of this I could not be sure. Our -enemies in the chancel snored on.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span></p> - -<p>Five minutes passed; again I heard a light footfall, and Trecarrel came -stealing back to us.</p> - -<p>"Blow out the light," he commanded—and, as he crouched to whisper -this, I saw his face running bright with sweat. "And give me the -candle—the bolt of the trap is stiff."</p> - -<p>He took the candle from me, and after waiting a moment, to be sure that -none of those in the chancel had taken alarm at this blowing out of -the light, we stole across all three to the ladder's foot. Trecarrel -mounted again. I heard him rub the tallow on the bolt—or seemed, at -least, to hear it; and by-and-by the trap opened with a creak. Still -the sleepers took no alarm.</p> - -<p>I pushed Carminowe forward, and believe that he was among the first to -mount. One by one the others followed, Grylls carrying with him the -coil of rope. I, as senior in command, took last turn. This adventure -was not mine, nor could I see the end of it; but I supposed that in the -uncommon military operation of retreating up a steeple the commanding -officer's place must be the extreme rear.</p> - -<p>My foot was on the lowest rung when some fool above, who had taken the -coil of rope off Grylls' shoulders, let it slip through the hatchway. -It struck the ladder, and came glancing<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span> down with a rush fit to wake -the dead; and almost on the instant two or three of the men in the -chancel had sprung to their feet and were snatching down the lanterns -there. Now I had leapt aside nimbly—and luckily too, or the blow of it -had either brained or, at the least, stunned me: and as it thudded on -to the pavement I made a clutch at the rope and sprang for the ladder -with a shout that woke the whole church and echoed back on me with a -roar.</p> - -<p>"Hoist!" I yelled, clambering as high as I might, and anchoring myself -with an arm crookt through a rung.</p> - -<p>"'Hoist' it is!" sung down Trecarrel's voice cheerfully. "Hold tight -below—and you, lads, up with him! One, two, three—heave, my hearties!"</p> - -<p>'Twas the only way: for already half a score of the rebel rogues were -bearing down the nave towards me at a run. But, I thank Heaven, they -had started in too great a hurry to remember their muskets. They -reached the belfry arch to find the foot of my stairway lifted a good -six feet above their heads. One or two leaped high and made a clutch -for it, but missed; and as they fell back, staring and raising their -lanterns, I was borne aloft and removed from them through the trapway -like any stage god.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> - -<p>My comrades lifting me off the ladder, I found myself on a floor of -stout oak, and in the midst of an octagonal chamber filled with a pale, -foggy light—as I supposed, of the declining moon. Directly overhead, -in a cavernous darkness, hung the great bells like monstrous black -spiders, with their ropes like filaments let down and swaying: for a -stiff and chilly breeze blew every way through the chamber, which had a -high open window in each of its eight sides.</p> - -<p>For these windows the most of us scrambled at once, foreseeing what -must happen. Indeed, the baffled rogues below lost no time over their -next move; but running for their muskets, began firing up at the hatch -and at the floor under our feet—the boards of which, by the favour of -Heaven, were of oak and marvellous solid; also the heavy beams took -many of their shot; but none the less they made us skip.</p> - -<p>This volley, fired suddenly within, at once, as you may guess, alarmed -all the bivouacs in the churchyard. Crowds poured into the church, -and word passing that all the eleven prisoners were escaped into the -belfry under the spire, other crowds ran back into the street and -began firing briskly at the windows. But this helped them nothing, the -angle being too steep, and the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> bullets—or so many of them as found -entrance—striking upwards over our heads. By-and-by a few cleverer -marksmen climbed to the upper rooms of certain houses around the -church, and thence peppered us hotly: yet with no more effect than -the others, for by this time I had discovered, by sounding with my -heel, where the stout beams ran beneath us. Slipping down from our -window-sconces and choosing these beams to stand upon, we were entirely -safe from the musketeers outside, and reasonably protected from those -below.</p> - -<p>"Now the one thing to pray for," whispered Trecarrel to me in a pause -of the firing, "is that Lestithiel town contains no second ladder so -tall as ours: and I believe it cannot."</p> - -<p>"There is another thing to pray for," said I; "which is, that the dawn -may come quickly."</p> - -<p>He stared at me. "My good Sir, are you crazed?" he demanded. "Day has -broke already! What light on earth do you suppose this to be all about -us?"</p> - -<p>"I took it for the moon," I confessed somewhat shamefacedly.</p> - -<p>He burst into a laugh. "You and your friend then must have sped the -time rarely with your Scropes and your Grosvenors, your fesses and -bends, your counter-paleys and what-not. I can<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> tell you the night -dragged by tediously enough for me, that had to lie and listen to your -discoursing!"</p> - -<p>"But hullo!" said I; "they seem to have ceased firing below. And whose -voice is that calling?"</p> - -<p>'Twas the voice of the Provost-Marshal summoning us to parley. He had -been roused up in haste, and by the tone of his voice was in a towering -passion of temper.</p> - -<p>"At your service, Sir!" I called out in answer, approaching the trap. -"But if you want a parley it must be an honourable one, and no shooting -up or catching me at disadvantage."</p> - -<p>"My men will not fire again until I give the word."</p> - -<p>"Very well, then: what do you require of us?"</p> - -<p>"I require you to give up to me, and instantly, the prisoner whom we -took last night. This done, I may consent to overlook your escapade."</p> - -<p>"For what purpose do you want him?"</p> - -<p>"That, Sir, is my affair, I should hope. 'Tis enough that I require his -surrender."</p> - -<p>"Indeed no, Sir: 'tis nothing like enough. The gentleman you speak of -happens to be a friend of mine; and you have formed an opinion of him -as incorrect as it is injurious. If I consent to release him to you -it will only be on your<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> engaging yourself most solemnly to do him no -harm."</p> - -<p>'Tis wonderful what an advantage height gives a man in an argument. The -Provost-Marshal, dancing with rage on the floor far below and cricking -back his neck to get sight of me, cut one of the absurdest figures in -the world.</p> - -<p>"I'll hang you all!" he threatened, lifting and shaking his fist. "I'll -hang every mother's son of you!"</p> - -<p>But here I felt a hand laid on my shoulder, and looked up to see -Trecarrel standing over me and smiling, and the belfry full of a sudden -with rosy morning light.</p> - -<p>"Wyvern," said he, "don't be keeping all the fun to yourself! Let me -have a turn with the man, and go you to the window—the north-east -window yonder, and tell me an I speak not the truth to him."</p> - -<p>I gave over the parley to him and moved to the window, as he directed.</p> - -<p>"'Tis too late, my master!" Trecarrel called cheerfully down the trap. -"You have thirty minutes at the most to reduce us, and 'twill take you -all that time to pack up and clear. Already a body of the King's foot -are coming over the hill straight for the bridge, and your one ragged -regi<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span>ment there is making haste to quit. Do I not speak the truth, -Captain Wyvern?" He flung this question to me over his shoulder.</p> - -<p class="center"> -<img src="images/illus05.jpg" alt="trap"/> -<a id="illus05" name="illus05"></a> -</p> -<p class="caption"> "'TIS TOO LATE, MY MASTER!" TRECARREL CALLED CHEERFULLY -DOWN THE TRAP.</p> - -<p>"The Lord be praised, you do!" I cried. "And see—another and stronger -body making down to cross the ford to the southward!" By this time -all the troopers around me were shouting and pointing and some of -them capering for joy; and sure the morning sun has rarely looked -on blesseder sight than these gallant troops made as they descended -glittering to the river.</p> - -<p>"Softly—softly!" Trecarrel rebuked us. "With so much noise I cannot -hear what Master Provost-Marshal is threatening. Indeed, Sir," he -called down, "your game is up. Go your ways now, and may they lead you -to the proper end of all rebels!"</p> - -<p>I did not hear the Provost-Marshal's answer: and for a minute or -so—since the firing did not start afresh but all remained quiet—I -supposed that he had taken our advice and given up the game. But -turning for a look down into the church to assure myself, I saw -Trecarrel rise to his feet with a face deadly white.</p> - -<p>"The villains!" he gasped out, pointing to the hatchway. "They are -bringing powder—there—right under us!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span></p> - -<p>And, while he pointed, the Provost-Marshal's voice came up to us, -cold and sneering. "I'll give you this last chance, my gentlemen," he -called. "Will you hand over my prisoner, or must I blow you all into -air? You have half a minute to decide."</p> - -<p>"Let us go down, gentlemen," said Carminowe, stepping forward. "I thank -you sincerely: but in truth, as I have told you, I do not value life."</p> - -<p>In an instant Trecarrel had recovered his composure. "With your leave, -Captain," he said, addressing me, "'twas I that set this game going, -and I for one am willing to play it out."</p> - -<p>I glanced from him to Grylls, who stood against the wall with his arms -folded. He wasted no words, but answered me with a gloomy nod. Now I -turned to the troopers, from whom—as men of mean station—I confess -that I looked for no such folly of magnanimity as to lay down their -lives for an old man, who, besides, was begging us to yield him up. -Judge my amazement then when a red-bearded fellow called Wilkes spoke -up with a big oath, growling that "surrender" was no word for his -stomach. "Suppose we belonged to your own troop, Captain—what would -you look for us to answer?"</p> - -<p>"In general," I told him, "I should look for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> my troop to follow where -I dared to lead. But this is a different matter——"</p> - -<p>A man by Wilkes' side cut me short. "Wounds alive, Sir! You don't -command the only men in the army! Didn't his Majesty pick and choose us -for special service? Very well, then; tell the old devil to fire and be -damned to him!"</p> - -<p>I ran my eyes over their faces. "I thank you all, friends," said I: -"and because of your answer I, for one, shall die—if God wills it—in -good hope for England."</p> - -<p>"Time is up," the Provost-Marshal's voice announced from below. "Do you -submit, Sir?"</p> - -<p>"No!" I shouted, and all shouted together with me; nor did one or two -forbear to add to their defiance words of the grossest insult.</p> - -<p>I motioned to them to copy me and lay themselves down at full length -above the strongest beams: and, so lying, I commended my soul to God. -This waiting upon the slow-match was the worst of all. "Will it never -come?" groaned one man, clenching his hands.</p> - -<p>But it came at last, with a jarring lift of the earth and a great wind -that took us—flat-laid as we were—and tossed us like straws in a heap -against the wall. Then the foundations of the world opened with a roar, -beating all sensation<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> out of us—so that, had we died then, all taste -of dying was gone from us. Answering the roar, as the walls rocked with -it, the heavens seemed to split and open, letting through a downrush -of slates and stones and mortar: and overhead a great bell clanged -once. But in my memory the explosion and the answering downrush stand -separated by a dark gulf, in which time was blotted out. I had covered -my face with my cloak, and saw no flame at all. Yet when my eyes opened -they rested first upon a great rent in the belfry flooring, through -which one of the heavy beams, broken midway, thrust up two jagged -ends. I saw this through a cloud of smoke, dust, and lime. Beside -me my comrades lay under a thick coating of limewash and cobwebs. A -couple of them had been flung across my legs, and one or two were -groaning. On the far side of the chamber the man Wilkes had scrambled -to his feet unhurt, and was leaning with his elbow against the wall. -I found my voice, and, while the walls yet rocked, called to Grylls -and Trecarrel. To my amazement their two voices answered me: and to my -greater amazement one by one the heap of men disengaged themselves, -and, shaking off the dust and lime from them, rose to their feet—the -whole of them, save for a cut or two and a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> few bruises, unharmed. Old -Carminowe, in particular, had not taken a scratch.</p> - -<p>But while I stared at them, and while my shaken wits little by little -took assurance that the tower stood yet and we were yet alive, in -my ears rang the note of that bell which had sounded once overhead. -I stared up with a new and horrible apprehension, mercifully till -this moment delayed. I had not thought of the bells. The wind of the -explosion had whirled two or three of their ropes aloft and flung them -over the beams: but the concussion, which had shaken cartloads of -cobwebs down upon us, had seemingly left the cage itself uninjured. My -eyes sought to pierce the gloom up there in the bells' dark throats. -It seemed to me that one of the clappers was swaying. I thought of all -that mass of metal slipping, falling; and called on the men in a panic -to fetch and lower the ladder.</p> - -<p>Trecarrel or Grylls—I forgot which—besought me to delay: the enemy -might yet be lying in wait for us outside the church. I, possessed with -this new terror of the bells, scarcely heard them, and insisted upon -lowering the ladder with all speed. It had fallen forward from the wall -against which we had rested it, and now lay right across our heads. -Fast as they could the men<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span> obeyed us, lowering it through the hatchway -and thence guiding its descent by the rope knotted about an upper rung. -As I had been last to mount, so I was first to slip down; as I reached -the foot and steadied it for the others I heard Wilkes at the window -overhead calling out that our troops had won the bridge.</p> - -<p>And now comes in the strangest thing in all my story. We, that had -lived in comradeship for three weeks, and had come through this extreme -peril together, parted at the ladder's foot and ran our several ways -without a word said! I took one glance around the church. A good -third of the roof had been blown away and one of the tower-piers was -evidently tottering. Two columns of the arcade along the south aisle -lay prone. I need not say that scarce a pane remained in the windows: -but I can remember marvelling that so much of the glass had fallen -inwards and lay strewn over the whole flooring, even in the nave, and -I remember it all the better through having to pick my way to the door -with shoeless feet. In the porch I overtook and ran past old Carminowe. -He did not halt to thank me, nor did I pause to receive his thanks.</p> - -<p>Yet I saw him once again. From the church I ran to meet our troops, now -re-forming at the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> bridge-end to clear the town. Half an hour later, -as we drove the retreating rebels beyond the suburbs and out into the -dusty lanes towards Fowey, almost by the last cottage we passed a -corpse huddled under the hedgerow to the left of our march. It was the -body of Carminowe, killed by a chance shot of the men from whom we had -lately saved him. But with what purpose he had pursued them and invited -it, I cannot tell.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="FRENCHMANS_CREEK" id="FRENCHMANS_CREEK">FRENCHMAN'S CREEK</a></p> - -<p class="center">A REPORTED TALE</p> - - -<p>Frenchman's Creek runs up between overhanging woods from the southern -shore of Helford River, which flows down through an earthly paradise -and meets the sea midway between Falmouth and the dreadful Manacles—a -river of gradual golden sunsets such as Wilson painted; broad-bosomed, -holding here and there a village as in an arm maternally crook'd, but -with a brooding face of solitude. Off the main flood lie creeks where -the oaks dip their branches in the high tides, where the stars are -glassed all night long without a ripple, and where you may spend whole -days with no company but herons and sandpipers—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Helford River, Helford River,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Blessčd may you be!</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>We sailed up Helford River</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>By Durgan from the sea....</i></span><br /> -</p> - -<p>And about three-quarters of a mile above the ferry-crossing (where is -the best anchorage) you will find the entrance of the creek they call -French<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>man's, with a cob-built ruin beside it, and perhaps, if you come -upon it in the morning sunlight, ten or a dozen herons aligned like -statues on the dismantled walls.</p> - -<p>Now, why they call it Frenchman's Creek no one is supposed to know, -but this story will explain. And the story I heard on the spot from an -old verderer, who had it from his grandfather, who bore no unimportant -part in it—as will be seen. Maybe you will find it out of keeping with -its scenery. In my own words you certainly would: and so I propose to -relate it just as the verderer told it to me.</p> - - -<p class="center">I</p> - -<p>First of all you'll let me say that a bad temper is an affliction, -whoever owns it, and shortening to life. I don't know what your opinion -may be: but my grandfather was parish constable in these parts for -forty-seven years, and you'll find it on his headstone in Manaccan -churchyard that he never had a cross word for man, woman, or child. He -took no credit for it: it ran in the family, and to this day we're all -terribly mild to handle.</p> - -<p>Well, if ever a man was born bad in his temper,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> 'twas Captain -Bligh, that came from St. Tudy parish, and got himself known to all -the world over that dismal business aboard the <i>Bounty</i>. Yes, Sir, -that's the man—"Breadfruit Bligh," as they called him. They made an -Admiral of him in the end, but they never cured his cussedness: and my -grandfather, that followed his history (and good reason for why) from -the day he first set foot in this parish, used to rub his hands over -every fresh item of news. "Darn it!" he'd say, "here's that old Turk -broke loose again. Lord, if he ain't a warrior!" Seemed as if he took a -delight in the man, and kept a sort of tenderness for him till the day -of his death.</p> - -<p>Bless you, though folks have forgotten it, that little affair of the -<i>Bounty</i> was only the beginning of Bligh. He was a left'nant when it -happened, and the King promoted him post-captain straight away. Later -on, no doubt because of his experiences in mutinies, he was sent down -to handle the big one at the Nore. "Now, then, you dogs!"—that's how -he began with the men's delegates—"his Majesty will be graciously -pleased to hear your grievances: and afterwards I'll be graciously -pleased to hang the lot of you and rope-end every fifth man in the -Fleet. That's plain sailing, I hope!" says he. The delegates<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span> made a -rush at him, triced him up hand and foot, and in two two's would have -heaved him to the fishes with an eighteen-pound shot for ballast if -his boat's crew hadn't swarmed on board by the chains and carried him -off. After this, he commanded a ship at Camperdown, and another at -Copenhagen, and being a good fighter as well as a man of science, was -chosen for Governor of New South Wales. He hadn't been forty-eight -hours in the colony, I'm told, before the music began, and it ended -with his being clapped into irons by the military and stuck in prison -for two years to cool his heels. At last they took him out, put him on -board a ship of war and played farewell to him on a brass band: and, -by George, Sir, if he didn't fight with the captain of the ship all -the way home, making claim that as senior in the service he ought to -command her! By this time, as you may guess, there was nothing to be -done with the fellow but make him an Admiral; and so they did, and as -Admiral of the Blue he died in the year 'seventeen, only a couple of -weeks ahead of my poor grandfather, that would have set it down to the -finger of Providence if he'd only lived to hear the news.</p> - -<p>Well, now, the time that Bligh came down to Helford was a few months -before he sailed for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span> Australia, and that will be a hundred years ago -next summer: and I guess the reason of his coming was that the folks -at the Admiralty couldn't stand him in London, the weather just then -being sultry. So they pulled out a map and said, "This Helford looks a -nice cool far-away place; let the man go down and take soundings and -chart the place"; for Bligh, you must know, had been a pupil of Captain -Cook's, and at work of this kind there was no man cleverer in the Navy.</p> - -<p>To do him justice, Bligh never complained of work. So off he packed -and started from London by coach in the early days of June; and with -him there travelled down a friend of his, a retired naval officer by -the name of Sharl, that was bound for Falmouth to take passage in the -Lisbon packet; but whether on business or a pleasure trip is more than -I can tell you.</p> - -<p>So far as I know, nothing went wrong with them until they came to -Torpoint Ferry: and there, on the Cornish side of the water, stood the -Highflyer coach, the inside of it crammed full of parcels belonging -to our Vicar's wife, Mrs. Polwhele, that always visited Plymouth once -a year for a week's shopping. Having all these parcels to bring home, -Mrs. Polwhele had crossed over by a waterman's boat two hours before,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> -packed the coach as full as it would hold, and stepped into the Ferry -Inn for a dish of tea. "And glad I am to be across the river in good -time," she told the landlady; "for by the look of the sky there's a -thunderstorm coming."</p> - -<p>Sure enough there was, and it broke over the Hamoaze with a bang just -as Captain Bligh and his friend put across in the ferry-boat. The -lightning whizzed and the rain came down like the floods of Deva, and -in five minutes' time the streets and gutters of Torpoint were pouring -on to the quay like so many shutes, and turning all the inshore water -to the colour of pea-soup. Another twenty minutes and 'twas over; blue -sky above and the birds singing, and the roof and trees all a-twinkle -in the sun; and out steps Mrs. Polwhele very gingerly in the landlady's -pattens, to find the Highflyer ready to start, the guard unlashing the -tarpaulin that he'd drawn over the outside luggage, the horses steaming -and anxious to be off, and on the box-seat a couple of gentlemen wet to -the skin, and one of them looking as ugly as a chained dog in a street -fight. This was Bligh, of course. His friend, Mr. Sharl, sat alongside, -talking low and trying to coax him back to a good temper: but Mrs. -Polwhele missed taking notice of this. She hadn't seen the gentlemen<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span> -arrive, by reason that, being timid of thunder, at the very first peal -she'd run upstair, and crawled under one of the bed-ties: and there she -bided until the chambermaid brought word that the sky was clear and the -coach waiting.</p> - -<p>If ever you've had to do with timmersome folks I daresay you've noted -how talkative they get as soon as danger's over. Mrs. Polwhele took a -glance at the inside of the coach to make sure that her belongings were -safe, and then, turning to the ladder that the Boots was holding for -her to mount, up she trips to her outside place behind the box-seat, -all in a fluff and commotion, and chattering so fast that the words -hitched in each other like beer in a narrow-necked bottle.</p> - -<p>"Give you good morning, gentlemen!" said Mrs. Polwhele, "and I do hope -and trust I haven't kept you waiting; but thunder makes me <i>that</i> -nervous! 'Twas always the same with me from a girl; and la! what a -storm while it lasted! I declare the first drops looked to me a'most -so big as crown-pieces. Most unfortunate it should come on when you -were crossing—most unfortunate, I vow! There's nothing so unpleasant -as sitting in damp clothes, especially if you're not accustomed to it. -My husband, now—if he puts on a shirt that hasn't been double-aired -I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span> always know what's going to happen: it'll be lumbago next day to a -certainty. But maybe, as travellers, you're not so susceptible. I find -hotel-keepers so careless with their damp sheets! May I ask, gentlemen, -if you've come from far? You'll be bound for Falmouth, as I guess: and -so am I. You'll find much on the way to admire. But perhaps this is not -your first visit to Cornwall?"</p> - -<p>In this fashion she was rattling away, good soul—settling her wraps -about her and scarcely drawing breath—when Bligh slewed himself around -in his seat, and for answer treated her to a long stare.</p> - -<p>Now, Bligh wasn't a beauty at the best of times, and he carried a scar -on his cheek that didn't improve matters by turning white when his face -was red, and red when his face was white. They say the King stepped -up to him at Court once and asked him how he came by it and in what -action. Bligh had to tell the truth—that he'd got it in the orchard at -home: he and his father were trying to catch a horse there: the old man -flung a hatchet to turn the horse and hit his boy in the face, marking -him for life. Hastiness, you see, in the family.</p> - -<p>Well, the sight of his face, glowering back on her over his shoulder, -was enough to dry up the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> speech in Mrs. Polwhele or any woman. But -Bligh, it seems, couldn't be content with this. After withering the -poor soul for ten seconds or so, he takes his eyes off her, turns to -his friend again in a lazy, insolent way, and begins to talk loud to -him in French.</p> - -<p>'Twas a terrible unmannerly thing to do for a fellow supposed to be a -gentleman. I've naught to say against modern languages: but when I see -it on the newspaper nowadays that naval officers ought to give what's -called "increased attention" to French and German, I hope that they'll -use it better than Bligh, that's all! Why, Sir, my eldest daughter -threw up a situation as parlourmaid in London because her master and -mistress pitched to parleyvooing whenever they wanted to talk secrets -at table. "If you please, Ma'am," she told the lady, "you're mistaking -me for the governess, and I never could abide compliments." She gave a -month's warning then and there, and I commend the girl's spirit.</p> - -<p>But the awkward thing for Bligh, as it turned out, was that Mrs. -Polwhele didn't understand his insolence. Being a woman that wouldn't -hurt a fly if she could help it, and coming from a parish where every -man, her husband included, took pleasure in treating her respectfully, -she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span> never dreamed that an affront was meant. From the moment she heard -Bligh's lingo, she firmly believed that here were two Frenchies on the -coach; and first she went white to the lips and shivered all over, and -then she caught at the seat to steady herself, and then she flung back -a look at Jim the Guard, to make sure he had his blunderbuss handy. She -couldn't speak to Sammy Hosking, the coachman, or touch him by the arm -without reaching across Bligh: and by this time the horses were at the -top of the hill and settling into a gallop. She thought of the many -times she'd sat up in bed at home in a fright that the Frenchmen had -landed and were marching up to burn Manaccan Vicarage: and how often -she had warned her husband against abusing Boney from the pulpit—'twas -dangerous, she always maintained, for a man living so nigh the -seashore. The very shawl beside her was scarlet, same as the women-folk -wore about the fields in those days in hopes that the invaders, if any -came, would mistake them for red-coats. And here she was, perched up -behind two of her country's enemies—one of them as ugly as Old Nick or -Boney himself—and bowling down towards her peaceful home at anything -from sixteen to eighteen miles an hour.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span></p> - -<p>I daresay, too, the thunderstorm had given her nerves a shaking; at any -rate, Jim the Guard came crawling over the coach-roof after a while, -and, said he, "Why, Mrs. Polwhele, whatever is the matter? I han't -heard you speak six words since we started."</p> - -<p>And with that, just as he settled himself down for a comfortable chat -with her, after his custom, the poor lady points to the two strangers, -flings up both hands, and tumbles upon him in a fit of hysterics.</p> - -<p>"Stop the hosses!" yells Jim; but already Sammy Hosking was pulling up -for dear life at the sound of her screams.</p> - -<p>"What in thunder's wrong with the female?" asks Bligh.</p> - -<p>"Female yourself," answers up Sammy in a pretty passion. "Mrs. -Polwhele's a lady, and I reckon your cussed rudeness upset her. I say -nothing of your face, for that you can't help."</p> - -<p>Bligh started up in a fury, but Mr. Sharl pulled him down on the seat, -and then Jim the Guard took a turn.</p> - -<p>"Pitch a lady's luggage into the road, would you?" for this, you must -know, was the reason of Bligh's sulkiness at starting. He had come up -soaking from Torpoint Ferry, walked straight to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span> the coach, and pulled -the door open to jump inside, when down on his head came rolling a -couple of Dutch cheeses that Mrs. Polwhele had crammed on the top of -her belongings. This raised his temper, and he began to drag parcel -after parcel out and fling them in the mud, shouting that no passenger -had a right to fill up the inside of a coach in that fashion. Thereupon -Jim sent an ostler running to the landlady that owned the Highflyer, -and she told Bligh that he hadn't booked his seat yet: that the inside -was reserved for Mrs. Polwhele: and that he could either take an -outside place and behave himself, or be left behind to learn manners. -For a while he showed fight: but Mr. Sharl managed to talk sense into -him, and the parcels were stowed again and the door shut but a minute -before Mrs. Polwhele came downstairs and took her seat as innocent as a -lamb.</p> - -<p>"Pitch a lady's luggage into the road, would you?" struck in Jim the -Guard, making himself heard above the pillaloo. "Carry on as if the -coach belonged to ye, hey? Come down and take your coat off, like a -man, and don't sit there making fool faces at me!"</p> - -<p>"My friend is not making faces," began Mr. Sharl, very gentle-like, -trying to keep the peace.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Call yourself his friend!" Jim snapped him up. "Get off, the pair of -you. Friend indeed! Go and buy him a veil."</p> - -<p>But 'twas easily seen that Mrs. Polwhele couldn't be carried further. -So Sammy Hosking pulled up at a farmhouse a mile beyond St. Germans: -and there she was unloaded, with her traps, and put straight to -bed: and a farm-boy sent back to Torpoint to fetch a chaise for her -as soon as she recovered. And the Highflyer—that had been delayed -three-quarters of an hour—rattled off at a gallop, with all on board -in the worst of tempers.</p> - -<p>When they reached Falmouth—which was not till after ten o'clock at -night—and drew up at the Crown and Anchor, the first man to hail them -was old Parson Polwhele, standing there under the lamp in the entry and -taking snuff to keep himself awake.</p> - -<p>"Well, my love," says he, stepping forward to help his wife down and -give her a kiss. "And how have you enjoyed the journey?"</p> - -<p>But instead of his wife 'twas a bull-necked-looking man that swung -himself off the coach-roof, knocking the Parson aside, and bounced into -the inn without so much as a "beg your pardon."</p> - -<p>Parson Polwhele was taken aback for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span> moment by reason that he'd -pretty nigh kissed the fellow by accident; and before he could recover, -Jim the Guard leans out over the darkness, and, says he, speaking down: -"Very sorry, Parson, but your missus was taken ill t'other side of St. -Germans, and we've been forced to leave her 'pon the road."</p> - -<p>Now, the Parson doted on his wife, as well he might. He was a very -learned man, you must know, and wrote a thundering great history of -Cornwall: but outside of book-learning his head rambled terribly, -and Mrs. Polwhele managed him in all the little business of life. -"'Tis like looking after a museum," she used to declare. "I don't -understand the contents, I'm thankful to say; but, please God, I can -keep 'em dusted." A better-suited couple you couldn't find, nor a more -affectionate; and whenever Mrs. Polwhele tripped it to Plymouth, the -Parson would be at Falmouth to welcome her back, and they'd sleep the -night at the Crown and Anchor and drive home to Manaccan next morning.</p> - -<p>"Taken ill?" cries the Parson. "Oh, my poor Mary—my poor, dear Mary!"</p> - -<p>"'Tisn' so bad as all that," says Jim, as soothing as he could; but he -thought it best to tell nothing about the rumpus.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p> - -<p>"If 'tis on the wings of an eagle, I must fly to her!" cries the -Parson, and he hurried indoors and called out for a chaise and pair.</p> - -<p>He had some trouble in persuading a post-boy to turn out at such an -hour, but before midnight the poor man was launched and rattling away -eastward, chafing at the hills and singing out that he'd pay for speed, -whatever it cost. And at Grampound in the grey of the morning he almost -ran slap into a chaise and pair proceeding westward, and likewise as if -its postilion wanted to break his neck.</p> - -<p>Parson Polwhele stood up in his vehicle and looked out ahead. The two -chaises had narrowly missed doubling each other into a cocked hat; in -fact, the boys had pulled up within a dozen yards of smash, and there -stood the horses face to face and steaming.</p> - -<p>"Why, 'tis my Mary!" cries the Parson, and takes a leap out of the -chaise.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Richard! Richard!" sobs Mrs. Polwhele. "But you can't possibly -come in here, my love," she went on, drying her eyes.</p> - -<p>"Why not, my angel?"</p> - -<p>"Because of the parcels, dearest. And Heaven only knows what's -underneath me at this moment, but it feels like a flat-iron. Besides," -says she,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span> like the prudent woman she was, "we've paid for two chaises. -But 'twas good of you to come in search of me, and I'll say what I've -said a thousand times, that I've the best husband in the world."</p> - -<p>The Parson grumbled a bit; but, indeed, the woman was piled about with -packages up to the neck. So, very sad-like, he went back to his own -chaise—that was now slewed about for Falmouth—and off the procession -started at an easy trot, the good man bouncing up in his seat from time -to time to blow back a kiss.</p> - -<p>But after awhile he shouted to the post-boy to pull up again.</p> - -<p>"What's the matter, love?" sings out Mrs. Polwhele, overtaking him and -coming to a stand likewise.</p> - -<p>"Why, it occurs to me, my angel, that <i>you</i> might get into <i>my</i> chaise, -if you're not too tightly wedged."</p> - -<p>"There's no saying what will happen when I once begin to move," said -Mrs. Polwhele: "but I'll risk it. For I don't mind telling you that -one of my legs went to sleep somewhere near St. Austell, and 'tis -dreadfully uncomfortable."</p> - -<p>So out she was fetched and climbed in beside her husband.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p> - -<p>"But what was it that upset you?" he asked, as they started again.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Polwhele laid her cheek to his shoulder and sobbed aloud; and so -by degrees let out her story.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"But, my love, the thing's impossible," cried Parson Polwhele. "There's -no Frenchman in Cornwall at this moment, unless maybe 'tis the Guernsey -merchant<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> or some poor wretch of a prisoner escaped from the hulks in -the Hamoaze."</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Euphemistic for "smugglers' agent."</p></div> - -<p>"Then, that's what these men were, you may be sure," said Mrs. Polwhele.</p> - -<p>"Tut-tut-tut! You've just told me that they came across the ferry, like -any ordinary passengers."</p> - -<p>"Did I? Then I told more than I know; for I never saw them cross."</p> - -<p>"A couple of escaped prisoners wouldn't travel by coach in broad -daylight, and talk French in everyone's hearing."</p> - -<p>"We live in the midst of mysteries," said Mrs. Polwhele. "There's my -parcels, now—I packed 'em in the Highflyer most careful, and I'm sure -Jim the Guard would be equally careful in handing them out—you know -the sort of man he is: and yet I find a good dozen of them plastered -in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> mud, and my new Moldavia cap, that I gave twenty-three shillings -for only last Tuesday, pounded to a jelly, quite as if someone had -flung it on the road and danced on it!"</p> - -<p>The poor soul burst out into fresh tears, and there against her -husband's shoulder cried herself fairly asleep, being tired out with -travelling all night. By-and-by the Parson, that wanted a nap just as -badly, dozed off beside her: and in this fashion they were brought back -through Falmouth streets and into the yard of the Crown and Anchor, -where Mrs. Polwhele woke up with a scream, crying out: "Prisoners or no -prisoners, those men were up to no good: and I'll say it if I live to -be a hundred!"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>That same afternoon they transhipped the parcels into a cart, and drove -ahead themselves in a light gig, and so came down, a little before -sunset, to the Passage Inn yonder. There, of course, they had to unload -again and wait for the ferry to bring them across to their own parish. -It surprised the Parson a bit to find the ferry-boat lying ready by the -shore and my grandfather standing there head to head with old Arch'laus -Spry, that was constable of Mawnan parish.</p> - -<p>"Hullo, Calvin!" the Parson sings out. "This<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> looks bad—Mawnan and -Manaccan putting their heads together. I hope there's nothing gone -wrong since I've been away?"</p> - -<p>"Aw, Parson dear," says my grandfather, "I'm glad you've come—yea, -glad sure 'nuff. We've a-been enjoying a terrible time!"</p> - -<p>"Then something <i>has</i> gone wrong?" says the Parson.</p> - -<p>"As for that," my grandfather answers, "I only wish I could say yes -or no: for 'twould be a relief even to know the worst." He beckoned -very mysterious-like and led the Parson a couple of hundred yards up -the foreshore, with Arch'laus Spry following. And there they came to -a halt, all three, before a rock that someone had been daubing with -whitewash. On the top of the cliff, right above, was planted a stick -with a little white flag.</p> - -<p>"Now, Sir, as a Justice of the Peace, what d'ee think of it?"</p> - -<p>Parson Polwhele stared from the rock to the stick and couldn't say. -So he turns to Arch'laus Spry and asks: "Any person taken ill in your -parish?"</p> - -<p>"No, Sir."</p> - -<p>"You're sure Billy Johns hasn't been drinking again?" Billy Johns -was the landlord of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> Passage Inn, a very ordinary man by rule, -but given to breaking loose among his own liquors. "He seemed all -right yesterday when I hired the trap off him; but he does the most -unaccountable things when he's taken bad."</p> - -<p>"He never did anything so far out of nature as this here; and I can -mind him in six outbreaks," answered my grandfather. "Besides, 'tis not -Billy Johns nor anyone like him."</p> - -<p>"Then you know who did it?"</p> - -<p>"I do and I don't, Sir. But take a look round, if you please."</p> - -<p>The Parson looked up and down and across the river; and, sure enough, -whichever way he turned, his eyes fell on splashes of whitewash and -little flags fluttering. They seemed to stretch right away from -Porthnavas down to the river's mouth; and though he couldn't see it -from where he stood, even Mawnan church-tower had been given a lick of -the brush.</p> - -<p>"But," said the Parson, fairly puzzled, "all this can only have -happened in broad daylight, and you must have caught the fellow at it, -whoever he is."</p> - -<p>"I wouldn't go so far as to say I caught him," answered my grandfather, -modest-like; "but I came upon him a little above Bosahan in the act<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span> of -setting up one of his flags, and I asked him, in the King's name, what -he meant by it."</p> - -<p>"And what did he answer?"</p> - -<p>My grandfather looked over his shoulder. "I couldn't, Sir, not for a -pocketful of crowns, and your good lady, so to speak, within hearing."</p> - -<p>"Nonsense, man! She's not within a hundred yards."</p> - -<p>"Well, then, Sir, he up and hoped the devil would fly away with me, -and from that he went on to say——" But here my grandfather came to a -dead halt. "No, Sir, I can't; and as a minister of the Gospel, you'll -never insist on it. He made such horrible statements that I had to go -straight home and read over my old mother's marriage lines. It fairly -dazed me to hear him talk so confident, and she in her grave, poor -soul!"</p> - -<p>"You ought to have demanded his name."</p> - -<p>"I did, Sir; naturally I did. And he told me to go to the naughty place -for it."</p> - -<p>"Well, but what like is he?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, as to that, Sir, a man of ordinary shape, like yourself, in a -plain blue coat and a wig shorter than ordinary; nothing about him to -prepare you for the language he lets fly."</p> - -<p>"And," put in Arch'laus Spry, "he's taken lodgings down to Durgan with -the Widow Pol<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>kinghorne, and eaten his dinner—a fowl and a jug of -cider with it. After dinner he hired Robin's boat and went for a row. -I thought it my duty, as he was pushing off, to sidle up in a friendly -way. I said to him, 'The weather, Sir, looks nice and settled': that is -what I said, neither more nor less, but using those very words. What -d'ee think he answered? He said, 'That's capital, my man: now go along -and annoy somebody else.' Wasn't that a disconnected way of talking? -If you ask my opinion, putting two and two together, I say he's most -likely some poor wandering loonatic."</p> - -<p>The evening was dusking down by this time, and Parson Polwhele, though -a good bit puzzled, called to mind that his wife would be getting -anxious to cross the ferry and reach home before dark: so he determined -that nothing could be done before morning, when he promised Arch'laus -Spry to look into the matter. My grandfather he took across in the boat -with him, to look after the parcels and help them up to the Vicarage: -and on the way they talked about a grave that my grandfather had been -digging—he being sexton and parish clerk, as well as constable and the -Parson's right-hand man, as you might call it, in all public matters.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span></p> - -<p>While they discoursed, Mrs. Polwhele was taking a look about her to -make sure the country hadn't altered while she was away at Plymouth. -And by-and-by she cries out—</p> - -<p>"Why, my love, whatever are these dabs o' white stuck up and down the -foreshore?"</p> - -<p>The Parson takes a look at my grandfather before answering: "My angel, -to tell you the truth, that's more than we know."</p> - -<p>"Richard, you're concealing something from me," said Mrs. Polwhele. "If -the French have landed and I'm going home to be burnt in my bed, it -shall be with my eyes open."</p> - -<p>"My dear Mary," the Parson argued, "you've a-got the French on your -brain. If the French landed they wouldn't begin by sticking dabs of -whitewash all over the parish; now, would they?"</p> - -<p>"How in the world should I know what a lot of Papists would do or not -do?" she answered. "'Tis no more foolish to my mind than eating frogs -or kissing a man's toe."</p> - -<p>Well, say what the Parson would, the notion had fixed itself in the -poor lady's head. Three times that night she woke in the bed with her -curl-papers crackling for very fright; and the fourth time 'twas at -the sound of a real dido below stairs. Some person was down by the -back<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>-door knocking and rattling upon it with all his might.</p> - -<p>The sun had been up for maybe an hour—the time of year, as I told -you, being near about midsummer—and the Parson, that never wanted for -pluck, jumped out and into his breeches in a twinkling, while his wife -pulled the counterpane over her head. Down along the passage he skipped -to a little window opening over the back porch.</p> - -<p>"Who's there!" he called, and out from the porch stepped my -grandfather, that had risen early and gone to the churchyard to finish -digging the grave before breakfast. "Why, what on the earth is wrong -with ye? I made sure the French had landed, at the least."</p> - -<p>"Couldn't be much worse if they had," said my grandfather. "Some -person've a-stole my shovel, pick, and biddicks."</p> - -<p>"Nonsense!" said the Parson.</p> - -<p>"The corpse won't find it nonsense, Sir, if I don't get 'em back -in time. I left 'em lying, all three, at the bottom of the grave -overnight."</p> - -<p>"And now they're missing?"</p> - -<p>"Not a trace of 'em to be seen."</p> - -<p>"Someone has been playing you a practical joke, Calvin. Here, stop a -moment——" The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> Parson ran back to his room, fetched a key, and flung -it out into the yard. "That'll unlock the tool-shed in the garden. Get -what you want, and we'll talk about the theft after breakfast. How soon -will the grave be ready?"</p> - -<p>"I can't say sooner than ten o'clock after what has happened."</p> - -<p>"Say ten o'clock, then. This is Saturday, and I've my sermon to prepare -after breakfast. At ten o'clock I'll join you in the churchyard."</p> - - -<p class="center">II</p> - -<p>My grandfather went off to unlock the tool-shed, and the Parson back -to comfort Mrs. Polwhele—which was no easy matter. "There's something -wrong with the parish since I've been away, and that you can't deny," -she declared. "It don't feel like home any longer, and my poor flesh is -shivering like a jelly, and my hand almost too hot to make the butter." -She kept up this lidden all through breakfast, and the meal was no -sooner cleared away than she slipped on a shawl and stepped across to -the churchyard to discuss the robbery.</p> - -<p>The Parson drew a chair to the window, lit his pipe, and pulled out -his pocket-Bible to choose a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> text for his next day's sermon. But he -couldn't fix his thoughts. Try how he would, they kept harking back -to his travels in the post-chaise, and his wife's story, and those -unaccountable flags and splashes of whitewash. His pipe went out, and -he was getting up to find a light for it, when just at that moment the -garden-gate rattled, and, looking down the path towards the sound, -his eyes fell on a square-cut, fierce-looking man in blue, standing -there with a dirty bag in one hand and a sheaf of tools over his right -shoulder.</p> - -<p>The man caught sight of the Parson at the window, and set down his -tools inside the gate—shovel and pick and biddicks.</p> - -<p>"Good-mornin'! I may come inside, I suppose?" says he, in a gruff tone -of voice. He came up the path and the Parson unlatched the window, -which was one of the long sort reaching down to the ground.</p> - -<p>"My name's Bligh," said the visitor, gruff as before. "You're the -Parson, eh? Bit of an antiquarian, I'm given to understand? These -things ought to be in your line, then, and I hope they are not broken: -I carried them as careful as I could." He opened the bag and emptied it -out upon the table—an old earthenware pot, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> rusted iron ring, four -or five burnt bones, and a handful or so of ashes. "Human, you see," -said he, picking up one of the bones and holding it under the Parson's -nose. "One of your ancient Romans, no doubt."</p> - -<p>"Ancient Romans? Ancient Romans?" stammered Parson Polwhele. "Pray, -Sir, where did you get these—these articles?"</p> - -<p>"By digging for them, Sir; in a mound just outside that old Roman camp -of yours."</p> - -<p>"Roman camp? There's no Roman camp within thirty miles of us as the -crow flies: and I doubt if there's one within fifty!"</p> - -<p>"Shows how much you know about it. That's what I complain about in you -parsons: never glimpse a thing that's under your noses. Now, I come -along, making no pretence to be an antiquarian, and the first thing I -see out on your headland yonder, is a Roman camp, with a great mound -beside it——"</p> - -<p>"No such thing, Sir!" the Parson couldn't help interrupting.</p> - -<p>Bligh stared at him for a moment, like a man hurt in his feelings but -keeping hold on his Christian compassion. "Look here," he said; "you -mayn't know it, but I'm a bad man to contradict. This here Roman camp, -as I was sayin'——"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p> - -<p>"If you mean Little Dinnis Camp, Sir, 'tis as round as my hat."</p> - -<p>"Damme, if you interrupt again——"</p> - -<p>"But I will. Here, in my own parlour, I tell you that Little Dinnis is -as round as my hat!"</p> - -<p>"All right; don't lose your temper, shouting out what I never denied. -Round or square, it don't matter a ha'porth to me. This here round -Roman camp——"</p> - -<p>"But I tell you, once more, there's no such thing!" cried the Parson, -stamping his foot. "The Romans never made a round camp in their lives. -Little Dinnis is British; the encampment's British; the mound, as you -call it, is a British barrow; and as for you——"</p> - -<p>"As for me," thunders Bligh, "I'm British too, and don't you forget -it. Confound you, Sir! What the devil do I care for your pettifogging -bones? I'm a British sailor, Sir; I come to your God-forsaken parish on -a Government job, and I happen on a whole shopful of ancient remains. -In pure kindness—pure kindness, mark you—I interrupt my work to dig -'em up; and this is all the thanks I get!"</p> - -<p>"Thanks!" fairly yelled the Parson. "You ought to be horsewhipped, -rather, for disturbing an ancient tomb that's been the apple of my eye<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> -ever since I was inducted to this parish!" Then, as Bligh drew back, -staring: "My poor barrow!" he went on; "my poor, ransacked barrow! But -there may be something to save yet——" and he fairly ran for the door, -leaving Bligh at a standstill.</p> - -<p>For awhile the man stood there like a fellow in a trance, opening and -shutting his mouth, with his eyes set on the doorway where the Parson -had disappeared. Then, his temper overmastering him, with a sweep of -his arm he sent the whole bag of tricks flying on to the floor, kicked -them to right and left through the garden, slammed the gate, pitched -across the road, and flung through the churchyard towards the river -like a whirlwind.</p> - -<p>Now, while this was happening, Mrs. Polwhele had picked her way across -the churchyard, and after chatting a bit with my grandfather over the -theft of his tools, had stepped into the church to see that the place, -and specially the table and communion-rails and the parsonage pew, -was neat and dusted, this being her regular custom after a trip to -Plymouth. And no sooner was she within the porch than who should come -dandering along the road but Arch'laus Spry. The road, as you know, -goes downhill after passing the parsonage gate, and holds on round the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> -churchyard wall like a sunk way, the soil inside being piled up to the -wall's coping. But, my grandfather being still behindhand with his job, -his head and shoulders showed over the grave's edge. So Arch'laus Spry -caught sight of him.</p> - -<p>"Why, you're the very man I was looking for," says Arch'laus, stopping.</p> - -<p>"Death halts for no man," answers my grandfather, shovelling away.</p> - -<p>"That furrin' fellow is somewheres in this neighbourhood at this very -moment," says Arch'laus, wagging his head. "I saw his boat moored down -by the Passage as I landed. And I've a-got something to report. He was -up and off by three o 'clock this morning, and knocked up the Widow -Polkinghorne, trying to borrow a pick and shovel."</p> - -<p>"Pick and shovel!" My grandfather stopped working and slapped his -thigh. "Then he's the man that've walked off with mine: and a biddicks -too."</p> - -<p>"He said nothing of a biddicks, but he's quite capable of it."</p> - -<p>"Surely in the midst of life we are in death," said my grandfather. "I -was al'ays inclined to believe that text, and now I'm sure of it. Let's -go and see the Parson."</p> - -<p>He tossed his shovel on to the loose earth above<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span> the grave and was -just about to scramble out after it when the churchyard gate shook on -its hinges and across the path and by the church porch went Bligh, -as I've said, like a whirlwind. Arch'laus Spry, that had pulled his -chin up level with the coping, ducked at the sight of him, and even my -grandfather ducked down a little in the grave as he passed.</p> - -<p>"The very man!" said Spry, under his breath.</p> - -<p>"The wicked flee, whom no man pursueth," said my grandfather, looking -after the man; but Bligh turned his head neither to the right hand nor -to the left.</p> - -<p>"Oh—oh—oh!" squealed a voice inside the church.</p> - -<p>"Whatever was <i>that</i>," cries Arch'laus Spry, giving a jump. They both -stared at the porch.</p> - -<p>"Oh—oh—oh!" squealed the voice again.</p> - -<p>"It certainly comes from inside," said Arch'laus Spry.</p> - -<p>"It's Mrs. Polwhele!" said my grandfather; "and by the noise of it -she's having hysterics."</p> - -<p>And with that he scrambled up and ran; and Spry heaved himself over -the wall and followed. And there, in the south aisle, they found -Mrs. Polwhele lying back in a pew and kicking like a stallion in a -loose-box.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p> - -<p>My grandfather took her by the shoulders, while Spry ran for the jug of -holy water that stood by the font. As it happened, 'twas empty: but the -sight of it fetched her to, and she raised herself up with a shiver.</p> - -<p>"The Frenchman!" she cries out, pointing. "The Frenchman—on the coach! -O Lord, deliver us!"</p> - -<p>For a moment, as you'll guess, my grandfather was puzzled: but he -stared where the poor lady pointed, and after a bit he began to -understand. I daresay you've seen our church, Sir, and if so, you must -have taken note of a monstrous fine fig-tree growing out of the south -wall—"the marvel of Manaccan," we used to call it. When they restored -the church the other day nobody had the heart to destroy the tree, -for all the damage it did to the building—having come there the Lord -knows how, and grown there since the Lord knows when. So they took and -patched up the wall around it, and there it thrives. But in the times -I'm telling of, it had split the wall so that from inside you could -look straight through the crack into the churchyard; and 'twas to this -crack that Mrs. Polwhele's finger pointed.</p> - -<p>"Eh?" said my grandfather. "The furriner<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span><a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> that went by just now, was -it he that frightened ye, Ma'am?"</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> In Cornwall a "foreigner" is anyone from east of the -Tamar.</p></div> - -<p>Mrs. Polwhele nodded.</p> - -<p>"But what put it into your head that he's a Frenchman?"</p> - -<p>"Because French is his language. With these very ears I heard him -talk it! He joined the coach at Torpoint, and when I spoke him fair -in honest English not a word could he answer me. Oh, Calvin, Calvin! -what have I done—a poor weak woman—to be mixed up in these plots and -invasions?"</p> - -<p>But my grandfather couldn't stop to answer that question, for a -terrible light was breaking in upon him. "A Frenchman?" he called out. -"And for these twenty-four hours he's been marking out the river and -taking soundings!" He glared at Arch'laus Spry, and Arch'laus dropped -the brazen ewer upon the pavement and smote his forehead. "The Devil," -says he, "is among us, having great wrath!"</p> - -<p>"And for aught we know," says my grandfather, speaking in a slow and -fearsome whisper, "the French ships may be hanging off the coast while -we'm talking here!"</p> - -<p>"You don't mean to tell us," cried Mrs. Polwhele, sitting up stiff in -the pew, "that this man<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> has been mapping out the river under your very -noses!"</p> - -<p>"He has, Ma'am. Oh, I see it all! What likelier place could they choose -on the whole coast? And from here to Falmouth what is it but a step?"</p> - -<p>"Let them that be in Judæa flee to the mountains," said Arch'laus Spry -solemn-like.</p> - -<p>"And me just home from Plymouth with a fine new roasting-jack!" chimed -in Mrs. Polwhele. "As though the day of wrath weren't bad enough -without <i>that</i> waste o' money! Run, Calvin—run and tell the Vicar this -instant—no, no, don't leave me behind! Take me home, that's a good -man: else I shall faint at my own shadow!"</p> - -<p>Well, they hurried off to the Vicarage: but, of course, there was no -Parson to be found, for by this time he was half-way towards Little -Dinnis, and running like a madman under the hot sun to see what damage -had befallen his dearly-loved camp. The servants hadn't seen him leave -the house; ne'er a word could they tell of him except that Martha, the -cook, when she cleared away the breakfast things, had left him seated -in his chair and smoking.</p> - -<p>"But what's the meaning of this?" cried out Mrs. Polwhele, pointing to -the tablecloth that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> Bligh had pulled all awry in his temper. "And the -window open too!"</p> - -<p>"And—hulloa!" says my grandfather, staring across the patch of turf -outside. "Surely here's signs of a violent struggle. Human, by the look -of it," says he, picking up a thigh-bone and holding it out towards -Mrs. Polwhele.</p> - -<p>She began to shake like a leaf. "Oh, Calvin!" she gasps out. "Oh, -Calvin, not in this short time—it couldn't be!"</p> - -<p>"Charred, too," says my grandfather, inspecting it: and with that they -turned at a cry from Martha the cook, that was down on hands and knees -upon the carpet.</p> - -<p>"Ashes! See here, mistress—ashes all over your best carpet!"</p> - -<p>The two women stared at the fireplace: but, of course, that told them -nothing, being empty, as usual at the time of year, with only a few -shavings stuck about it by way of ornament. Martha, the first to pick -up her wits, dashed out into the front hall.</p> - -<p>"Gone without his hat, too!" she fairly screamed, running her eye along -the row of pegs.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Polwhele clasped her hands. "In the midst of life we are in -death," said Arch'laus Spry: "that's my opinion if you ask it."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Gone! Gone without his hat, like the snuff of a candle!" Mrs. Polwhele -dropped into a chair and rocked herself and moaned.</p> - -<p>My grandfather banged his fist on the table. He never could abide the -sight of a woman in trouble.</p> - -<p>"Missus," says he, "if the Parson's anywhere alive, we'll find 'en: and -if that Frenchman be Old Nick himself, he shall rue the day he ever set -foot in Manaccan parish! Come'st along, Arch'laus——"</p> - -<p>He took Spry by the arm and marched him out and down the garden path. -There, by the gate, what should his eyes light upon but his own stolen -tools! But by this time all power of astonishment was dried up within -him. He just raised his eyes aloft, as much as to say, "Let the sky -open and rain miracles!" and then and there he saw, coming down the -road, the funeral that both he and the Parson had clean forgotten.</p> - -<p>The corpse was an old man called 'Pollas Hockaday; and Sam Trewhella, -a fish-curer that had married Hockaday's eldest daughter, walked next -behind the coffin as chief mourner. My grandfather waited by the gate -for the procession to come by, and with that Trewhella caught sight of -him, and, says he, taking down the handkerchief from his nose—</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Well, you're a pretty fellow, I must say! What in thunder d'ee mean by -not tolling the minute-bell?"</p> - -<p>"Take 'en back," answers my grandfather, pointing to the coffin. "Take -'en back, 'co!"</p> - -<p>"Eh?" says Trewhella. "Answer my question, I tell 'ee. You've hurt my -feelings and the feelings of everyone connected with the deceased: and -if this weren't not-azackly the place for it, I'd up and give you a -dashed good hiding," says he.</p> - -<p>"Aw, take 'en back," my grandfather goes on. "Take 'en back, my dears, -and put 'en somewhere, cool and temporary! The grave's not digged, and -the Parson's kidnapped, and the French be upon us, and down by the -river ther's a furrin spy taking soundings at this moment! In the name -of King George," said he, remembering that he was constable, "I command -you all except the females to come along and collar 'en!"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>While this was going on, Sir, Bligh had found his boat—which he'd left -by the shore—and was pulling up the river to work off his rage. Ne'er -a thought had he, as he flounced through the churchyard, of the train -of powder he dribbled behind him: but all the way he blew off steam,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> -cursing Parson Polwhele and the whole cloth from Land's End to Johnny -Groats, and glowering at the very gates by the road as though he wanted -to kick 'em to relieve his feelings. But when he reached his boat -and began rowing, by little and little the exercise tamed him. With -his flags and whitewash he'd marked out most of the lines he wanted -for soundings: but there were two creeks he hadn't yet found time to -explore—Porthnavas, on the opposite side, and the very creek by which -we're sitting. So, as he came abreast of this one, he determined to -have a look at it; and after rowing a hundred yards or so, lay on his -oars, lit his pipe, and let his boat drift up with the tide.</p> - -<p>The creek was just the same lonesome place that it is to-day, the only -difference being that the pallace<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> at the entrance had a roof on -it then, and was rented by Sam Trewhella—the same that followed old -Hockaday's coffin, as I've told you. But above the pallace the woods -grew close to the water's edge, and lined both shores with never a -clearing till you reached the end, where the cottage stands now and the -stream comes down beside it: in those days there wasn't any cottage, -only a piece of swampy ground. I don't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span> know that Bligh saw much in -the scenery, but it may have helped to soothe his mind: for by-and-by -he settled himself on the bottom-boards, lit another pipe, pulled -his hat over his nose, and lay there blinking at the sky, while the -boat drifted up, hitching sometimes in a bough and sometimes floating -broadside-on to the current, until she reached this bit of marsh and -took the mud very gently.</p> - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> Fish-store.</p></div> - -<p>After a while, finding she didn't move, Bligh lifted his head for a -look about him and found that he'd come to the end of the creek. He put -out a hand and felt the water, that was almost luke-warm with running -over the mud. The trees shut him in; not a living soul was in sight; -and by the quietness he might have been a hundred miles from anywhere. -So what does my gentleman do but strip himself for a comfortable bathe.</p> - -<p>He folded his clothes very neatly in the stern-sheets, waded out across -the shallows as naked as a babe, and took to the water with so much -delight that after a minute or so he must needs lie on his back and -kick. He splashed away, one leg after the other, with his face turned -towards the shore, and was just on the point of rolling over for -another swim, when, as he lifted a leg for one last kick, his eyes fell -on the boat. And<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span> there on the top of his clothes, in the stern of her, -sat my grandfather sucking a pipe.</p> - -<p>Bligh let down his legs and stood up, touching bottom, but neck-deep in -water.</p> - -<p>"Hi, you there!" he sings out.</p> - -<p>"Wee, wee, parleyvou!" my grandfather answers, making use of pretty -well all the French he knew.</p> - -<p>"Confound you, Sir, for an impident dirty dog! What in the name of -jiminy"—I can't give you, Sir, the exact words, for my grandfather -could never be got to repeat 'em—"What in the name of jiminy d'ee mean -by sitting on my clothes!"</p> - -<p>"Wee, wee," my grandfather took him up, calm as you please. "You -shocked me dreadful yesterday with your blasphemious talk: but now, -seeing 'tis French, I don't mind so much. Take your time: but when you -come out you go to prison. Wee, wee—preeson," says my grandfather.</p> - -<p>"Are you drunk?" yells Bligh. "Get off my clothes this instant, you -hobnailed son of a something-or-other!" And he began striding for shore.</p> - -<p>"In the name of his Majesty King George the Third I charge you to come -along quiet," says my grandfather, picking up a stretcher.</p> - -<p class="center"> -<img src="images/illus06.jpg" alt="quiet" /> -<a id="illus06" name="illus06"></a> -</p> -<p class="caption">"IN THE NAME OF HIS MAJESTY KING GEORGE III. I CHARGE -YOU TO COME ALONG QUIET."</p> - -<p>Bligh, being naked and unarmed, casts a look<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span> round for some way to -help himself. He was a plucky fellow enough in a fight, as I've said: -but I leave you to guess what he felt like when to right and left of -him the bushes parted, and forth stepped half-a-dozen men in black -suits with black silk weepers a foot and a half wide tied in great -bunches round their hats. These were Sam Trewhella, of course, and the -rest of the funeral-party, that had left the coffin in a nice shady -spot inside the Vicarage garden-gate, and come along to assist the law. -They had brought along pretty nearly all the menkind of the parish -beside: but these, being in their work-a-day clothes, didn't appear, -and for a reason you'll learn by-and-by. All that Bligh saw was this -dismal company of mourners backed by a rabble of school-children, the -little ones lining the shore and staring at him fearsomely with their -fingers in their mouths.</p> - -<p>For the moment Bligh must have thought himself dreaming. But there they -stood, the men in black and the crowd of children, and my grandfather -with the stretcher ready, and the green woods so quiet all round. And -there he stood up to the ribs in water, and the tide and his temper -rising.</p> - -<p>"Look here, you something-or-other yokels,"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span> he called out, "if this is -one of your village jokes, I promise you shall smart for it. Leave the -spot this moment, fetch that idiot out of the boat, and take away the -children. I want to dress, and it isn't decent!"</p> - -<p>"Mounseer," answers my grandfather, "I daresay you've a-done it -for your country; but we've a-caught you, and now you must go to -prison—wee, wee, to preeson," he says, lisping it in a Frenchified way -so as to make himself understood.</p> - -<p>Bligh began to foam. "The longer you keep up this farce, my fine -fellows, the worse you'll smart for it! There's a magistrate in this -parish, as I happen to know."</p> - -<p>"There <i>was</i>," said my grandfather; "but we've strong reasons to -believe he's been made away with."</p> - -<p>"The only thing we could find of 'en," put in Arch'laus Spry, "was a -shin-bone and a pint of ashes. I don't know if the others noticed it, -but to my notion there was a sniff of brimstone about the premises; and -I've always been remarkable for my sense of smell."</p> - -<p>"You won't deny," my grandfather went on, "that you've been making a -map of this here river; for here it is in your tail-coat pocket."</p> - -<p>"You insolent ruffian, put that down at once!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span> I tell you that I'm a -British officer and a gentleman!"</p> - -<p>"<i>And</i> a Papist," went on my grandfather, holding up a ribbon with -a bullet threaded to it. ('Twas the bullet Bligh used to weigh out -allowances with on his voyage in the open boat after the mutineers had -turned him adrift from the <i>Bounty</i>, and he wore it ever after.) "See -here, friends: did you ever know an honest Protestant to wear such a -thing about him inside his clothes?"</p> - -<p>"Whether you're a joker or a numskull is more than I can fathom," says -Bligh; "but for the last time I warn you I'm a British officer, and -you'll go to jail for this as sure as eggs."</p> - -<p>"The question is, Will you surrender and come along quiet?"</p> - -<p>"No, I won't," says Bligh, sulky as a bear; "not if I stay here all -night!"</p> - -<p>With that my grandfather gave a wink to Sam Trewhella, and Sam -Trewhella gave a whistle, and round the point came Trewhella's -sean-boat that the village lads had fetched out and launched from his -store at the mouth of the creek. Four men pulled her with all their -might; in the stern stood Trewhella's foreman, Jim Bunt, with his -two-hundred-fathom net: and along the shore came running the rest of -the lads to see the fun.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Heva, heva!" yelled Sam Trewhella, waving his hat with the black -streamers.</p> - -<p>The sean-boat swooped up to Bligh with a rush, and then, just as he -faced upon it with his fists up, to die fighting, it swerved off on a -curve round him, and Jim Bunt began shooting the sean hand over hand -like lightning. Then the poor man understood, and having no mind to -be rolled up and afterwards tucked in a sean-net, he let out an oath, -ducked his head, and broke for the shore like a bull. But 'twas no -manner of use. As soon as he touched land a dozen jumped for him and -pulled him down. They handled him as gentle as they could, for he -fought with fists, legs, and teeth, and his language was awful: but my -grandfather in his foresight had brought along a couple of wainropes, -and within ten minutes they had my gentleman trussed, heaved him into -the boat, covered him over, and were rowing him off and down the creek -to land him at Helford quay.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>By this 'twas past noon; and at one o'clock, or a little before, Parson -Polwhele come striding along home from Little Dinnis. He had tied a -handkerchief about his head to keep off the sun; his hands and knees -were coated with earth; and he sweated like a furze-bush in a mist, -for the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> footpath led through cornfields and the heat was something -terrible. Moreover, he had just called the funeral to mind; and this -and the damage he'd left at Little Dinnis fairly hurried him into a -fever.</p> - -<p>But worse was in store. As he drew near the Parsonage, he spied a man -running towards him: and behind the man the most dreadful noises were -sounding from the house. The Parson came to a halt and swayed where he -stood.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Calvin! Calvin!" he cried—for the man running was my -grandfather—"don't try to break it gently, but let me know the worst!"</p> - -<p>"Oh, blessed day! Oh, fearful and yet blessed day!" cries my -grandfather, almost catching him in both arms. "So you're not dead! So -you're not dead, the Lord be praised, but only hurt!"</p> - -<p>"Hurt?" says the Parson. "Not a bit of it—or only in my feelings. -Oh, 'tis the handkerchief you're looking at? I put that up against -sunstroke. But whatever do these dreadful sounds mean? Tell me the -worst, Calvin, I implore you!"</p> - -<p>"Oh, as for that," says my grandfather cheerfully, "the Frenchman's the -worst by a long way—not but what your good lady made noise enough when -she thought you'd been made away with: and afterwards, when she went -upstairs and,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span> taking a glance out of window, spied a long black coffin -laid out under the lilac bushes, I'm told you could hear her a mile -away. But she've been weakening this half-hour: her nature couldn't -keep it up: whereas the longer we keep that Frenchman, the louder he -seems to bellow."</p> - -<p>"Heaven defend us, Calvin!"—the Parson's eyes fairly rolled in his -head—"are you gone clean crazed? Frenchman! What Frenchman?"</p> - -<p>"The same that frightened Mrs. Polwhele, Sir, upon the coach. We -caught him drawing maps of the river, and very nigh tucked him in Sam -Trewhella's sean: and now he's in your tool-shed right and tight, and -here's the key, Sir, making so bold, that you gave me this morning. But -I didn't like to take him into the house, with your good lady tumbling -out of one fit into another. Hark to 'en, now! Would you ever believe -one man could make such a noise."</p> - -<p>"Fits! My poor, dear, tender Mary having fits!" The Parson broke away -for the house and dashed upstairs three steps at a time: and when she -caught sight of him, Mrs. Polwhele let out a louder squeal than ever. -But the next moment she was hanging round his neck, and laughing and -sobbing by turns. And how long they'd have clung to one another there's -no know<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>ing, if it hadn't been for the language pouring from the -tool-shed.</p> - -<p>"My dear," said the Parson, holding himself up and listening, "I don't -think that can possibly be a Frenchman. He's too fluent."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Polwhele listened too, but after a while she was forced to cover -her face with both hands. "Oh, Richard, I've often heard 'em described -as gay, but—but they can't surely be so gay as all that!"</p> - -<p>The Parson eased her into an armchair and went downstairs to the -courtyard, and there, as you may suppose, he found the parish gathered.</p> - -<p>"Stand back all of you," he ordered. "I've a notion that some mistake -has been committed: but you had best hold yourselves ready in case the -prisoner tries to escape."</p> - -<p>"But, Parson dear, you're never going to unlock that door!" cried my -grandfather.</p> - -<p>"If you'll stand by me, Calvin," says the Parson, plucky as ginger, and -up he steps to the very door, all the parish holding its breath.</p> - -<p>He tapped once—no answer: twice—and no more answer than before. There -was a small trap open in the roof and through this the language kept -pouring with never a stop, only now and then a roar like a bull's. But -at the third knock it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> died down to a sort of rumbling, and presently -came a shout, "Who's there?"</p> - -<p>"A clergyman and justice of the peace," answers the Parson.</p> - -<p>"I'll have your skin for this!"</p> - -<p>"But you'll excuse me——"</p> - -<p>"I'll have your skin for this, and your blood in a bottle! I'm a -British officer and a gentleman, and I'll have you stuffed and put in a -glass case, so sure as my name's Bligh!"</p> - -<p>"Bligh?" says the Parson, opening the door.</p> - -<p>"Any relation to the Blighs of St. Tudy? Oh, no—it can't be!" he -stammered, taken all aback to see the man stark naked on the threshold. -"Why—why, you're the gentleman that called this morning!" he went on, -the light breaking in upon him: "excuse me, I recognise you by—by the -slight scar on your face."</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Well, Sir, there was nothing for Bligh to do—the whole parish staring -at him—but to slip back into the shed and put on the clothes my -grandfather handed in at the door: and while he was dressing the whole -truth came out. I won't say that he took the Parson's explanations in a -nice spirit: for he vowed to have the law on every one concerned. But -that night he walked back to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> Falmouth and took the London coach. As -for Helford River, 'twasn't charted that year nor for a score of years -after. And now you know how this creek came by its name; and I'll say -again, as I began, that a bad temper is an affliction, whoever owns -it.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="THE_MAN_BEHIND_THE_CURTAIN" id="THE_MAN_BEHIND_THE_CURTAIN">THE MAN BEHIND THE CURTAIN</a></p> - -<p class="center">AN EXTRACT FROM THE MEMOIRS OF GABRIEL FOOT, HIGHWAYMAN</p> - - -<p>I sit down to this chapter of my Memoirs with an unwonted relish, -because it exhibits me as an instrument in the hands of Providence. -Doubtless, in our business, we perform that function oftener than the -law recognises, but seldom so directly, so unequivocally, as in the -adventure I shall now relate. And I say this, not because it left -me with a title to one of the neatest little estates in the West of -England, but because I, the one man necessary to the situation, dropped -upon it (so to speak) with my hands in my pockets. I had never before -happened within thirty miles of Tregarrick town: I walked in at one -end purposing only to walk out at the other: and, but for a child's -practical joke, I had done so and forgotten the place. It was touch and -go, in short: the sort of thing to set you speculating on the possible -extent of man's missed opportunities.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p> - -<p>I had stepped ashore, after a voyage from Hull (undertaken from -expedience and not for health), upon the Market Strand at Falmouth, -with one shilling and fourpence in my pocket. I have been in lower -water, but never with such a job before me; and I started to tramp -it back to London with little more than a dog's determination to get -there somehow. The third afternoon found me in Tregarrick, wet through, -sullen, and moderately hungry. The time of year was October: all day it -had been raining and blowing chilly from the north-west; and traffic -had deserted the unlovely Fore Street when, as the town-clock chimed a -quarter to five, I passed the windows and open archway of the Red Hart -Hotel. A gust from the archway brought me up staggering and clutching -my hat: I faced round to it, and, in so doing, caught a momentary -glimpse, above the wire blind in a lower window, of a bald-headed man -within standing with his back to the street; and at the same instant -heard a coin drop on the pavement behind me.</p> - -<p>A richer man would have halted, turned and scanned the pavement as -I did. But a richer man would probably have taken longer to assure -himself that nothing had been lost from his pocket, and would certainly -have taken longer to suspect<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span> that the coin might have been tossed to -him in charity. I flung a glance up at the window overhead, and spied a -penny dangling over the sill by a string.</p> - -<p>At once I recognised the secular jest; and stepped across the roadway -to get a look at the performer. As I did so, an elderly man in an -Inverness cape and rusty hat and suit emerged briskly from the archway -of the inn, glanced up at the weather, and passed along the pavement -beneath the window.</p> - -<p>Thereupon, I saw the trick played to perfection. A curly-headed -youngster popped into view, leaned out, rang the coin down at the very -heels of the pedestrian, and whisked it as nimbly up. The man whipped -round and, seeing nothing, pulled out a pair of spectacles and began to -adjust them. I heard the youngster chuckle overhead as he stooped and -a deflected gust from the archway, skimming his hat into the gutter, -revealed the same bald head I had observed above the wire blind.</p> - -<p>Just then, three other faces appeared; one above the same blind and -two at the upper window behind the child. And a moment later I had -spun right-about on my heel and was apparently in deep study of a damp -placard upon a hoarding opposite.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> - -<p>The two faces at the upper window were interesting, had there been -time to consider them; and one—that of a lady, obviously the child's -mother—struck me as uncommonly beautiful, though pale and desperately -sad. Beside her stood a man, as obviously the father; a handsome -gentleman, with the flushed face and glassy stare of a drunkard. He -stood there chuckling at the trick, and even the lady was smiling -indulgently until she leaned out and caught a glimpse of the victim: -whereupon, with a sudden terrified snatch, she drew the boy back from -the window, and out of sight.</p> - -<p>It was then, as I looked at the bald-headed man, seeking some -explanation of her terror, that I caught sight of the face staring over -the wire blind in the lower window, and lost not a second in presenting -my back to it.</p> - -<p>It belonged to an old acquaintance of mine. "Acquaintance," I say, -because Robert Leggat and I had never been able to stomach each -other. There was perhaps a trifle too much of the gentleman about -both of us—enough, at any rate, to suggest rivalry, though we hunted -different game. "Buck" Leggat was by gifts and election a sedentary -scoundrel, with a tongue and a presence fatally plausible among women -and clergymen,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> and a neat adaptable pen. Whence he came, or of what -upbringing, I could never discover. I had heard some hint of an Oxford -education, but he never alluded to that University in my company. -Flash notes had brought him to the Old Bailey, and then his elegant -deportment and a nice point of circumstantial evidence had saved his -neck. This was about four years ago, and I had supposed him to be -somewhere in the Plantations when his bad handsome face confounded me -across Tregarrick Fore Street. He wore a clergyman's bands, too.</p> - -<p>By good luck he had not recognised me, but was occupied with the -bald-headed man who still groped on the pavement. The placard which I -appeared to be studying announced the Sale by Auction of a considerable -country estate, and my eyes roamed among such words as "farms," -"tenements," "messuages," "acres," while I cast up the possible profit -of my discovery. Here was I, pretty hungry, with barely the coin for a -night's lodging. Here was Leggat, escaped convict, lording it in the -coffee-room of a hotel, masquerading as a parson; therefore up to some -game—a bold one—by the look of it a paying one. Decidedly I ought, -with a little prudence, to handle a percentage.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span></p> - -<p>I edged away from the hoarding to the shop-front on my left—a -watchmaker's; and so, still presenting my back to the Red Hart, past a -saddler's, a tailor's, the entrance of the County Hall, and the Town -Clerk's office. Here, out of view from Leggat's window, I turned, -stepped across the street into the hotel archway, and walked boldly -into the coffee-room which opened out of it on the left.</p> - -<p>Leggat had disappeared. The room in fact was empty.</p> - -<p>I rang the bell, and after some minutes it was answered by a waitress, -a decent girl, though somewhat towzled.</p> - -<p>"There was a clergyman here a moment since," said I.</p> - -<p>"That will be Mr. Addison. Do you wish to see him?" She eyed me with -no great favour, and indeed my clothes ill agreed with the respectable -dinginess of the coffee-room.</p> - -<p>"So Addison's the name!" thought I, "and a pretty good one too. I -wonder if Leggat has the face to claim descent from the essayist. He's -capable of it." I pulled out my only shilling. "Well, yes, I want to -have a talk with him: but I'll sit down and wait till he comes, and -meanwhile you might bring me a glass of rum hot,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span> with one slice of -lemon. Mr. Addison is staying the night here, I suppose?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know," she answered. "Anyhow, he won't be riding home to -Welland till late. But hadn't you better come to the bar for your rum?"</p> - -<p>"Well," said I, "if it's all the same to you, I'll stay where I am. To -tell the truth, my dear, I've come to see Mr. Addison about putting up -my banns: and that's a delicate matter, eh!"</p> - -<p>Upon this she began to eye me more favourably, as I expected. There's -an <i>esprit de corps</i> among women—or an <i>esprit de sexe</i>, if you -will—which softens them towards the marrying man. Surrender to one, -surrender to all. "But you don't belong to Welland parish," said she.</p> - -<p>"Quite right. It takes two to make a wedding, and the young woman -belongs to Welland."</p> - -<p>"Who is she?"</p> - -<p>"Aha!" I winked at her knowingly.</p> - -<p>"I come from Welland parish myself," she went on, her curiosity fairly -piqued.</p> - -<p>"Then if you happen to be going home to church next Sunday keep your -ears open after the second lesson."</p> - -<p>She tossed her chin and went off on her errand, but returning in three -minutes with the grog, must needs have another try. "I reckon it's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> -Susie Martin," she declared, and nodded at me with conviction in her -eye.</p> - -<p>"Well, now, supposing it's Susie—and, mind you, I'm not admitting -it—you won't forbid the banns, I hope?"</p> - -<p>"La, no! And I'll wager Mr. Addison won't, either," she tittered.</p> - -<p>Plainly, here was an answer worth pondering. "You seem to be pretty -full in the bar, to-night?" I observed, casually, to gain time; and, -indeed, a hubbub of voices from across the archway smote on our ears -through the double baize doors.</p> - -<p>"The auctioneer is standing treat."</p> - -<p>"Oh!—ah, yes—the auctioneer, to be sure," I murmured.</p> - -<p>"The sale won't begin in the Long Room before six: he has half-an-hour -for wetting their whistles. Seeming to me, you'll be lucky if you -get Mr. Addison to attend to <i>your</i> business before it's over. But, -perhaps," she added archly, "you'll like to have a word with Susie, -to fill up the time? Shall I send her word that you are here? I dare -say she'll find a chance to slip down to you; that is, if her mistress -attends the auction."</p> - -<p>"But will she?" I asked, doing my best to look wise.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span></p> - -<p>She nodded sagely. "I shouldn't wonder. She'll want to look after the -squire; he's more than half drunk already."</p> - -<p>"It's plain you're a clever girl," I said; "but we'll let Susie wait -for a while. And my business can wait on Mr. Addison. If his is an -auction, mine is notoriously a lottery."</p> - -<p>"There's one thing to console you," she answered smartly and (in the -light of later knowledge I am bound to add) wittily; "you aren't -drawing a blank." And with this shaft she left me.</p> - -<p>Now the girl's talk was nothing short of heathen Greek to me, as -doubtless it is to the reader, and I sat for ten minutes at least -digesting it with the aid of my grog. Here was Leggat, my quarry, -identified with a Mr. Addison, incumbent or curate of a country -parish within riding distance of Tregarrick. He was here to attend an -auction. My thoughts flew to the bill I had been pretending to study -half-an-hour before; but unfortunately I had given it no particular -attention, and could only remember now that it advertised an estate of -good acreage. The name "Welland," indeed, struck me as familiar, but I -could not refer it to the bill, and must pull up for the moment and try -a cast upon a fresh scent—Susie Martin. Mr. Addison, <i>alias</i> Leggat, -is not likely to forbid her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> banns, whoever she may be; in other -words, won't be sorry to see her married. And Susie is a servant—of -a mistress who will probably be attending this auction—to look after -a drunken husband, who presumably, therefore, is also concerned in -the auction. I recalled the two faces at the upper window, the one -tipsy and the other sad, and felt pretty sure of having fixed Susie's -employers. I recalled the lady's start of terror as she had caught -sight of the bald-headed man below, and that I had first seen the -bald head behind the window out of which Leggat had looked a minute -later. If the bald-headed man had been talking with Leggat, this might -connect her terror with Leggat. And both she and Leggat were to attend -the auction. But what was this auction? And who the dickens was the -bald-headed man?</p> - -<p>The tangle—as the reader will admit—was a complicated one. But so far -fortune had served me fairly; and considering the adventure as a game, -in my knowledge of Leggat and his ignorance of my being anywhere in -the neighborhood, I still held the two best trumps. In speculating on -the possible strength of these two cards a new opening occurred to me. -I had come with the purpose of forcing Leggat to buy me off or admit -me into his game. But might there not be more<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> profit, as there would -certainly be less risk, in taking a hand against him? I had no fancy -for him as a partner. I knew him for an unhealthy villain, with an -instinct for preying on the weak, a born enemy of widows and orphans. -If only I could discover what the stakes were, and what cards the other -side held! Well, but I could have a try for this, even. I could, for -instance, apply to the squire for a job, and this might throw me in the -way of Susie Martin.</p> - -<p>I stepped to the baize door, and passed out upon the archway. Six yards -to the right, the Boots, with his back to me, was fixing a ladder to -climb it and light the great lantern over the entrance. To my left a -broad staircase ran up into the darkness. I tip-toed towards it, gained -the stairs, and mounted them swiftly, but without noise, guiding myself -by the handrail.</p> - -<p>The stairs ran up to the first floor in two flights, with a bend about -half-way. At the top of the second flight I found myself facing a -pitch-dark corridor. The rooms facing the street must (I knew) be on my -right; but as I groped along, my palm found the recess of a doorway on -my left, and pressed open the door which stood just ajar. I drew back -and listened: then, hearing no sound, poked my head cautiously within.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span></p> - -<p>The room was dark, but the glow of a dying fire at the farther end -gave me some idea of its dimensions. A faint reflection of this glow -fell upon the polished surface of something which I guessed to be a -mahogany table-leg, and, after a second or two, I perceived, or thought -I perceived, two heavily-curtained windows, reaching almost to the top -of the wall opposite.</p> - -<p>I was reconnoitring so, in the recess of the doorway, when I heard a -low tapping far up the corridor, and withdrew my head in time to see -a door open and the faint ray of a candle fall upon a figure standing -there, about twenty yards from my hiding-place; the black-coated figure -of Mark Leggat.</p> - -<p>"Hullo!" I said to myself. "Now for Susie!"</p> - -<p>It was not Susie, however, who stepped out and, closing the door behind -her, confronted Leggat, candle in hand. It was the pale lady I had seen -at the window.</p> - -<p>They stood for a moment conversing—so their attitude told me—in short -whispers; and then came slowly down the passage towards me, the lady -appearing to protest whilst Leggat persuaded and reassured her. At -first I took it for granted they would enter one of the doors opposite; -but, as they still came on, I saw that I must either retreat or be -discovered.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p> - -<p>I backed, therefore, around the half-open door and into the room. Then, -as their voices drew near, it flashed on me that this might be the room -they were seeking. I took three breathless paces across it, and found -the table's edge. Guiding myself by this, and guided by the mercy of -Heaven, which kept my feet from striking against the furniture, I found -myself within three yards of the window nearest to the fireplace, with -just time enough to make a dash for cover, and whip behind the curtain -before Leggat pushed the door wide, and the pair entered the room.</p> - -<p>"You <i>must</i> give me five minutes!" Leggat was saying. "I tell you it's -not for my sake, but for yours; it's your last chance!" Then, as the -lady made no answer—"You did not believe you had another chance?" he -asked.</p> - -<p>"There can be none!" she answered now. "You have ruined me; you have -ruined us all: and it was my fault for not warning Harry in time."</p> - -<p>"My dear Ethel," he began; but a gesture of hers must have interrupted -him, for he checked himself, and went on—"Very well, then, my dear -Mrs. Carthew, if you prefer it; you are at once too weak and too -scrupulous. A fatal defect, although you make it charming! Until -too<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> late, you hid from yourself that you loved me. When that became -impossible you ran for shelter behind your vows and a theory—which you -know in your heart to be impossible—that I, who had ventured so much -for you, did not love you."</p> - -<p>"Love!" she echoed hoarsely. "What love could it have been that sought -this way?"</p> - -<p>"Well, as it happens, it <i>was</i> a way. Harry? Tut-tut, with Harry I was -merely the handiest excuse for going to the devil. Suppose you had -never set eyes on me. You know well enough he was bound to gamble away -Welland sooner or later, just as he will sooner or later drink himself -dead. I am sorry for the child; but, look you, I am going to be frank. -It was just through the child I hoped to get you. To save Welland for -<i>him</i> I believed you would follow your heart and take my help with -my love. You wouldn't. You couldn't help loving me, but—as you put -it—you are a good woman: and even now, with the sale but an hour away -and a sot of a husband to lead off with poverty, you won't."</p> - -<p>She had set down the candle on the table; and now, having made a -peephole between the two curtains, I saw her lift her head proudly.</p> - -<p>"No," she said, "to my shame I loved you; but you would buy me, and I -am not to be bought."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I know it," he answered, and let out a grim laugh. "But on one point -I am going to prove you mistaken. You believe that because I tried -bribery I did not love you. You win by that error; but it is an error -nevertheless, as I am going to prove."</p> - -<p>While her eyes questioned him he drew a roll of notes from his pocket.</p> - -<p>"Your fond brother-in-law intends to buy Welland," said he.</p> - -<p>"James?"</p> - -<p>"To be sure," he nodded while he ran through the notes with finger and -thumb. "As the eldest brother, James Carthew wants Welland, to add -it to the entailed estates. He has always wanted it: but these eight -months, since that infant was born to him, he has wanted it ten times -more. To-night he bids for it: and for decency's sake he bids through -me—which is precisely where he comes to grief."</p> - -<p>"I don't understand."</p> - -<p>Leggat went on silently counting the notes. "Three thousand, five -hundred," he answered; "the deposit money and a trifle over, in case -of accidents. James Carthew is a rich man. I should reckon him up at a -hundred and twenty thousand, and be within the mark."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span></p> - -<p>"But why should he employ you?"</p> - -<p>"In the first place, I suppose, because I've played the game for him -throughout, and played it pretty successfully."</p> - -<p>"<i>You?</i>"</p> - -<p>He nodded. "You don't suppose Harry was playing against <i>me</i> all this -while? My dear lady, you cannot ruin a man at the cards without some -capital of your own; that is, supposing you play straight, as I beg to -observe that I did. No, no: I had a backer, and that backer was your -amiable brother-in-law."</p> - -<p>"But why?"</p> - -<p>"Simply because a steady-going man like James, however much he inherits -by entail, resents the choicest portion of the property—which does not -happen to be entailed—being willed away to a loose dog of a younger -brother. And when that younger brother marries and has a son, whereas -he has married a childless woman, he resents it yet more bitterly. -He cannot digest the grievance that, when he dies, the whole must go -to the son of the brother who sits and drinks the wine in Naboth's -vineyard. But, as it happens, his childless wife dies, and presto! he -marries again. At a decent interval a child is born, and now is his -time to play a tit-for-tat."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p> - -<p>"He always hated us, I know," she murmured. "But <i>you</i>——"</p> - -<p>"But I," he answered gaily, "am about to spoil that pretty game—and -for your sake. Yes, and although you don't know how, and will never -know how, I am going to risk my neck for it." He tossed the bundle of -notes across the table towards her. She put out a hand as it rolled off -the table's edge and dropped at her feet. "Count them: because I have -to use them to-night to buy Welland back for you." And now there was -a real thrill in his voice. "Count them," he insisted: "they are only -the first-fruits, and after to-night you may never see me again: they -are only the deposit on the price, and after the auction I shall ride -away—not back to Welland Vicarage. But I have a word to leave, or to -send, for Master James Carthew, and if these notes do not buy Welland -back for you I am mistaken. I am what I am, and from what we are such -poor devils as I cannot escape. But at least I have loved you, and in -the end you shall be sure of it. Count them!"</p> - -<p>He wheeled about on the words as the door was flung open. On the -threshold stood Squire Harry Carthew.</p> - -<p>He was white in the face and more than half-<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>drunk. Under one arm he -carried a leather-covered case and a pair of foils. His gaze wandered -from his wife to Leggat, then back again to his wife.</p> - -<p>"I want," said he, addressing her with husky solemnity, "a word with -Mr. Addison in private." She bent her head and moved from the room, and -he bowed as she passed, but somewhat spoiled the effect by shutting the -door upon her train.</p> - -<p>"I think," he said, closing the door a second time and locking it upon -her—and his tone grew suddenly sharp, though he remained none the less -drunk—"I think, Mr. Addison, we need waste no time. My wife's maid, -Susie, has told me all that is necessary. You will choose one of those -pistols, and we can settle the matter here and now. No!"—for Leggat -had begun to edge towards the packet of notes lying on the floor—"you -are not to stir, please, until we understand one another." He laid the -foils on the table and held out the case. Leggat took the pistol next -to his hand.</p> - -<p>"You are drunk, Carthew."</p> - -<p>"Am I? Well, that is likely enough, and as a sportsman you won't object -to allow for it in our arrangements." He slipped the door-key into -his breeches pocket and, still holding the pistol<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> in his right hand, -leaned forward and laid his left on the base of the candlestick. "You -start from that end of the room, and I from this by the fireplace. Are -you ready? Here, take one of the foils too. After I have blown the -candle out you will remain at your end and count twenty, in silence, of -course. I will do the same at my end, and then we begin."</p> - -<p>"Don't be a fool, man! This is no duel; it is murder, and foolish -murder."</p> - -<p>Squire Carthew puffed out the candle. Then the guard of the foil -rattled softly upon the mahogany as he closed his hand upon it. "Count -twenty, please."</p> - -<p>I leave the reader to picture my situation. There, in the silence and -the darkness with these two—one of them drunk—prowling to kill. In -all my experience I can recall nothing so entirely discomfortable. I -had no defence but the folds of a window curtain. I could not stir -without inviting a thrust or a pistol shot, or both. And I may remark -here, that there is a degree of terror which resembles physical -sickness. <i>Experto credite.</i></p> - -<p>I heard the men kick off their shoes; and after that for many -seconds—though I strained my ears, you may be sure—I heard nothing.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span></p> - -<p>Then a hand brushed upon the woodwork of the recess and even rested -for a moment against the curtain, within six inches of my nose. It was -Leggat I could be sworn. I drew back as his fingers felt the stuff of -the curtain and passed on groping; I even heard the soft crack of his -elbow-joint as he gripped the foil again, which for the moment he must -have tucked under his armpit.</p> - -<p>And with that it flashed on me what he was after—the roll of notes -lying on the floor, between the table and the fireplace, barely a foot -beyond the table's edge and perhaps four yards from my hiding place. -I knew the spot exactly. Squire Carthew had almost touched the packet -with his foot as he stooped to blow out the candle.</p> - -<p>I dropped on hands and knees behind my curtain, pushed it softly aside -and began to crawl. I could hear nothing now but my own heart drumming. -For the next few moments, if I made no sound, it was unlikely either -that Leggat would steal back upon me or that the squire could reach me -without encountering Leggat. My hand touched the table-leg, and the -touch of it, coming unexpectedly, almost made me cry out. A moment -later I felt more easy. Once beneath the table I was comparatively -safe. But I must get my hand on these notes, and after pausing a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span> -second I steered towards the fireplace, poked out my head and shoulders -beyond the table, and smoothed my palm across the floor until my -fingers touched the packet and closed upon it.</p> - -<p>At that moment, in the darkness, to the left, a foil rattled against -a chair. The sound was a slight one, but it betrayed Leggat's -whereabouts, and, with a gasp of triumph, Carthew came running upon him -from the right.</p> - -<p>I ducked my head, but before I could slip back he had blundered right -across my shoulders, which reached, perhaps, to his knees. He went over -me with an oath and a crash, and as he struck the floor his pistol -exploded.</p> - -<p>I drew back with the smoke of it in my mouth and nostrils—and -listened. Not a sound came from Leggat's corner, not a groan from the -body stretched within reach. The man was dead, for certain; and we -others had no time to lose.</p> - -<p>A thud in the corridor outside called me to my senses. "Robert Leggat," -I cried, "this is a black night's job for you! Lay down that pistol, -find your shoes, and run!"</p> - -<p>At this distance of time I would give something to know how it took -him—this voice calling his true name out of the darkness and across -Carthew's body.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span></p> - -<p>"My God! Who is that?" he asked, and I could hear his teeth chattering.</p> - -<p>Before I had need to answer, he broke from his corner and flung up the -window, but recollected himself, and ran for his shoes. He had scarcely -found them when there came that rush upon the stairs for which I had -been listening, and a woman's voice screamed, "The Mistress! They've -murdered the mistress!"</p> - -<p>In my heart I blessed Mrs. Carthew—poor soul—for having swooned so -conveniently outside the door. By this time Leggat was clambering -across the window sill. What sort of drop lay below it? I saw the black -mass of his body framed there for a moment against a sky almost as -black, and watched as he lowered himself, and disappeared. I listened -for the thud of a fall; but none came, and running to see what had -befallen him, I caught another glimpse of him as he stole past a lit -skylight in a long flat roof scarcely six feet below.</p> - -<p>Here was luck beyond my hoping. The crowd in the passage was still -occupied with Mrs. Carthew, but at length someone tried the handle -of the door. This was my cue. I clambered out after Leggat—who by -this time had disappeared—drew down the window-sash cau<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>tiously and -wriggled across the leads of the roof, pausing only at the skylight -to peer down into an empty room, where a score of wooden-seated -chairs stood in disarray by a long table—the deserted auction-room, -doubtless. At the far end of this roof a chimney-stack rose gaunt -against the night; and flattening myself against the side of it, I -waited for the dull crash which told that the crowd had broken in the -door.</p> - -<p>I had made better speed, you understand, but for the risk of overtaking -Leggat and being recognised. As it was, I had set the worst of all -terrors barking at his heels, and by and by—it may have been after -three minutes' wait—I chuckled at the sound of a horse's hoofs in the -stable-yard below me. It was too dark for me to catch sight of the -rider as he mounted; but he made for the lower gate of the yard and, -once past it, broke into a gallop. As its echoes died away, I began my -search for the ladder by which Leggat had descended; found it, as I had -expected, in the form of a stout water-pipe; and having reached the -ground without mishap, brushed and smoothed my clothes and sauntered up -the stable-yard to the hotel archway.</p> - -<p>At the foot of the stairs there, I was almost bowled over by the Boots, -who came flying down<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> three stairs at a stride. "The Doctor!" he -shouted: "the Doctor!" He tore past me and out into the street.</p> - -<p>I entered the coffee-room and rang the bell.</p> - -<p>I suppose that I rang it at intervals for something like half-an-hour -before the waitress found me yawning before the exhausted fire.</p> - -<p>"Sale over yet?" I asked pleasantly.</p> - -<p>"Sale over? Sale ov—?" She set down the lamp and gasped. "Do you tell -me that you've slept through it all?"</p> - -<p>"All what, my dear?"</p> - -<p>Out it all came in a flood. "The Squire's shot himself! In the Blue -Room over your very head—locked the door and shot himself clean -through the brains! Poor gentleman, he felt his position, though he did -drink so fierce. And now he's gone, and Mrs. Carthew no sooner out of -one swoon than into another."</p> - -<p>"Bless my soul!" cried I. "Now you speak of it, I <i>did</i> hear something -like a pistol shot; but that must have been half-an-hour ago."</p> - -<p>"It's a wonder," she said tragically, "his blood didn't drip on you -through the ceiling."</p> - -<p>It was useless (she agreed with me) to expect Mr. Addison to attend -to my business that night. Indeed, though he was doubtless somewhere -in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> the crowd, she could not recall having seen him. It would also be -useless, and worse, to seek an interview with Susie, who was attending -to her poor mistress.</p> - -<p>"Very well," I said. "Then since I can see neither the parson nor -the girl, I must make shift with the lawyer. No, my dear, you need -not stare at me like that, I don't put my money on my back, like -some of your gentry; but while I keep enough in my pocket there's no -law in England against my employing as good an attorney as poor Mr. -Carthew—or, if I choose, the very same man."</p> - -<p>"What? Mr. Retallack?"</p> - -<p>I nodded. "That's it—Mr. Retallack. I take it he came to attend the -auction, and is upstairs at this moment."</p> - -<p>"Why, yes; it was he that gave orders to break in the door and found -the body. He began putting questions to Mrs. Carthew, but the poor soul -wasn't fit to answer. And then he and Mr. James tackled Susie, who -swore she knew nothing of the business until she heard the shot—as we -all did—and, running out, found her mistress stretched in the passage: -and now she's attending to her in the bedroom with the doctor. So the -lawyer's at a standstill."</p> - -<p>"Mr. James Carthew? Is <i>he</i> here too?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Yes: he's living at his town house this week, but he came here -to-night—for the sale, I suppose. He's upstairs now, and his wife -along with him; she heard the news cried up the street and came running -down all agog with her bonnet on top of her nightcap. But I mustn't -stay talking."</p> - -<p>"No, indeed you must not," said I. "Here, tell me where you keep your -tinder-box.... Now, while I light the candles, do you run upstairs -and tell Mr. Retallack privately that a person wishes to speak with -him in the coffee-room on an important matter and one connected with -to-night's business."</p> - -<p>The girl, hungry to be back at the scene of horror, lost no time. I had -scarcely time to light the four candles on the chimney-piece when the -baize door opened and I found myself bowing to a white-haired little -gentleman with a kindly, flustered face. He was plainly suffering from -nervous excitement in a high degree, and in the act of bowing attempted -to rearrange his shirt-frill with an undecided hand.</p> - -<p>"Good evening, Mr. Retallack."</p> - -<p>"You sent for me——" he began, and broke off, obviously dismayed by my -rough clothes and not altogether liking the look of his customer.</p> - -<p>I offered him a chair; he looked at it doubtfully,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> but shook his head. -"My business is of moment," said I, "and of some urgency. That must -excuse me for summoning you just now, since as a matter of fact it has -less to do with the unhappy pair upstairs than with what I take to be -the cause of it. I mean the sale of the Welland estate."</p> - -<p>He spread out his hands. "At such a time!" he protested.</p> - -<p>"I am glad to find, sir, that you feel so deeply, since it proves you -to be a real friend of the family. But as a lawyer you will not let -emotion obscure your good sense, or miss a chance of saving Welland for -the poor lady and orphan child upstairs merely because it happens to -present itself at an untoward moment."</p> - -<p>He eyed me, fumbling with the seals at his fob. His mind was by no -means clear, but professional instinct seemed to warn him that my words -were important.</p> - -<p>"I do not know you, sir," he quavered; "but if you are here with any -plan of saving Welland, I must tell you sadly that you waste time. I -have thought of a hundred plans, sir, but have found none workable. It -has destroyed my rest for months—for, with all his failings, I was -sincerely attached to young Mr. Carthew, and no less sincerely to his -unhappy lady. I warned him a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> hundred times: but the debts exist, the -mortgagees foreclose, and Welland must go."</p> - -<p>"Who are the mortgagees?"</p> - -<p>"A joint-stock company in London, sir, which lives upon this form of -usury. Men with bowels of brass. It was against my strongest warning -that Mr. Harry went to them."</p> - -<p>"The amount?"</p> - -<p>"Thirty-four thousand pounds."</p> - -<p>"Will the estate sell for that figure?"</p> - -<p>"Scarcely, at a forced sale; unless some purchaser took a special fancy -to it or had some special reason for acquiring it."</p> - -<p>"Suppose, now, that I offer thirty-four thousand to buy the estate by -private contract. Would such an offer be accepted?"</p> - -<p>"Indubitably. The mortgagees could offer no objection, even if they -wished; for they would be paid; but, in fact, they scarcely hope for so -much. You will excuse me, however——"</p> - -<p>"In a moment, Mr. Retallack. Still, supposing that I offer thirty-four -thousand, a deposit on the purchase money would be required. Can you -name the sum?"</p> - -<p>"Unless the purchaser were well known in this neighbourhood ten per -cent. would be asked, or three thousand four hundred."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Leaving me a hundred," I said musingly.</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing: a bad habit I have of talking to myself. Will you pardon a -question of some abruptness? You are acquainted, no doubt, with the -present Mrs. James Carthew?"</p> - -<p>"Slightly." He looked at me in some puzzlement. "She was Mr. James's -housekeeper."</p> - -<p>"So I have heard. Is she a woman of strong mind? with an influence upon -her husband?"</p> - -<p>Mr. Retallack positively smiled.</p> - -<p>"You may be sure he would never have married her without it. Oh, -there's no doubt about the strength of her mind!"</p> - -<p>"Middle-aged, I believe? With one child, and not likely to have -another?"</p> - -<p>"It astonished us all when this one was born. Indeed, people do -say—but I mustn't repeat tattle."</p> - -<p>"No, indeed. But a man like James Carthew, with a large entail at -stake, might be forgiven——" I did not finish my sentence, but stepped -to the bell and rang it.</p> - -<p>"Excuse me, sir," said Mr. Retallack; "you began by promising—at least -by holding out some hope—that Welland might be preserved for Mrs. -Harry Carthew and her son. But so far<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span> you have told me nothing except -that you wish to purchase it yourself."</p> - -<p>"I think, rather, that you must have jumped to that conclusion. My dear -sir, do I <i>look</i> like a man able to purchase Welland? No, no; I am -merely the agent of a friend who is unhappily prevented from treating -in person. My dear"—I turned to the waitress who entered at this -moment—"would you mind running upstairs and telling Mr. and Mrs. James -Carthew that Mr. Addison has ridden home, leaving a packet of notes -behind him; and that the person in possession of that packet wishes to -see them both—be particular to say 'both'—in private."</p> - -<p>"Sir, sir!" exclaimed Mr. Retallack, as the maid shut the door. I -turned to find him eyeing me between suspicion and alarm. "Either you -have not been frank with me, or you must be ignorant that James Carthew -has been no brotherly brother of poor Harry. He is the last man before -whom I should care to discuss the purchase of Welland. I have, indeed, -more than once suspected him of being in collusion with the Mr. Addison -you mention, and, in part, responsible for the disaster into which, -as I maintain, that reverend gentleman has hurried my poor friend. If -there be any question of James Carthew's pur<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span>chasing Welland (and I -will confess the fear of this has been troubling me) I must decline to -listen to it until fate compels me. To-night, with Harry Carthew lying -dead in the room above, I will not hear it so much as suggested."</p> - -<p>"Then, my excellent Mr. Retallack, do not start suggesting it. Ah, -here they are!" said I, pleasantly, as the door opened, and, as I -expected, my bald-headed man appeared on the threshold, and was -followed by a grim-looking female in a fearsome head-dress compounded -of bonnet and nightcap. "Sir," I began, addressing James Carthew with -much affability, "it is through our common friend, Mr. Addison, that I -venture to commend myself to you and to your good lady."</p> - -<p>"And who may you be?" Mrs. James demanded, with sufficient bluntness.</p> - -<p>"You may put me down as Captain Richard Steele, madam, of the -<i>Spectator</i>, not the <i>Tatler</i>; and I have sent for you in a hurry, for -which I must apologise, because our friend, Mr. Addison, has ridden -from Tregarrick to-night on urgent private business, and I am here to -carry out certain intentions of his with regard to a bundle of notes -which he left in my keeping."</p> - -<p>"I don't know you, sir; and I don't know your game," struck in James -Carthew roughly; "but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span> if the notes are mine, as I suspect, I beg to -state that I never intended——"</p> - -<p>"Quite so," I took him up amiably. "You do good by stealth and blush to -find it known. But, in view of the sad event upstairs, there can be no -harm in my stating before so discreet a lawyer as Mr. Retallack what I -had from Mr. Addison's own lips—that these notes were intended by you -for the deposit-money on the purchase of Welland."</p> - -<p>"Addison had no right——"</p> - -<p>"Of course, if I misread his directions, you can refer to him to -correct me—when he returns. As it is, I heard it from him most plainly -that—thanks to you—Welland was to be rescued and preserved for Mr. -Harry Carthew's child. Mr. Retallack tells me that thirty-four thousand -pounds is the sum needed, and that, of this, ten per cent., or three -thousand four hundred, will be accepted as deposit money. It happens -that I have but a short time to spend in Tregarrick, and therefore I -have ventured to summon you and madam to bear witness that I hand this -sum over to the person competent to receive it." And with this I took -the notes from my breast-pocket and began to count them out carefully -upon the table.</p> - -<p>"This fellow is drunk," said Mr. James<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span> Carthew, addressing the lawyer. -"The notes are mine, as I can prove. They were entrusted by me to Mr. -Addison——"</p> - -<p>"Who, it appears, has surrendered them," said Mr. Retallack drily. "Did -Mr. Addison give you a receipt?"</p> - -<p>"They are mine, and were entrusted to him for a private purpose. This -fellow can have come by them in no honest way. Impound them if you -will; I can wait for Addison's testimony. But as for intending to make -a present of Welland to that brat of Harry's——"</p> - -<p>"Not directly to him," I interrupted, having done with my counting, -and folding away two notes for fifty pounds apiece in my pocket. "On -second thoughts, Mr. Retallack shall make out the conveyance to me, and -I will assign a lease retaining the present tenant in possession at a -nominal rent of, let me say, five shillings a year. I am sorry to give -him so much trouble at this late hour, but it is important that I leave -Tregarrick without avoidable delay."</p> - -<p>"I can well believe that," James Carthew began. But the lawyer who, -without a notion of my drift, was now playing up to me very prettily, -interrupted him again.</p> - -<p>"This is very well, sir," said he, addressing me;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span> "very well, indeed. -But if, as you say, you are leaving Tregarrick, at what date may we -expect the purchase to be completed?"</p> - -<p>"Why, that I must leave to you and Mr. James Carthew."</p> - -<p>"To me, sir?" thundered Mr. James, every vein on his bald head -swelling. "To <i>me</i>! Are you mad, as well as drunk? When I tell you, Mr. -Retallack——"</p> - -<p>I glanced up with a smile and caught his wife's eye. And to my dying -day I shall respect that woman. From first to last she had listened -without the wink of an eyelash; but now she spoke up firmly.</p> - -<p>"If I were you, James, I wouldn't be a fool. The best use you can make -of your breath is to ask Mr. Retallack to leave the room."</p> - -<p>The lawyer, at a nod from me, withdrew.</p> - -<p>"Now," said she, as the door closed, "speak up and tell me what's the -matter."</p> - -<p>"The matter, madam," I answered, "is Addison. He's an escaped convict, -and no more a clergyman than—excuse me—you are."</p> - -<p>I declare that, still, not an eyelash of her quivered: but her ass of a -husband broke in—</p> - -<p>"I don't believe it! I won't believe it! Tell us how you came by the -notes."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span></p> - -<p>"James, I beg you not to be a fool. Has he cut and run?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"He has."</p> - -<p>"You can find him?"</p> - -<p>"No," said I, "and I don't want to. But I can get a message conveyed -that will probably reach and warn him—if he has not thought of it -already—to send a letter to the Bishop formally resigning his living."</p> - -<p>Then Mrs. James Carthew made a totally unexpected and, as I still hold, -a really humorous remark.</p> - -<p>"Drat the fellow!" she said. "And he preached an Assize Sermon too!"</p> - -<p>But once again her ass of a mate broke in.</p> - -<p>"What, in the devil's name, are you parleying about, Maria? Addison or -no Addison, you don't suppose I'm to be blackmailed into buying Welland -for that young whelp!"</p> - -<p>"Just as you please," said I. "If you prefer the money being raised for -him on the entail, so be it."</p> - -<p>"On the entail?" He opened and shut his mouth like a fish.</p> - -<p>"Yes, sir; on the entail—<i>his parents not having employed Mr. Addison -to marry them</i>."</p> - -<p>But at this point Mrs. James, without deigning me another look, tucked -the poor fool under her arm and carried him off.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span></p> - -<p>I left Tregarrick two days later with a hundred pounds in my pocket: -for the odd notes seemed to me a fair commission on a very satisfactory -job. Now, as I look back on my adventure, I detect several curious -points in it. The first is, that I have never set eyes on Susie Martin: -the second, that I never had another interview with Mr. or Mrs. James -Carthew: the third, that neither then nor since have I ever had a -word of thanks from the lady and child to whom I rendered this signal -service. The one, so far as I know, never saw me: the other saw me only -for that instant when he dropped me a penny for a trick. To both, I -am known only as Captain Richard Steele, and whoever inhabits Welland -pays five shillings out of one pocket into another for his tenancy, and -will continue to do so. But, perhaps, what the reader will most wonder -at, is that I—Gabriel Foot—having my hand on three thousand five -hundred pounds, and a clear run for it, should have yielded up all but -a hundred for a widow and orphan, who never heard of my existing. Well, -perhaps, the secret is that Leggat intended to yield it, and I pride -myself on being a better man than Leggat. In short, I have, within -limits, a conscience.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="RAIN_OF_DOLLARS" id="RAIN_OF_DOLLARS">RAIN OF DOLLARS</a></p> - - -<p class="center">I</p> - -<p>At nine o'clock or thereabouts in the morning of January 5, 1809, five -regiments of British infantry and a troop of horse artillery with six -guns were winding their way down the eastern slope of a ravine beyond -Nogales, in the fastnesses of Galicia. They formed the reserve of -Sir John Moore's army, retreating upon Corunna; and as they slid or -skidded down the frozen road in the teeth of a snowstorm, the men of -the 28th and 95th Rifles, who made up the rearguard—for the cavalry -had been sent forward as being useless for protection in this difficult -country—were forced to turn from time to time and silence the fire of -the French, close upon their heels and galling them.</p> - -<p>A dirty brown trail, trodden and churned by the main army and again -frozen hard, gave them the course of the road as it zig-zagged into the -ravine; but, even had the snow obliterated the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span> track, the regiments -could have found their way by the dead bodies strewing it—bodies of -men, of horses, even of women and children—some heaped by the wind's -eddies with thick coverlets of white, so that their forms could only -be guessed; others half sunk, with a glazing of thin ice over upturned -faces and wide-open eyes; others again flung in stiff contortions -across the very road—here a man with his fists clenched to his ribs, -there a horse on its back with all four legs in air, crooked, and -rigid as poles. The most of these horses had belonged to the dragoons, -who, after leading them to the last, had been forced to slaughter -them: for the poor brutes cast their shoes on the rough track, and -the forage-carts with the cavalry contained neither spare shoes nor -nails. The women and children, with sick stragglers and plunderers, had -made up that horrible, shameful tail-pipe which every retreating army -drags in its wake—a crowd to which the reserve had for weeks acted as -whippers-in, herding them through Bembibre, Calcabellos, Villa Franca, -Nogales; driving them out of wine-shops; shaking, pricking, clubbing -them from drunken stupor into panic; pushing them forward through the -snow until they collapsed in it to stagger up no more. Strewn between -the corpses along the wayside lay broken<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span> carts and cartwheels, -bundles, knapsacks, muskets, shakos, split boots, kettles, empty -wine-flasks—whatever the weaker had dropped and the stronger had found -not worth the gleaning.</p> - -<p>The regiments lurched by sullenly, savagely. They were red-eyed -with want of sleep and weary from an overnight march of thirty-five -miles; and they had feasted their fill of these sights. On this side -of Herrerias, for example, they had passed a group of three men, a -woman, and a child, lying dead in a circle around a broken cask and -a frozen pool of rum. And at Nogales they had drained a wine-vat, to -discover its drowned owner at the bottom. They themselves were sick -and shaking with abstinence after drunkenness; heavy with shame, -too. For though incomparably better behaved than the main body, the -reserve had disgraced themselves once or twice, and incurred a stern -lesson from Paget, their General. On a low hill before Calcabellos he -had halted them, formed them in a hollow square with faces inwards, -set up his triangles, and flogged the drunkards collected during the -night by the patrols. Then, turning to two culprits taken in the act -of robbing a peaceful Spaniard, he had them brought forward with ropes -around their necks and hoisted, under a tree,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span> upon the shoulders of -the provost-marshal's men. While the ropes were being knotted to the -branches overhead, an officer rode up at a gallop to report that the -French were driving in our picquets on the other side of the hill. "I -am sorry for it, Sir," answered Paget; "but though <i>that</i> angle of the -square should be attacked, I shall hang these villains in <i>this</i> one." -After a minute's silence he asked his men, "If I spare these two, will -you promise me to reform?" There was no answer. "If I spare these men, -shall I have your word of honour as soldiers that you will reform?" -Still the men kept silence, until a few officers whispered them to say -"Yes," and at once a shout of "Yes!" broke from every corner of the -square. This had been their lesson, and from Calcabellos onward the -division had striven to keep its word. But a sullen flame burned in -their sick bodies; and when they fought they fought viciously, as men -with a score to wipe off and a memory to drown.</p> - -<p>A few hours ago they had resembled scarecrows rather than British -soldiers; now, having ransacked at Nogales a train of carts full of -Spanish boots and clothing—which had been sent thither by mistake -and lay abandoned, without mules, muleteers, or guards—they showed a -medley of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span> costumes. Some wore grey breeches, others blue; some black -boots, others white, others again black and white together; while not -a few carried several pairs slung round their necks. Some had wrapped -themselves in <i>ponchos</i>, others had replaced the regulation greatcoat -with a simple blanket. But, wild crew as they seemed, they swung down -the road in good order, kept steady by discipline and the fighting -spirit and a present sense of the enemy close at hand.</p> - -<p>Ahead of them, on the far side of the ravine, loomed a mountain white -from base to summit save where a scarp of sheer cliff had allowed but -a powder of snow to cling or, settling in the fissures, to cross-hatch -the wrinkles of its forbidding face. A stream, hidden far out of sight -by the near wall of the ravine, chattered aloud as it swept around the -mountain's base on a sharp curve, rattling the boulders in its bed. -During the first part of the descent mists and snow-wreaths concealed -even the lip of the chasm through which this noisy water poured; but -as the leading regiment neared it, the snowstorm lifted, the clouds -parted, and a shaft of wintry sunshine pierced the valley, revealing a -bridge of many arches. For the moment it seemed a fairy bridge spanning -gulfs of nothingness; next—for it stood aslant to the road—its<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span> -narrow archways appeared as so many portals, tall and cavernous, -admitting to the bowels of the mountain. But beyond it the road resumed -its zig-zags, plainly traceable on the snow. The soldiers, as they -neared the bridge, grunted their disapproval of these zig-zags beyond -it. A few lifted their muskets and took imaginary aim, as much as to -say, "That's how the French from here will pick us off as we mount -yonder."</p> - -<p>The General had been the first to perceive this, and ran his forces -briskly across the bridge—his guns first, then his infantry at the -double. He found a party of engineers at work on the farther arches, -preparing to destroy them as soon as the British were over; but ordered -them to desist and make their way out of danger with all speed. For -the stream—as a glance told him—was fordable both above and below -the bridge, and they were wasting their labour. Moreover, arches of so -narrow a span could be easily repaired.</p> - -<p>Engineers, therefore, and artillery and infantry together pressed -briskly up the exposed gradients, and were halted just beyond -musket-shot from the bank opposite, having suffered little on the way -from the few French voltigeurs who had arrived in time to fire with -effect. Though<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span> beyond their range, the British position admirably -commanded the bridge and the bridge-head; and Paget, warming to his -work and willing to give tit-for-tat after hours of harassment, devised -an open insult for his pursuers.</p> - -<p>He ordered the guns to be unlimbered and their horses to be led out of -sight. Then, regiment by regiment, he sent his division onward—20th, -52nd, 91st, and Rifles—pausing only at his trusted 28th, whom he -proceeded to post with careful inconspicuousness; the light company -behind a low fence in flank of the guns and commanding the bridge, -the grenadiers about a hundred yards behind them, and the battalion -companies yet a little further to the rear. While the 28th thus -disposed themselves, the rest of the division moved off, leaving the -guns to all appearance abandoned. The General spread his greatcoat, -and seating himself on the slope behind the light company, cheerfully -helped himself to snuff from the pocket of his buff-leather waistcoat. -Meanwhile the sky had been clearing steadily, and the sunshine, at -first so feeble, fell on the slope with almost summer warmth. The -28th, under the lee of the mountain-cliffs, looked up and saw white -clouds chasing each other across deep gulfs of blue, looked down and -saw<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span> the noon rays glinting on their enemy's accoutrements beyond the -bridge-head. The French were gathering fast, but could not yet make up -their minds to assault.</p> - -<p>"Our friends," said the General, pouring himself a drink from his -pocket-flask, "don't seem in a hurry to add to their artillery."</p> - -<p>The men of the light company, standing near him, laughed as they -munched their rations. For three days they had plodded through snow -and sleet with hot hearts, nursing their Commander-in-Chief's reproof -at Calcabellos: "You, 28th, are not the men you used to be. You are no -longer the regiment who to a man fought by my side in Egypt!" So Moore -had spoken, and ridden off contemptuously, leaving the words to sting. -They not only stung, but rankled; for to the war-cry of "Remember -Egypt!" the 28th always went into action: and they had been rebuked in -the presence of Paget, now their General of Division, but once their -Colonel, and the very man under whom they had won their proudest title, -"the Backplates." It was Paget who, when once in Egypt the regiment had -to meet two simultaneous attacks, in front and rear, had faced his rear -rank about and gloriously repulsed both charges.</p> - -<p>At the moment of Moore's reproof Paget had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span> said nothing, and he made -no allusion to it now. But the 28th understood. They knew why he had -posted them alone here, and why he remained to watch. He was giving -them a splendid chance, if a forlorn one. In the recovered sunshine -their hearts warmed to him.</p> - -<p>Unhappily, the French did not seem disposed to walk into the trap. -Their fire slackened—from the first it had not been serious—and they -loitered by the bridge-end awaiting reinforcements. Yet from time to -time they pushed small parties across the fords above and below the -bridge; and at length Paget sent a young subaltern up to the crest of -the ridge on his flank, to see how many had collected thus on the near -side of the stream. The subaltern reported—"Two or three hundred."</p> - -<p>By this time the 28th had been posted for an hour or more; time enough -to give the main body of the reserve a start of four miles. General -Paget consulted his watch, returned it to his fob, and ordered the guns -to be horsed again. As the artillerymen led their horses forward, he -turned to the infantry, eyed their chapfallen faces, and composedly -took snuff.</p> - -<p>"Twenty-eighth, if you don't get fighting enough it's not my fault."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span></p> - -<p>This was all he said, but it went to the men's hearts. "You'll give -us another chance, Sir?" answered one or two. He had given them back -already some of their old self-esteem, and if they were disappointed of -a scrimmage, so was he.</p> - -<p>But it would never do, since the French shirked a direct attack, to -linger and be turned in flank by the numbers crossing the fords. So, -having horsed his guns and sent them forward to overtake the reserve, -Paget ordered the 28th to quit their position and resume the march.</p> - -<p>No sooner were they in motion than the enemy's leading column began -to pour across the bridge; its light companies, falling in with the -scattered troops from the fords, pressed down upon the British rear; -and the 28th took up once more the Parthian game in which they were -growing expert. For three miles along the climbing road they marched, -faced about for a skirmish, drove back their pursuers, and marched -forward again, always in good order; the enemy being encumbered by -its cavalry, which, useless from the first in this rough and wavering -track, at length became an impediment and a serious peril. It was by -fairly stampeding a troop back upon the foot-soldiers following that -the British in the end checked the immediate danger, and, hurry<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span>ing -forward unmolested for a couple of miles, gained a new position in -which they could not easily be assailed. The road here wound between a -line of cliffs and a precipice giving a sheer drop into the ravine; and -here, without need of flankers or, indeed, possibility of using them, -the rearmost (light) company, halted for a while and faced about.</p> - -<p>This brought their right shoulders round to the precipice, at the foot -of which, and close upon three hundred feet below, a narrow plateau (or -so it seemed) curved around the rock-face. The French, held at check, -and once more declining a frontal attack, detached a body of cavalry -and voltigeurs to follow this path in the hope of turning one flank. -But a week's snow had smoothed over the true contour of the valley, and -this apparent plateau proved to be but a gorge piled to its brim with -drifts, in which men and horses plunged and sank until, repenting, they -had much ado to extricate themselves.</p> - -<p>On the ledge over their heads a young subaltern of the 28th—the same -that Paget had sent to count the numbers crossing the fords—was -looking down and laughing, when a pompous voice at his elbow inquired—</p> - -<p>"Pray, Sir, where is General Paget?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span></p> - -<p>The subaltern, glancing up quickly, saw, planted on horseback before -him, with legs astraddle, a podgy, red-faced man in a blue uniform -buttoned to the chin. The General himself happened to be standing less -than five yards away, resting his elbows on the wall of the road while -he scanned the valley and the struggling Frenchmen through his glass: -and the subaltern, knowing that he must have heard the question, for -the moment made no reply.</p> - -<p>"Be so good as to answer at once, Sir? Where is General Paget?"</p> - -<p>The General closed his glass leisurably and came forward.</p> - -<p>"I am General Paget, Sir—at your commands."</p> - -<p>"Oh—ah—er, I beg pardon," said the little blue-coated man, slewing -about in his saddle. "I am Paymaster-General, and—er—the fact is——"</p> - -<p>"Paymaster-General?" echoed Paget in a soft and musing tone, as if -deliberately searching his memory.</p> - -<p>"Assistant," the little man corrected.</p> - -<p>"Get down from your horse, Sir."</p> - -<p>"I beg pardon——"</p> - -<p>"Get down from your horse."</p> - -<p class="center"> -<img src="images/illus07.jpg" alt="down " /> -<a id="illus07" name="illus07"></a> -</p> - -<p class="caption"> "GET DOWN FROM YOUR HORSE, SIR."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span></p> - - -<p>The Assistant-Paymaster clambered off. His vanity was wounded and -he showed it; the mottles on his face deepened to crimson. "Beg -pardon—ceremony—hardly an occasion—treasure of the army in danger."</p> - -<p>Paget eyed him calmly, but with a darkening at the corner of the eye; a -sign which the watching subaltern knew to be ominous.</p> - -<p>"Be a little more explicit, if you please."</p> - -<p>"The treasure, Sir, for which I am responsible——"</p> - -<p>"Yes? How much?"</p> - -<p>"I am not sure that I ought——"</p> - -<p>"How much?"</p> - -<p>"If you press the question, Sir, it might be twenty-five thousand -pounds. I should not have mentioned it in the hearing of your men——" -he hesitated.</p> - -<p>The General concluded his sentence for him. "—Had not your foresight -placed it in safety and out of their reach: that's understood. Well, -Sir,—what then?"</p> - -<p>"But, on the contrary, General, it is in imminent peril! The carts -conveying it have stuck fast, not a mile ahead: the bullocks are -foundered and cannot proceed; and I have ridden back to request that -you supply me with fresh animals."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Look at me, Sir, and then pray look about you."</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon——"</p> - -<p>"You ought to. Am I a bullock-driver, Sir, or a muleteer? And in this -country"—with a sharp wave of his hand—"can I breed full-grown mules -or bullocks at a moment's notice to repair your d——d incompetence? -Or, knowing me, have you the assurance to tell me coolly that you have -lost—yes, lost—the treasure committed to you?—to confess that you, -who ought to be a day's march ahead of the main body, are hanging back -upon the rearmost company of the rearguard?—and come to me whining -when that company is actually engaged with the enemy? Look, Sir"—and -it seemed to some of the 28th that their General mischievously -prolonged his address to give the Assistant-Paymaster a taste of -rearguard work, for Soult's heavy columns were by this time pressing -near to the entrance of the defile—"Observe the kind of strife in -which we have been engaged since dawn; reflect that our tempers must -needs be short; and congratulate yourself that, if this mountain be -bare of fresh bullocks, it also fails to supply a handy tree."</p> - -<p>The little man waited no longer on the road, along which French bullets -were beginning to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span> whistle, but clambered on his horse, and galloped -off with hunched shoulders to rejoin his carts.</p> - -<p>The rearguard, galled now by musketry and finding that, for all their -floundering, the enemy were creeping past the rocky barrier below, -retired in good order but briskly, and so, in about twenty minutes, -overtook the two treasure-carts and their lines of exhausted cattle. -Plainly this procession had come to the end of its powers and could not -budge: and as plainly the officers in charge of it were at loggerheads. -Paget surveyed the scene, his brow darkening thunderously: for, of the -guns he had sent forward to overtake the reserve, two stood planted -to protect the carts, and the artillery-captain in charge of them -was being harangued by the fuming Assistant-Paymaster, while the -actual guard of the treasure—a subaltern's party of the 4th (King's -Own)—stood watching the altercation in surly contempt. Now the 28th -and the King's Own were old friends, having been brigaded together -through the early days of the campaign. As Paget rode forward they -exchanged hilarious grins.</p> - -<p>"Pray, Sir," he addressed the artilleryman, "why are you loitering here -when ordered to overtake the main body with all speed? And what are you -discussing with this person?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span></p> - -<p>"The Colonel, Sir, detached me at this officer's request."</p> - -<p>"Hey?" Paget swung round on the Assistant-Paymaster. "You <i>dared</i> to -interfere with an order of mine? And, having done so, you forbore to -tell me, just now, the extent of your impudence!"</p> - -<p>"But—but the bullocks can go no farther!" stammered the poor man.</p> - -<p>"And if so, who is responsible? Are <i>you, Sir</i>?" Paget demanded -suddenly of the subaltern.</p> - -<p>"No, General," the young man answered, saluting. "I beg to say that -as far back as Nogales I pointed out the condition of these beasts, -and also where in that place fresh animals were to be found: but I was -bidden to hold my tongue."</p> - -<p>"Do you admit this?" Paget swung round again upon the -Assistant-Paymaster.</p> - -<p>"Upon my word, Sir," the poor man tried to bluster, "I am not to be -cross-examined in this fashion. I do not belong to the reserve, and I -take my orders——"</p> - -<p>"Then what the devil are you doing here? And how is it I catch you -ordering my reserve about? By the look of it, a moment ago you were -even attempting to teach my horse-artillery its business."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span></p> - -<p>"He was urging me, Sir," said the artillery-captain grimly, "to abandon -my guns and hitch my teams on to his carts."</p> - -<p>The General's expression changed, and he bent upon the little man in -blue a smile that was almost caressing. "I beg your pardon, Sir: it -appears that I have quite failed to appreciate you."</p> - -<p>"Do not mention it, Sir. You see, with a sum of twenty-five thousand -pounds at stake——"</p> - -<p>"And your reputation."</p> - -<p>"To be sure, and my reputation; though that, I assure you, was less in -my thoughts. With all this at stake——"</p> - -<p>"Say rather 'lost.' I am going to pitch it down the mountain."</p> - -<p>"But it is money!" almost screamed the little man.</p> - -<p>"So are shot and shells. Twenty-eighth, forward, and help the guard to -overturn the carts!"</p> - -<p>Even the soldiers were staggered for a moment by this order. Impossible -as they saw it to be to save the treasure, they were men; and the -instinct of man revolts from pouring twenty-five thousand pounds over -a precipice. They approached, unstrapped the tarpaulin covers, and -feasted their eyes on stacks of silver Spanish dollars.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span></p> - -<p>"You cannot mean it, Sir! I hold you responsible——" Speech choked the -Assistant-Paymaster, and he waved wild arms in dumbshow.</p> - -<p>But the General did mean it. At a word from him the artillerymen -stood to their guns, and at another word the fatigue party of the -28th climbed off the carts, put their shoulders to the wheels and -axle-trees, and with a heave sent the treasure over in a jingling -avalanche. A few ran and craned their necks to mark where it fell: -but the cliffs just here were sharply undercut, and everywhere below -spread deep drifts to receive and cover it noiselessly. After the first -rush and slide no sound came up from the depths into which it had -disappeared. The men strained their ears to listen. They were listening -still when, with a roar, the two guns behind them spoke out, hurling -their salutation into Soult's advance guard as it swung into view -around the corner of the road.</p> - - -<p class="center">II</p> - -<p>In a mud-walled hut perched over the brink of the ravine and sheltered -there by a shelving rock, an old Gallegan peasant sat huddled over a -fire and face to face with starvation. The fire, banked in the centre -of the earthen floor, filled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span> all the cabin with smoke, which escaped -only by a gap in the thatch and a window-hole overlooking the ravine. -An iron crock, on a chain furred with soot, hung from the rafters, -where sooty cobwebs, a foot and more in length, waved noiselessly in -the draught. It was empty, but he had no strength to lift it off its -hook; and at the risk of cracking it he had piled up the logs on the -hearth, for the cold searched his old bones. The window-hole showed a -patch of fading day, wintry and sullen: but no beam of it penetrated -within, where the firelight flickered murkily on three beds of dirty -straw, a table like a butcher's block, and, at the back of the hut, an -alcove occupied by three sooty dolls beneath a crucifix—the Virgin, -St. Joseph, and St. James.</p> - -<p>The alcove was just a recess scooped out of the <i>adobe</i> wall: and the -old man himself could not have told why his house had been built of -unbaked mud when so much loose stone lay strewn about the mountain-side -ready to hand. Possibly even his ancestors, who had built it, could -not have told. They had come from the plain-land near Zamora, and -built in the only fashion they knew—a fashion which <i>their</i> ancestors -had learnt from the Moors: but time and the mountain's bad habit of -dropping stones had taught<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span> them to add a stout roof. For generations -they had clung to this perch, and held body and soul together by the -swine-herding. They pastured their pigs three miles below, where the -ravine opened upon a valley moderately fertile and wooded with oak and -chestnut; and in midwinter drove them back to the hill and styed them -in a large pen beside the hut, in which, if the pen were crowded, they -made room for the residue.</p> - -<p>The family now consisted of the old man, Gil Chaleco (a widower and -past work); his son Gil the Younger, with a wife, Juana; their only -daughter, Mercedes, her young husband, Sebastian May, and their -two-year-old boy. The two women worked with the men in herding the -swine and were given sole charge of them annually, when Gil the Younger -and Sebastian tramped it down to the plains and hired themselves out -for the harvest.</p> - -<p>But this year Sebastian, instead of harvesting, had departed for -Corunna to join the insurrectionary bands and carry a gun in defence -of his country. To Gil the Elder this was a piece of youthful folly. -How could it matter, in this valley of theirs, what King reigned in -far-away Madrid? And would a Spaniard any more than a Corsican make -good the lost harvest-money?<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span> The rest of the family had joined him in -raising objections; for in this den of poverty the three elders thought -of money morning, noon, and night, and of nothing but money; and -Mercedes was young and in love with her husband, and sorely unwilling -to lend him to the wars. Sebastian, however, had smiled and kissed her -and gone his way; and at the end of his soldiery had found himself, -poor lad, in hospital in Leon, one of the many hundreds abandoned by -the Marquis of Romana to the French.</p> - -<p>News of this had not reached the valley, where indeed his wife's -family had other trouble to concern them: for a forage party from -the retreating British main guard had descended upon the cabin four -days ago and carried off all the swine, leaving in exchange some -scraps of paper, which (they said) would be honoured next day by the -Assistant-Paymaster: he could not be more than a day's march behind. -But a day had passed, and another, and now the household had gone off -to Nogales to meet him on the road, leaving only the old man, and -taking even little Sebastianillo. The pigs would be paid for handsomely -by the rich English; Juana had some purchases to make in the town; and -Mercedes needed to buy a shawl for the child, and thought it would be -a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span> treat for him to see the tall foreign red-coats marching past.</p> - -<p>So they had started, leaving the old man with a day's provision (for -the foragers had cleared the racks and the larder as well as the sty), -and promising to be home before nightfall. But two days and a night had -passed without news of them.</p> - -<p>With his failing strength he had made shift to keep the fire alight; -but food was not to be found. He had eaten his last hard crust of -millet-bread seven or eight hours before, and this had been his only -breakfast. His terror for the fate of the family was not acute. Old -age had dulled his faculties, and he dozed by the fire with sudden -starts of wakefulness, blinking his smoke-sored eyes and gazing with -a vague sense of evil on the straw beds and the image in the alcove. -His thoughts ran on the swine and the price to be paid for them by the -Englishman: they faded into dreams wherein the family saints stepped -down from their shrine and chaffered with the foreign paymaster; dreams -in which he found himself grasping silver dollars with both hands. And -all the while he was hungry to the point of dying; yet the visionary -dollars brought no food—suggested only the impulse to bury them out of -sight of thieves.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span></p> - -<p>So vivid was the dream that, waking with a start and a shiver, he -hobbled towards the window-hole and stopped to pick up the wooden -shutter that should close it. Standing so, still half asleep, with his -hand on the shutter-bar, he heard a rushing sound behind him, as though -the mountain-side were breaking away overhead and rushing down upon the -roof and back of the cabin.</p> - -<p>He had spent all his life on these slopes and knew the sounds of -avalanche and land-slips—small land-slips in this Gallegan valley were -common enough. This noise resembled both, yet resembled neither, and -withal was so terrifying that he swung round to face it, aquake in his -shoes—to see the rear wall bowing inwards and crumbling, and the roof -quietly subsiding upon it, as if to bury him alive.</p> - -<p>For a moment he saw it as the mirror of his dream, cracking and -splitting; then, as the image of the Virgin tilted itself forward from -its shrine and fell with a crash, he dropped the shutter, and running -to the door, tugged at its heavy wooden bolt. The hut was collapsing, -and he must escape into the open air.</p> - -<p>He neither screamed nor shouted, for his terror throttled him; and -after the first rushing noise the wall bowed inwards silently, with -but a trickle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span> of dry and loosened mud. His gaze, cast back across his -shoulder, was on it while he tugged at the bolt. Slowly—very slowly, -the roof sank, and stayed itself, held up on either hand by its two -corner-props. Then, while it came to a standstill, sagging between -them, the wall beneath it burst asunder, St. Joseph and St. James were -flung head-over-heels after the Virgin, and through the rent poured a -broad river of silver.</p> - -<p>He faced around gradually, holding his breath. His back was to the -door now, and he leaned against it with outspread palms while his eyes -devoured the miracle.</p> - -<p>Dollars! Silver dollars!</p> - -<p>He could not lift his gaze from them. If he did, they would surely -vanish, and he awake from his dream. Yet in the very shock of awe, and -starving though he was, the master-habit of his life, the secretive -peasant cunning, had already begun to work. Never once relaxing his -fixed stare, fearful even of blinking with his smoke-sored eyes, he -shuffled sideways toward the window-hole, his hands groping the wall -behind him. The wooden shutter and its fastening bar—a short oak -pole—lay where he had dropped them, on the floor beneath the window. -He crouched, feeling backwards for them; found,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span> lifted them on to -the inner ledge, and, with a half-turn of his body, thrust one arm -deep into the recess and jammed the shutter into its place. To fix -the bolt was less easy; it fitted across the back of the shutter, its -ends resting in two sockets pierced in the wall of the recess. He -could use but one hand; yet in less than a minute he found the first -socket, slid an end of the bolt into it as far as it would go, lifted -the other end and scraped with it along the opposite side of the recess -until it dropped into the second socket. He was safe now—safe from -prying eyes. In all this while—these two, perhaps three, minutes—his -uppermost terror had been lest strange eyes were peering in through -the window-hole: it had cost him anguish not to remove his own for an -instant from the miracle to assure himself. But he had shut out this -terror now: and the miracle had not vanished.</p> - -<p>A few coins trickled yet. He crawled forward across the floor, -crouching like a beast for a spring. But as he drew close his old legs -began to shake under him. He dropped on his knees and fell forward, -plunging both hands into the bright pile.</p> - -<p>Dollars! real silver dollars!</p> - -<p>He lay on the flood of wealth, stretched like a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span> swimmer, his fingers -feebly moving among the coins which slid and poured over the back -of his hands. He did not ask how the miracle had befallen. He was -starving; dying in fact, though he did not know it; and lo! he had -found a heaven beyond all imagination, and lay in it and panted, -at rest. The firelight played on the heave and fall of his gaunt -shoulder-blades, and on the glass eyes of the Virgin, whose head had -rolled half-way across the floor and lay staring up foolishly at the -rafters.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>"Mother, open! Ah, open quickly, mother, for the love of God!"</p> - -<p>Whose voice was that? Yes, yes—Mercedes', to be sure, his -granddaughter's. She had gone to Nogales ... long ago.... Yet that was -her voice. Had he come, then, to Paradise that her voice was pleading -for him—pleading for the door to open?</p> - -<p>"Mother—Father! It is I, Mercedes! Open quickly—It is Mercedes, do -you hear? I want my child—Sebastianillo—my child—quick!"</p> - -<p>The voice broke into short agonised cries, into sobs. The door rattled.</p> - -<p>At the sound of this last the old man raised himself on his knees. His -eyes fell again on the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span> shining dollars all around him. His throat -worked.</p> - -<p>Suddenly terror broke out in beads on his forehead. Someone was shaking -the door! Thieves were there trying the door: they were come to rob him!</p> - -<p>He drew himself up slowly. As he did so the door ceased to rattle, and -presently, somewhere near the windy edge of the ravine, a faint cry -sounded.</p> - -<p>But long after the door had ceased to rattle, old Gil Chaleco stared -at it, fascinated. And long after the cry had died away it beat from -side to side within the walls of his head, while he listened and life -trickled from him, drop by drop.</p> - -<p>"Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night." But he was -listening for it: it would come again....</p> - -<p>And it came—with a rough summons on the door, and, a moment later, -with a thunderous blow. The old man stood up, knee-deep in dollars, -lifting both arms to cover his head. As the door fell he seemed to -bow himself toward it, toppled, and slid forward—still with his arms -crooked—amid a rush of silver.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span></p> - - -<p class="center">III</p> - -<p>Although crushed in the rear and broken inwards there, the hut showed -its ordinary face to the path as Mercedes reached it in the failing -daylight. She ran like a madwoman, and with short, distraught cries, -as she neared her home. Her eyes were wild as a hunted creature's, her -coarse black hair streamed over her shoulders, her bare feet bled where -the rocks and ice had cut them. But one thing she did not doubt—would -not allow herself to doubt—that at home she would find her child. For -two days she had been parted from him, and in those two days ... God -had been good to her, very good: but she could not thank God yet—not -until she clutched Sebastianillo in her arms, held his small, wriggling -body, felt his feet kick against her breast....</p> - -<p>The great sty beside the cabin was empty, of course: and the cabin -itself looked strange to her and desolate and unfriendly. For some -hours the snow had ceased falling, and, save in a snowstorm or a gale, -it was not the family custom to close door or window before dark: -indeed, the window-hole usually stood open night and day the year -round. Now both were closed. But warm firelight showed under the chink -of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span> door; and on the door she bowed her head, to take breath, and -beat with her hands while she called urgently—</p> - -<p>"Mother! Quickly, mother—open to me for the love of God!"</p> - -<p>No answer came from within.</p> - -<p>"Mother! Father! Open to me—it is I, Mercedes!"</p> - -<p>Then, after listening a moment, she began to beat again, frantically, -for at length she was afraid.</p> - -<p>"Quick! Quick! Ah, do not be playing a trick on me: I want my -child—Sebastianillo!"</p> - -<p>Again and again she called and beat. No answer came from the hut or -from the sombre twilight around her. She drew back, to fling her full -weight against the door. And at this moment she heard, some way down -the path, a man's footstep crunching the snow.</p> - -<p>She never doubted that this must be her father returning up the -mountain-side, perhaps after a search for her. What other man—now that -her husband had gone soldiering—ever trod this path? She ran down to -meet him.</p> - -<p>The path, about forty yards below, rounded an angle of the sheer -cliff, and at this angle she came to a terrified halt. The man, too, -had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span> halted a short gunshot away. He did not see her, but was staring -upward at the cliff overhead; and he was not her father. For an instant -there flashed across her brain an incredible surmise—that he was -her husband, Sebastian: for he wore a soldier's overcoat and shako, -and carried a musket and knapsack. But no: this man was taller than -Sebastian by many inches; taller and thinner.</p> - -<p>He was a soldier, then: and to Mercedes all soldiers were by this time -incarnate devils—or all but one, and that one a plucky little British -officer who had snatched her from his men just as she fell swooning -into their clutches, and had dragged and thrust her through the convent -doorway at Nogales and slammed the door upon her; and (though this -she did not know) held the doorstep, sword in hand, while the Fathers -within shot the heavy bolts.</p> - -<p>The British had gone, and after them—close after—came the French: -and these broke down the convent door and ransacked the place. But -the Fathers had hidden her and a score or so more of trembling women, -nor would allow her to creep out and search for Sebastianillo in the -streets through which swept, hour after hour, a flood of drunken -yelling devils. So now Mer<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span>cedes, who had left home two days ago to -watch an army pass, turned from this one soldier with a scream and ran -back towards the cabin.</p> - -<p>In her terror lest he should overtake and catch her by the closed -door, she darted aside, clambered across the wall of the empty sty, -and crouched behind it in the filth, clutching at her bodice: for -within her bodice was a knife, which she had borrowed of the Fathers at -Nogales.</p> - -<p>The footsteps came up the path and went slowly past her hiding-place. -Then they came to a halt before the hut. Still Mercedes crouched, not -daring to lift her head.</p> - -<p><i>Rat, rat-a-tat!</i></p> - -<p>Well, let him knock. Her father was a strong man, and always kept a -loaded gun on the shelf. If this soldier meant mischief, he would find -his match: and she, too, could help.</p> - -<p>She heard him call to the folks within once or twice in bad Spanish. -Then his voice changed and seemed to threaten in a language she did not -know.</p> - -<p>Her hand was thrust within her bodice now, and gripped the handle of -her knife; nevertheless, what followed took her by surprise, though -ready for action. A terrific bang sounded on the timbers of the door. -Involuntarily she raised her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span> head above the wall's coping. The man had -stepped back a pace into the path, and was swinging his musket up for -another blow with the butt.</p> - -<p>She stood up, white, with her jaw set. Her father could not be inside -the hut, or he would have answered that blow on his door as a man -should. But Sebastianillo might be within—nay, must be! She put her -hands to the wall's coping and swung herself over and on to the path, -again unseen, for the dusk hid her, and a dark background of cliff -behind the sty: nor could the man hear, for he was raining blow after -blow upon the door. At length, having shaken it loose from its hasp, he -stepped back and made a run at it, using the butt of his musket for a -ram, and finishing up the charge with the full weight of one shoulder. -The door crashed open before him, and he reeled over it into the hut. A -second later, Mercedes had sprung after him.</p> - -<p>"Sebastianillo! You shall not harm him! You shall not——"</p> - -<p>The door, falling a little short of the fire, had scattered some of the -burning brands about the floor and fanned the rest into a blaze. In the -light of it he faced round with a snarl, his teeth showing beneath his -moustache. The light also<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span> showed—though Mercedes neither noted it nor -could have read its signification—a corporal's chevron on his sleeve.</p> - -<p>"Who the devil are you?" The snarl ended in a snap.</p> - -<p>Mercedes stood swaying on the threshold, knife in hand.</p> - -<p>"You shall not harm him!"</p> - -<p>She spoke in her own tongue and he understood it, after a fashion; for -he answered in broken Spanish, catching up her word—</p> - -<p>"Harm? Who means any harm? When a man is perishing with hunger and -folks will not open to him——"</p> - -<p>He paused, wondering at her gaze. Travelling past him, it had fastened -itself on the back wall of the hut, across the fire. "Hullo! What's the -matter?" He swung round. "Good Lord!" said he, with a gulp.</p> - -<p>He sprang past the fire and stooped over the old man's body, which -lay face downward on the shelving heap of silver. It did not stir. -By-and-by he took it by one of the rigid arms and turned it over, not -roughly.</p> - -<p>"Warm," said he: "warm, but dead as a herring! Come and see for -yourself."</p> - -<p>Mercedes did not move. Her eyes sought the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span> dark corners of the cabin, -fixed themselves for a moment on the shattered image of the Virgin, and -met his across the firelight in desperate inquiry.</p> - -<p>"What is this? What have you done?"</p> - -<p>"Done? I tell you I never touched the man; never saw him before in my -life. Who is he? Your father? No: grandfather, more like. Eh? Am I -right?"</p> - -<p>She bent her head, staring at the money.</p> - -<p>"This? This is dollars, my girl: dollars enough to set a man up for -life, with a coach and lads in livery, and dress you in diamonds from -head to heel. Don't stand playing with that knife. I tell you I never -touched the old man. What's more, I'm willing to be friendly and go -shares." He stared at her with quick suspicion. "You're alone here, -hey?"</p> - -<p>She did not answer.</p> - -<p>"But answer me," he insisted, "do you live alone with him?" And he -pointed to the body at his feet.</p> - -<p>"There was my mother," said Mercedes slowly, in her turn pointing to -the third bed of straw by the fire. "We journeyed over to Nogales, she -and I. Your soldiers came and took away our pigs, giving us pieces of -paper for them. They<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span> said that if we took these to Nogales someone -would pay us: so we started, leaving <i>him</i>. And at Nogales your men -were rough and parted us, and I have not seen her since."</p> - -<p>The Corporal eyed her with the beginnings of a leer. She faced him -with steady eyes. "Well, well," said he, after a pause, "I mean no -harm to you, anyway. Lord! but you're in luck. Here you reach home and -find a fortune at your door—a sort of fortune a man can dig into with -a spade; while a poor devil like me——" He paused again and stood -considering.</p> - -<p>"You knew about this?" She nodded towards the dollars. "You knew how it -came here, and you came after it?"</p> - -<p>"I did and I didn't. I knew 'twas somewhere hereabouts; but strike me, -if a man could dream of finding it like this!"</p> - -<p>"Yet you came to this door and beat it open!"</p> - -<p>"You've wits, my girl," said the Corporal admiringly; "but they are -on the wrong tack. I mean no harm; and the best proof is that here -I'm standing with a loaded musket and not offering to hurt you. As it -happens, I came to the door asking a bite of bread. I'm cruel hungry."</p> - -<p>Mercedes pulled a crust of millet-bread from her pocket. The Fathers at -the convent had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span> given it to her at parting, but she had forgotten to -eat. She stepped forward; the Corporal stretched out a hand.</p> - -<p>"No," said she, and, avoiding him, laid the crust on the block-table. -He caught it up and gnawed it ravenously. "I think there is no other -food in the house."</p> - -<p>"You don't get rid of me like that." He ran a hand along the shelves, -searching them. "Hullo! a gun?" He took it down and examined it beside -the fire, while Mercedes' heart sank. She had hoped to possess herself -of it, snatching it from the shelf when he should be off his guard. -"Loaded, too!" He laid it gently on the block and eyed her, munching -his crust.</p> - -<p>"You'd best put down that knife and talk friendly," said he at length. -"What's the use?—you a woman, and me with two guns, both loaded? It's -silliness; you must see for yourself it is. Now look here: I've a -notion—a splendid notion. Come sit down alongside of me, and talk it -over. I promise you there's no harm meant."</p> - -<p>But she had backed to her former position in the doorway and would not -budge.</p> - -<p>"It's treating me suspicious, you are," he grumbled: "hard <i>and</i> -suspicious."</p> - -<p>"Cannot you take the money and go?" she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span> begged, breathing hard, -speaking scarcely above a whisper.</p> - -<p>"No, I can't: it stands to reason I can't. What can I do in a country -like this with dollars it took two carts to drag here—two carts with -six yoke of bullocks apiece? And that's where my cruel luck comes in. -All I can take, as things are, is just so much as this knapsack will -carry: and even for this I've run some risks."</p> - -<p>The man—it was the effect of hunger, perhaps, and exposure and -drunkenness on past marches—had an ugly, wolfish face; but his eyes, -though cunning, were not altogether evil, not quite formidably evil. -She divined that, though lust for the money was driving him, some -weakness lay behind it.</p> - -<p>"You are a deserter," she said.</p> - -<p>"We'll pass that." He seated himself, flinging a leg over the block and -laying the two guns side by side on his knees. "I can win back, maybe. -As things go, between stragglers and deserters it's hard to choose in -these times, and I'll get the benefit of the doubt. I've taken some -risks," he repeated, glancing from the guns on his knees to the pile of -silver and back: "pretty bad risks, and only to fill my knapsack. But, -now it strikes me——Can't you come closer?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span></p> - -<p>But she held her ground and waited.</p> - -<p>"It strikes me, why couldn't we collar the whole of this, we two? We're -alone: no one knows; I've but to lift one of these"—he tapped the -guns—"and where would you be? But I don't do it. I don't want to do -it. You hear me?"</p> - -<p>"You don't do it," said Mercedes slowly, "because without me you can't -get away with more than a handful of this money. And you want the whole -of it."</p> - -<p>"You're a clever girl. Yes, I want the whole of it. Who wouldn't? And -you can help. Can't you see how?"</p> - -<p>"No."</p> - -<p>He sat swinging his legs. "Well, that's where my notion comes in. I -wish you'd drop that knife and be friendly: it's a fortune I'm offering -you. Now my notion is that we two ought to marry." He stood up.</p> - -<p>Mercedes lifted the knife with its point turned inward against her -breast. "If you take another step!"</p> - -<p>"Oh, but look here: look at it every way. I like you. You're a fine -build of a woman, with plenty of spirit—the very woman to help a -man. We should get along famously. One country's as good as another -to me: I'm tired of soldiering,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span> and there's no woman at home, s'help -me!" He was speaking rapidly now, not waiting to cast about for words -in Spanish, but falling back on English whenever he found himself at -a loss. "I dare say you can fit me out with a suit of clothes." His -glance ran round the hut and rested on the body of the old man.</p> - -<p>Mercedes had understood scarce half of his words: but she divined the -meaning of that look and shuddered.</p> - -<p>"No, no; you cannot do that!"</p> - -<p>"Hark!" said he raising his head and listening. "What's that noise?"</p> - -<p>"The wolves. We hear them every night in winter."</p> - -<p>"A nice sort of place for a woman to live alone in! See here, my dear; -it's sense I'm talking. Better fix it up with me and say 'yes.'"</p> - -<p>She appeared to be considering this. "One thing you must promise."</p> - -<p>"Well?"</p> - -<p>"You won't touch him"—she nodded towards her grandfather's corpse. -"You won't touch him to—to——"</p> - -<p>"Is it strip him you mean? Very well, then, I won't."</p> - -<p>"You will help me to bury him? He cannot<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span> lie here. I can give you no -answer while he lies here."</p> - -<p>"Right you are, again. Only, no tricks, mind!"</p> - -<p>He stowed the guns under his left arm and gripped the collar of the old -man. Mercedes took the feet; and together they bore him out—a light -burden enough. Outside the hut a pale radiance lay over all the snow, -forerunner of the moon now rising over the crags across the ravine.</p> - -<p>"Where?" grunted the Corporal.</p> - -<p>Mercedes guided him. A little way down the path, beyond the wall of the -sty, they came to a recess in the base of the cliff where the wind's -eddies had piled a smooth mound of snow. Here, under a jutting rock, -they laid the body.</p> - -<p>"Cover him as best you can," the Corporal ordered. "My hands are full."</p> - -<p>He stood, clasping his guns, and watched Mercedes while she knelt and -shovelled the snow with both hands. Yet always her eyes were alert and -she kept her knife ready. From their mound they looked down upon the -ravine in front and over the wall of the sty towards the cabin. Behind -them rose the black cliff.</p> - -<p>"Hark to the wolves!" said the Corporal, listening: and at that moment -something thudded down from the cliff, striking the snow a few yards<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span> -from him; rolled heavily down the slope and came to a standstill -against the wall of the sty, where it lay bedded.</p> - -<p>The round moon had risen over the ravine, and was flooding the mound -with light. The Corporal stared at Mercedes: for the moment he could -think of nothing but that a large, loose stone had dropped from the -cliff. He ran to the thing and turned it over.</p> - -<p>It was a knapsack.</p> - -<p>He did not at once understand, but stepped back a few paces and gazed -up at the crags mounting tier by tier into the vague moonlight. And -while he gazed a lighter object struck the wall over head, glanced from -it, went spinning by him, and disappeared over the edge of the ravine. -As it passed he recognized it—a soldier's shako.</p> - -<p>Then he understood. Someone had found the spot on the road above where -the treasure had been upset, and these things were being dropped to -guide his search. The Corporal ran to Mercedes and would have clutched -her by the wrist. The knife flashed in her hand as she evaded him.</p> - -<p>"Quick, my girl—back with you, quick! They're after the money, I tell -you!"</p> - -<p>He caught up the knapsack. They ran back<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span> together and flung themselves -into the cabin. The Corporal bolted the door.</p> - -<p>"King's Own," he announced, having dragged the knapsack to the -firelight. "If there's only one, we'll do for him."</p> - -<p>He stepped to the window-hole, pulled open the shutter, laid the two -guns on the ledge, and waited, straining his ears.</p> - -<p>"Got such a thing as a shovel or a mattock?" he asked after a while. "I -reckon you could make shift to cover up the dollars: there's a deal of -loose earth come down with them."</p> - -<p>It took her some time to guess what he wanted, for he spoke in a hoarse -whisper. He listened again for a while, then pointed to the treasure.</p> - -<p>"Cover it up. If there's more than one, we'll have trouble."</p> - -<p>She produced a mattock from a corner of the cabin and began, through -the broken wall, to rake down mud and earth and cover the coins. For -an hour and more she worked, the Corporal still keeping watch. Once or -twice he growled at her to make less noise.</p> - -<p>He did not stand the suspense well, but after the first hour grew -visibly uneasy.</p> - -<p>"I've a mind to give this over," he grumbled, and fell to unstrapping -his knapsack. "Here!"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span>—he tossed it to her—"pack it, full as you can. -Half a loaf may turn out better than no bread."</p> - -<p>She laid the knapsack open on the floor and set to work, cramming it -with dollars.</p> - -<p>"Talking of bread," he went on by-and-by, "that's going to be a -question. My stomach's feeling at this moment like as if it had two -rows of teeth inside."</p> - -<p>"Hist!" Mercedes rose, finger to lip. He turned again to the -window-hole and peered out, gun in hand, his shoulder blocking the -recess.</p> - -<p>A man's footsteps were coming up the path—coming cautiously. Their -crunch upon the snow was just audible, and no more. Mercedes stole -towards the window and crept close behind the Corporal's back; stood -there, holding her breath.</p> - -<p>The man on the path halted for a moment, and came on again, still -cautiously.... There was a jet of flame, a roar; and the Corporal, -after the kick of his musket, strained himself forward on the -window-ledge to see if his shot had told.</p> - -<p>"Settled him!" he announced, drawing back and turning to face her with -a triumphant grin.</p> - -<p>But Mercedes confronted him with her father's fowling-piece in hand. -She had slipped it off the window-ledge from under his elbow as he -leaned forward.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Unbar the door!" she commanded.</p> - -<p>"Look here, no nonsense!"</p> - -<p>"Unbar the door!" She believed him to be a coward, and he was.</p> - -<p>"You just wait a bit, my lady!" he threatened, but drew the bolt, -nevertheless; when he turned, the muzzle of the fowling-piece still -covered him.</p> - -<p>She nodded toward the knapsack. "Pick up that, if you will.... Now turn -your back—your back to me, if you please—and go."</p> - -<p>He hesitated, rebellious: but there was no help for it.</p> - -<p>"Go!" she repeated. And he went.</p> - -<p>Above the cabin the path ended almost at once in a <i>cul de sac</i>—a -wall of frowning cliff. There was no way for him, whether he wished to -descend or climb the mountain, but that which led him past the body of -the man he had just murdered. He went past it tottering, fumbling with -the straps of his knapsack: and Mercedes stood in the moonlit doorway -and watched him out of sight.</p> - -<p>By-and-by she seated herself before the threshold, and, laying the gun -across her knees, prepared herself to wait for the dawn. The dead man -lay huddled on his side, a few paces from her. Overhead, along the -waste mountain heights, the wolves howled.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span></p> - -<p>Hours passed. Still the wolves howled, and once from the upper darkness -Mercedes heard, or fancied that she heard, a scream.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>At noon, next day, two men—a priest and a young peasant—were climbing -the mountain-path leading to the hut. The young man carried on his -shoulder a two-year-old child; and, because the sun shone and the crisp -air put a spirit of life into all things untroubled by thought, the -child crowed and tugged gleefully at his father's <i>berret</i>. But his -father paid no heed, and strode forward at a pace which forced the -priest (who was stout) now and again into a run.</p> - -<p>"She will not be there," he kept repeating, steeling himself against -the worst. "She cannot be there. When she missed her child——"</p> - -<p>"She is waiting on her grandfather, belike," urged the priest. "They -left him with one day's food: so she told the Brothers. And they, like -fools, let her go with just sufficient for her own needs. Yet I ought -not to blame them for losing their heads in so small a matter. They -saved many women."</p> - -<p>He told again how he—the parish priest of Nogales—had found Gil the -Younger and his wife dead and drunken, with their heads in a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span> gutter -and the child wailing in the mud beside them. "Your wife had given her -mother the child to guard but a minute before she fell in with the -soldiers. A young officer saved her, the Brothers said."</p> - -<p>"Mercedes will have sought her child first," persisted Sebastian; and -rounding the corner of the cliff, they came in sight of the hut and of -her whom they sought.</p> - -<p>She sat in the path before it, still with the fowling-piece across -her knees. But to reach her they had to pass the body of a soldier -lying with clenched hands in a crimson patch of snow. The child, who -had passed by many horrors on the road, and all with gay unconcern, -stretched out his arms across this one, recognising his mother at once, -and kicking in his father's clasp.</p> - -<p>She raised her eyes dully. She was too weak even to move. "I knew you -would come," she said in a whisper; and with that her eyes shifted and -settled on the body in the path.</p> - -<p>"Take him away! I—I did not kill him."</p> - -<p>Her husband set down the child. "Run indoors, little one: you shall -kiss mamma presently."</p> - -<p>He bent over her, and, unstringing a small wine-skin from his belt, -held the mouth of it to her lips. The priest stooped over the dead -man,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span> on whose collar the figures "28" twinkled in the sunlight. The -child, for a moment rebellious, toddled towards the doorway of the hut.</p> - -<p>Mercedes' eyelids had closed: but some of the wine found its way down -her throat, and as it revived her, they flickered again.</p> - -<p>"Sebastian," she whispered.</p> - -<p>"Be at rest, dear wife. It is I, Sebastian."</p> - -<p>"I did not kill him."</p> - -<p>"I hear. You did not kill him."</p> - -<p>"The child?"</p> - -<p>"He is safe—safe and sound," he assured her, and called, -"Sebastianillo!"</p> - -<p>For a moment there was no answer: but as he lifted Mercedes and carried -her into the hut, on its threshold the boy met them, his both hands -dropping silver dollars.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span></p> - - - - -<p class="ph2"><a name="THE_LAMP_AND_THE_GUITAR" id="THE_LAMP_AND_THE_GUITAR">THE LAMP AND THE GUITAR</a></p> - -<blockquote> - -<p>[FROM THE MEMOIRS OF MANUEL, OR MANUS, MacNEILL, AN AGENT IN THE -SECRET SERVICE OF GREAT BRITAIN DURING THE PENINSULAR CAMPAIGNS OF -1808-13.]</p></blockquote> - - -<p>I have not the precise date in 1811 when Fuentes and I set out for -Salamanca, but it must have been either in the third or fourth week of -July.</p> - -<p>In Portugal just then Lord Wellington was fencing, so to speak, with -the points of three French armies at once. On the south he had Soult, -on the north Dorsenne, and between them Marmont's troops were scattered -along the valley of the Tagus, with Madrid as their far base. Being -solidly concentrated, by short and rapid movements he could keep these -three armies impotent for offence; but <i>en revanche</i>, he could make no -overmastering attack upon any one of them. If he advanced far against -Soult or against Dorsenne he must bring Marmont down on his flank, left -or right; while, if he reached out and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span> struck for the Tagus Valley, -Marmont could borrow from right and left without absolutely crippling -his colleagues, and roll up seventy thousand men to bar the road on -Madrid. In short, the opposing armies stood at a deadlock, and there -were rumours that Napoleon, who was pouring troops into Spain from the -north, meant to follow and take the war into his own hands.</p> - -<p>Now, the strength and the weakness of the whole position lay with -Marmont; while the key of it, curiously enough, was Ciudad Rodrigo, -garrisoned by Dorsenne—as in due time appeared. For the present, -Wellington, groping for the vital spot, was learning all that could -be learnt about Marmont's strength, its disposition, and (a matter of -first importance) its victualling, Spain being a country where large -armies starve. How many men were being drafted down from the north? How -was Marmont scattering his cantonments to feed them? What was the state -of the harvest? What provisions did Salamanca contain? And what stores -were accumulating at Madrid, Valladolid, Burgos?</p> - -<p>I had just arrived at Lisbon in a <i>chassemarée</i> of San Sebastian, -bringing a report of the French troops, which for a month past had been -pouring across the bridge of Irun: and how I had<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span> learnt this is worth -telling. There was a cobbler, Martinez by name—a little man with a -green shade over his eyes—who plied his trade in a wooden hutch at -the end of the famous bridge. While he worked he counted every man, -horse, standard, wagon, or gun that passed, and forwarded the numbers -without help of speech or writing (for he could not even write his own -name). He managed it all with his hammer, tapping out a code known to -our fellows who roamed the shore below on the pretence of hunting for -shellfish, but were prevented by the French cordon from getting within -sight of the bridge. As for Martinez, the French Generals themselves -gossipped around his hutch while he cobbled industriously at the -soldiers' shoes.</p> - -<p>I had presented my report to Lord Wellington, who happened to be in -Lisbon quarrelling with the Portuguese Government and re-embarking -(apparently for Cadiz) a battering train of guns and mortars which had -just arrived from England: and after two days' holiday I was spending -an idle morning in a wine-shop by the quay, where the proprietor, a -fervid politician, kept on file his copies of the Government newspaper, -the <i>Lisbon Gazette</i>. A week at sea had sharpened my appetite for -news; and I was wrapped in<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span> study of the <i>Gazette</i> when an orderly -arrived from headquarters with word that Lord Wellington requested my -attendance there at once.</p> - -<p>I found him in conference with a handsome, slightly built man—a -Spaniard by his face—who stepped back as I entered, but without -offering to retire. Instead, he took up his stand with his back to -one of the three windows overlooking the street, and so continued to -observe me, all the while keeping his own face in shade.</p> - -<p>The General, as his habit was, came to business at once.</p> - -<p>"I have sent for you," said he, "on a serious affair. Our -correspondents in Salamanca have suddenly ceased to write."</p> - -<p>"If your Excellency's correspondents are the same as the Government's," -said I, "'tis small wonder," and I glanced at the newspaper in his -hand—a copy of the same <i>Gazette</i> I had been reading.</p> - -<p>"Then you also think this is the explanation?" He held out the paper -with the face of a man handling vermin.</p> - -<p>"The Government publishes its reports, the English newspapers copy -them: these in turn reach Paris; the Emperor reads them: and," -concluded I, with a shrug, "your correspondents cease to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span> write, -probably for the good reason that they are dead."</p> - -<p>"That is just what I want you to find out," said he.</p> - -<p>"Your Excellency wishes me to go to Salamanca? Very good. And, -supposing these correspondents to be dead?"</p> - -<p>"You will find others."</p> - -<p>"That may not be easy: nevertheless, I can try. Your Excellency, by -the way, will allow me to promise that future reports are not for -publication?"</p> - -<p>Wellington smiled grimly, doubtless from recollection of a recent -interview with Silveira and the Portuguese Ministry. "You may rest -assured of that," said he; and added: "There may be some delay, as you -suggest, in finding fresh correspondents: and it is very necessary for -me to know quickly how Salamanca stands for stores."</p> - -<p>"Then I must pick up some information on my own account."</p> - -<p>"The service will be hazardous——"</p> - -<p>"Oh, as for that——" I put in, with another shrug.</p> - -<p>"—and I propose to give you a companion," pursued Wellington, with a -half-turn toward the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span> man in the recess of the window. "This is Seņor -Fuentes. You are not acquainted, I believe?—as you ought to be."</p> - -<p>Now from choice I have always worked alone: and had the General -uttered any other name I should have been minded to protest, with the -old Greek, that two were not enough for an army, while for any other -purpose they were too many. But on hearsay the performances of this man -Fuentes and his methods and his character had for months possessed a -singular fascination for me. He was at once a strolling guitar-player -and a licentiate of the University of Salamanca, a consorter with -gypsies, and by birth a pure-blooded Castilian hidalgo. Some said that -patriotism was a passion with him; with a face made for the love of -women, he had a heart only for the woes of Spain. Others averred that -hatred of the French was always his master impulse; that they, by -demolishing the colleges of his University, and in particular his own -beloved College of San Lorenzo, had broken his heart and first driven -him to wander. Rewards he disdained; dangers he laughed at: his feats -in the service had sometimes a touch of high comedy and always a touch -of heroic grace. In short, I believe that if Spain had held a poet in -those<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span> days, Fuentes would have passed into song and lived as one of -his country's demigods.</p> - -<p>He came forward now with a winning smile and saluted me cordially, not -omitting a handsome compliment on my work. You could see that the man -had not an ounce of meanness in his nature.</p> - -<p>"We shall be friends," said he, turning to the Commander-in-Chief. -"And that will be to the credit of both, since Seņor MacNeill has an -objection to comrades."</p> - -<p>"I never said so."</p> - -<p>"Excuse me, but I have studied your methods."</p> - -<p>"Well, then," I replied, "I had the strongest objection, but you have -made me forget it—as you have forgotten your repugnance to visit -Salamanca." For although Fuentes flitted up and down and across Spain -like a will-o'-the-wisp, I had heard that he ever avoided the city -where he had lived and studied.</p> - -<p>His fine eyes clouded, and he muttered some Latin words as it were with -a voice indrawn.</p> - -<p>"I beg your pardon?" put in Wellington sharply.</p> - -<p>"Cecidit, cecidit Salmantica illa fortis," Fuentes repeated.</p> - -<p>"'Cecidit'—ah! I see—a quotation. Yes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span> they are knocking the place -about: as many as fifteen or sixteen colleges razed to the ground." He -opened the newspaper again and ran his eyes down the report. "You'll -excuse me: in England we have our own way of pronouncing Latin, and -for the moment I didn't quite catch——Yes, sixteen colleges; a clean -sweep! But before long, Seņor Fuentes, we'll return the compliment upon -their fortifications."</p> - -<p>"That must be my consolation, your Excellency," Fuentes made answer -with a smile which scarcely hid its irony.</p> - -<p>The General began to discuss our route: our precautions he left to -us. He was well aware of the extreme risk we ran, and once again made -allusion to it as he dismissed us.</p> - -<p>"If that were all your Excellency demanded!"</p> - -<p>Fuentes' gaiety returned as we found ourselves in the street. "We -shall get on together like a pair of schoolboys," he assured me. "We -understand each other, you and I. But oh, those islanders!"</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>We left Lisbon that same evening on muleback, taking the road for -Abrantes. So universally were the French hated that the odds were we -might have dispensed with precautions at this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span> stage, and indeed for -the greater part of the journey. The frontier once passed we should -be travelling in our native country—Fuentes as a gypsy and I as -an Asturian, moving from one harvest-job to another. We carried no -compromising papers: and if the French wanted to arrest folks on mere -suspicion they had the entire population to practise on. Nevertheless, -having ridden north-east for some leagues beyond Abrantes—on the -direct road leading past Ciudad Rodrigo to Salamanca—we halted at -Amendoa, bartered one of our mules for a couple of skins of wine and -ten days' provisions, and, having made our new toilet in a chestnut -grove outside the town, headed back for the road leading east through -Villa Velha into the Tagus valley.</p> - -<p>Beyond the frontier we were among Marmont's cantonments: but these lay -scattered, and we avoided them easily. Keeping to the hill-tracks on -the northern bank of the river, and giving a wide berth to the French -posts in front of Alcantara, we struck away boldly for the north -through the Sierras: reached the Alagon, and, following up its gorges, -crossed the mountains in the rear of Bejar, where a French force -guarded the military pass.</p> - -<p>So far we had travelled unmolested, if toil<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span>somely; and a pleasanter -comrade than Fuentes no man could ask for. His gaiety never failed him: -yet it was ever gentle, and I suspected that it covered either a native -melancholy or some settled sorrow—sorrow for his country, belike—but -there were depths he never allowed me to sound. He did everything -well, from singing a love-song to tickling a trout and cooking it for -our supper: and it was after such a supper, as we lay and smoked on a -heathery slope beyond Bejar, that he unfolded his further plans.</p> - -<p>"My friend", said he, "there were once two brothers, students of -Salamanca, and not far removed in age. Of these the elder was given to -love-making and playing on the guitar; while the other stuck to his -books—which was all the more creditable because his eyes were weak. I -hope you are enjoying this story?"</p> - -<p>"It begins to be interesting."</p> - -<p>"Yet these two brothers—they were nearly of one height, by the -way—obtained their bachelor's degrees, and in time their licentiates, -though as rewards for different degrees of learning. They were from -Villacastin, beyond Avila in Old Castille: but their father, a hidalgo -of small estates there, possessed also a farm and the remains of a -castle across the frontier in the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span> kingdom of Leon, a league to the -west of Salvatierra on the Tormes. It had come to him as security for -a loan which was never paid: and, dying, he left this property to his -younger son Andrea. Now when the French set a Corsican upon the throne -of our kingdoms, these two brothers withdrew from Salamanca; but while -Andrea took up his abode on his small heritage, and gave security for -his good behaviour, Eugenio, the elder, turned his back on the paternal -home (which the French had ravaged), and became a rebel, a nameless, -landless man and a wanderer, with his guitar for company. You follow -me?"</p> - -<p>"I follow you, Seņor Don Eugenio——"</p> - -<p>"Not 'de Fuentes,'" he put in with a smile. "The real name you shall -read upon certain papers and parchments of which I hope to possess -myself to-night. In short, my friend, since we are on the way to -Salamanca, why should I not apply there for my doctor's degree?"</p> - -<p>"It requires a thesis, I have always understood."</p> - -<p>"That is written."</p> - -<p>"May I ask upon what subject?"</p> - -<p>"The fiend take me if I know yet! But it is written, safe enough."</p> - -<p>"Ah, I see! We go to Salvatierra? Yes, yes,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span> but what of me, who know -scarcely any Latin beyond my <i>credo</i>?"</p> - -<p>"Why, that is where I feel a certain delicacy. Having respect to your -rank, <i>caballero</i>, I do not like to propose that you should become my -servant."</p> - -<p>"I am your servant already, and for a week past I have been an -Asturian. It will be promotion."</p> - -<p>He sprang up gaily. "What a comrade is mine!" he cried, flinging away -the end of his cigarette. "To Salvatierra, then—Santiago, and close -Spain!"</p> - -<p>Darkness overtook us as we climbed down the slopes: but we pushed on, -Fuentes leading the way boldly. Evidently he had come to familiar -ground. But it was midnight before he brought me, by an abominable -road, to a farmstead the walls of which showed themselves ruinous even -in the starlight—for moon there was none. At an angle of the building, -which once upon a time had been whitewashed, rose a solid tower, with a -doorway and an iron-studded door, and a narrow window overlooking it. -In spite of the hour, Fuentes advanced nonchalantly and began to bang -the door, making noise enough to wake the dead. The window above was -presently<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span> opened—one could hear, with a shaking hand. "Who is there?" -asked a man's voice no less tremulous. "Who are you, for the love of -God?"</p> - -<p>"<i>Gente de paz</i>, my dear brother!—not your friends the French. I hope, -by the way, you are entertaining none."</p> - -<p>"I have been in bed these four hours or five. 'Peace,' say you? I wish -you would take your own risks and leave me in peace! What is it you -want, this time?"</p> - -<p>"'Tis a good six weeks, brother, since my last visit: and, as you know, -I never call without need."</p> - -<p>"Well, what is it you need?"</p> - -<p>"I need," said Fuentes with great gravity, "the loan of your -spectacles."</p> - -<p>"Be serious, for God's sake! And do not raise your voice so: the French -may be following you——"</p> - -<p>"Dear Andrea, and if the French were to hear it, surely mine is an -innocent request. A pair of spectacles!"</p> - -<p>"The French——" began Don Andrea and broke off, peering down -short-sightedly into the courtyard. "Ah, there is someone else! Who is -it? Who is it you have there in the darkness?"</p> - -<p>"<i>Dios!</i> A moment since you were begging<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span> for silence, and now you want -me to call out my friend's name—to who knows what ears? He has a mule, -here, and I—oh yes, beside the spectacles I shall require a horse: a -horse, and—let me see—a treatise."</p> - -<p>"Have you been drinking, brother?"</p> - -<p>"No: and, since you mention it, a cup of wine, too, would not come -amiss. Is this a way to treat the <i>caballero</i> my friend? For the honour -of the family, brother, step down and open the door."</p> - -<p>Don Andrea closed the window, and by-and-by we heard the bolts -withdrawn, one by one—and they were heavy. The door opened at length, -and a thin man in a nightcap peered out upon us with an oil-lamp held -aloft over the hand shading his eyes.</p> - -<p>"You had best call Juan," said his brother easily, "and bid him stable -the mule. For the remainder of the night we are your guests; and, to -ensure our sleeping well, you shall fetch out the choicest of the -theses you have composed for your doctorate and read us a portion over -our wine."</p> - -<p>We lay that night, after a repast of thin wine and chestnuts, in a -spare chamber, and on beds across the feet of which the rats scudded. I -did not see Don Andrea again: but his brother, who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span> had risen betimes, -awakened me from uneasy slumber and showed me his spoil. Sure enough -it included a pair of spectacles and a bulky roll of manuscript, a -leathern jerkin, a white shirt, and a pair of velvet-fustian breeches, -tawny yellow in hue and something the worse for wear. Below-stairs, in -the courtyard, we found a white-haired retainer waiting, with his grip -on the bridles of my mule and a raw-boned grey mare.</p> - -<p>"The <i>caballero</i> will bring them back when he has done with them?" said -this old man as I mounted. The request puzzled me for a moment until I -met his eyes and found them fastened wistfully on my breeches.</p> - -<p>Assuredly Fuentes was an artist. Besides the spectacles, which in -themselves transformed him, he had borrowed a broad-brimmed hat and -a rusty black sleeveless <i>mancha</i>, which, by the way he contrived it -to hang, gave his frame an extraordinary lankiness. But his final and -really triumphant touch was simply a lengthening of the stirrups, -so that his legs dangled beneath the mare's belly like a couple of -ropes with shoes attached. If Don Andrea watched us out of sight from -his tower—as I doubt not he did—his emotions as he recognised his -portrait must have been lively.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span></p> - -<p>In this guise we ambled steadily all day along the old Roman road -leading to Salamanca, and came within sight of the city as the sun -was sinking. It stood on the eastern bank of the river, fronting the -level rays, its walls rising tier upon tier, its towers and cupolas of -cream-coloured stone bathed in gold, with recesses of shadowy purple. -A bridge of twenty-five or six arches spanned the cool river-beds, and -towards this we descended between cornfields, of which the light swept -the topmost ears while the stalks stood already in twilight. Truly it -was a noble city yet, and so I cried aloud to Fuentes. But his eyes, I -believe, saw only what the French had marred or demolished.</p> - -<p>A group of their soldiery idled by the bridge-end, waiting for the -guard to be relieved, and lolled against the parapet watching the -bathers, whose shouts came up to me from the chasm below. But instead -of riding up and presenting our passes, Fuentes, a furlong from the -bridge, turned his mare's head to the left and reined up at the door of -a small riverside tavern.</p> - -<p>The innkeeper—a brisk, athletic man, with the air of a retired -servant—appeared at the door as we dismounted. He scanned Fuentes -narrowly, while giving him affable welcome.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span> Plainly he recognised him -as an old patron, yet plainly the recognition was imperfect.</p> - -<p>"Eh, my good Bartolomé, and so you still cling above the river? I hope -custom clings here too?"</p> - -<p>"But—but can it be the Seņor Don——"</p> - -<p>"Eugenio, my friend. The spectacles puzzle you: they belong to my -brother, Don Andrea, and I may tell you that after a day's wear I find -them trying to the eyes. But, you understand, there are reasons ... and -so you will suppose me to be Don Andrea, while bringing a cup of wine, -and another for my servant, to Don Eugenio's favourite seat, which was -at the end of the garden beyond the mulberry-tree, if you remember."</p> - -<p>"Assuredly this poor house is your Lordship's, and all that belongs to -it. The wine shall be fetched with speed. But as for the table at the -end of the garden, I regret to tell your Lordship that it is occupied -for a while. If for this evening, I might recommend the parlour——" -The innkeeper made his excuse with a certain quick trepidation which -Fuentes did not fail to note.</p> - -<p>"What is this? Your garden full? It appears then, my good Bartolomé, -that your custom has not suffered in these bad times."</p> - -<p>"On the contrary, Seņor, it has fallen off woefully! My garden has been -deserted for months,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span> and is empty now, save for two gentlemen, who, as -luck will have it, have chosen to seat themselves in your Lordship's -favourite corner. Ah, yes, the old times were the best! and I was a -fool to grumble, as I sometimes did, when my patrons ran me off my -legs."</p> - -<p>"But steady, Bartolomé: not so fast! Surely there used to be three -tables beyond the mulberry-tree, or my memory is sadly at fault."</p> - -<p>"Three tables? Yes, it is true there are three tables. Nevertheless——"</p> - -<p>"I cannot see," pursued Fuentes with a musing air—"no, for the life of -me I cannot see how two gentlemen should require three tables to drink -their wine at."</p> - -<p>"Nor I, Seņor. It must, as you say, be a caprice: nevertheless they -charged me that on all accounts they were to have that part of the -garden to themselves."</p> - -<p>"A very churlish caprice, then! They are Frenchmen, doubtless?"</p> - -<p>"No, indeed, your Lordship: but two lads of good birth, gentlemen of -Spain, the one a bachelor, the other a student of the University."</p> - -<p>"All the more, then, they deserve a lesson. Bartolomé, you will -tell your tapster to bring my wine to the vacant table beyond the -mulberry-tree."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span></p> - -<p>"But, Seņor——" As Fuentes moved off, the innkeeper put forth a hand -to entreat if not to restrain him.</p> - -<p>"Eh?" Fuentes halted as if amazed at his impudence. "Ah, to be sure, -I am Don Andrea: but do not forget, my friend, that Don Eugenio used -to be quick-tempered, and that in members of one family these little -likenesses crop up in the most unexpected fashion." He strode away down -the shadowy garden-path over which in the tree-tops a last beam or two -of sunset lingered: and I, having hitched up our beasts, followed him, -carrying the saddle-bags and his guitar-case.</p> - -<p>Three tables, as he had premised, stood in the patch of garden beyond -the mulberry-tree, hedged in closely on three sides, giving a view -in front upon the towers and fortifications across the river; a nook -secluded as a stage-box facing a scene that might have been built -and lit up for our delectation. The tables, with benches alongside, -stood moderately close together—two by the river-wall, the third in -the rear, where the hedge formed an angle: and the two gentlemen so -jealous of their privacy were seated at the nearer of the two tables -overlooking the river, and on the same bench—though at the extreme -ends of it and something more than a yard apart.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span></p> - -<p>They stared up angrily at our intrusion, and for the moment the elder -of the pair seemed about to demand our business. But Fuentes walked -calmly by, took his seat at the next table, pulled out his bundle -of manuscript, adjusted his spectacles, and began to read. Having -deposited my baggage, I took up a respectful position behind him, -ignoring—somewhat ostentatiously perhaps—the strangers' presence, yet -not without observing them from the corner of my eye.</p> - -<p>They were young: the elder, maybe, three-and-twenty, short, thick-set, -with features just now darkened by his ill-humour, but probably -sullen enough at the best of times: the younger, tall and nervous and -extraordinarily fair for a Spaniard, with a weak, restless mouth and -restless, passionate eyes. Indeed, either this restlessness was a -disease with him or he was suffering just now from an uncontrollable -agitation. Eyes, mouth, feet, fingers—the whole man seemed to be -twitching. I set down his age at eighteen. On the table stood a large -flask of wine, from which he helped himself fiercely, and beside the -flask lay a long bundle wrapped in a cloak.</p> - -<p>This young man, having drained his glass at a gulp, let out an oath and -sprang up suddenly with a glare upon Fuentes, who had stretched<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span> out -his legs and was already absorbed in his reading.</p> - -<p>"Seņor Stranger," he began impetuously, "we would have you to know, if -the innkeeper has not already told you——"</p> - -<p>"Gently!" interposed his comrade. "You are going the wrong way to -work. My friend, Sir"—he addressed Fuentes, who looked up with a mild -surprise—"my friend, Sir, was about to suggest that the light is poor -for reading."</p> - -<p>"Oh," answered Fuentes, smiling easily, "for a minute or two—until -they bring my wine. Moreover, I wear excellent glasses."</p> - -<p>"But the place is not too well chosen."</p> - -<p>Fuentes appeared to digest this for a moment, then turned around upon -me with a puzzled air.</p> - -<p>"My good Pedro, you have not misled me, I hope? I am short-sighted, -gentlemen; and if we have strayed into a private garden I offer you -my profoundest apologies." He gathered his manuscript into a roll and -stood up.</p> - -<p>"To be plain with you, Sir," said the dark man sullenly, "this is not -precisely a private garden, and yet we desire privacy."</p> - -<p>"Oho?" After a glance around, Fuentes fixed his eyes on the bundle -lying on the table. "And at the point of the sword—eh?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span></p> - -<p>The two young men started and at once began to eye each other -suspiciously.</p> - -<p>"No, no," Fuentes assured them, smiling; "this is no trap, believe me, -but a chance encounter; and I am no <i>alguacil</i> in disguise, but a poor -scholar returning to Salamanca for his doctorate. Nor do I seek to know -the cause of your quarrel. But here comes the wine!" He waited until -the tapster had set flask and glasses on the table and withdrawn. "In -the interval before your friends arrive you will not grudge me, Sirs, -the draining of a glass to remembrance in a garden where I too have -loved my friends, and quarrelled with them, in days gone by—days older -now than I care to reckon." He raised the wine and held it up for a -moment against the sunset. "Youth—youth!" he sighed.</p> - -<p>"You are welcome, Sir," said the younger man a trifle more graciously; -"but we expect no seconds, and, believe me, we shall presently be -pressed for time."</p> - -<p>Fuentes raised his eyebrows. "You surprise and shock me, Sirs. In the -days to which I drank just now it was not customary for gentlemen of -the University of Salamanca to fight without witnesses. We left that to -porters and grooms."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span></p> - -<p>"And pray," sneered the darker young man, "may we know the name of him -who from the height of his years and experience presumes to intrude -this lecture on us?"</p> - -<p>"You may address me, if you will, as Don Andrea Galazza de Villacastin, -a licentiate of your University——"</p> - -<p>To my astonishment the younger man stopped him with a short offensive -laugh. "You may spare us the rest, Sir. Don Andrea Galazza is known to -us and to all honest patriots by repute: we can supply the rest of his -titles for ourselves, beginning with <i>renegado</i>——"</p> - -<p>"Hist!" interposed his comrade, at the same time catching up the swords -from the table. "Don't be a fool, Sebastian—speak lower, for God's -sake!—the very soldiers at the bridge will hear you!"</p> - -<p>"Ay, Sir," chimed in Fuentes gravely; "listen to your friend's advice, -and do not increase the peril of your remarks by the foolishness of -shouting them."</p> - -<p>But the youngster, flushed with wine and overstrung, had lost for the -moment all self-control. "I accept that risk," cried he, "for the -pleasure of telling Don Andrea Galazza what kind of man he passes for -among honourable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span> folk. He, the brother of Don Eugenio—of our hero, -the noble Fuentes! He, that signed his peace while that noble heart -preferred to break!" He spat in furious contempt.</p> - -<p>Fuentes turned to me quietly. "Behold one of the enthusiasts we came -to seek," he murmured; "and one who will not fear risks. But these -testimonials are embarrassing, and this fame of mine swells to a -nuisance." He faced his accuser. "Nevertheless," answered he aloud, -"you make a noise that must disconcert your friend, who is in two -minds about assassinating me. Why spoil his game by arousing the -neighbourhood?"</p> - -<p>"Seņor Don Andrea, you know too much—thanks to my friend here," said -the dark man slowly.</p> - -<p>"But we are not assassins," put in the youngster. "Renegade though you -be, Don Andrea, I give you your chance." He snatched the foil from his -senior's hand and presented it solemnly, hilt foremost, to Fuentes.</p> - -<p>"Youth—youth!" murmured Fuentes with an appreciative laugh, as he -tucked the foil under his arm, took off his spectacles and rubbed them, -laughing again. He readjusted them carefully and, saluting, fell on -guard. "I am at your service, Sir."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span></p> - -<p>The youth stepped forward hotly, touched blades, and almost immediately -lunged. An instant later his sword, as though it had been a bird -released from his hand, flew over his shoulder into the twilight behind.</p> - -<p>"That was ill-luck for you, Seņor," said Fuentes lowering his point. -"But who can be sure of himself in this confounded twilight?" He swung -half-about towards the river-wall, with a glance across at the city, -where already a few lights began to twinkle in the dusk. And, so -turning, he seemed on a sudden to catch his breath.</p> - -<p>And almost on that instant the youngster, who had fallen back -disconcerted, sprang forward in a fresh fury and gripped his comrade -by the arm, pointing excitedly towards a group of houses above the -fortifications, whence from a high upper storey, deeply recessed -between flanking walls, a light redder than the rest twinkled across to -us.</p> - -<p>"The proof!" cried he. "She knew you would be here, and that is the -proof! <i>You</i> at least I will kill before I leave this garden, as I came -to kill you to-night."</p> - -<p>In his new gust of fury he seemed to have forgotten his -discomfiture—to have forgotten even the existence of Fuentes, who now -faced them<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span> both with a smile which (unless the dusk distorted it) had -some bitterness in its raillery.</p> - -<p>"If I mistake not, Sirs, the light you were discussing signals to us -from an upper chamber in the Lesser Street of the Virgins. It can -only be seen from this garden and from the far end of it, where we -now stand. I will not ask you who lights it now: but she who lit it -in former days was named Luisa. Oh yes, she was circumspect—a good -maid then, and no doubt a good maid now: in that street of the Virgins -there was at least one prudent. Youth flies, <i>ay de mi</i>! But youth -also, as I perceive to-night, repeats itself; and Luisa—who was always -circumspect, though a conspirator—apparently repeats herself too."</p> - -<p>"Luisa? What do you know of Luisa?" stammered the younger man. The name -seemed to have fallen on him like the touch of an enchanter's wand, -stiffening him to stone. Like a statue he stood there, peering forward -with a white face.</p> - -<p>"My friend"—Fuentes turned to me—"be so good as to unstrap the case -yonder and hand me my guitar."</p> - -<p>He laid his foil on the table, took the guitar from me, and, having -seated himself on the bench, tried the strings softly, all the while -looking up with grave raillery at the two young men.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span></p> - -<p>"What do I know of Luisa? Listen!" Under his voice he began a -light-hearted little song, which in English might run like this, or as -nearly as I can contrive—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%"> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>My love, she lives in Salamanca</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>All up a dozen flights of stairs;</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>There with the sparrows night and morning</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Under the roof she chirps her prayers.</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>They say her wisdom comes from heaven</i>—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>So near the clouds and chimneys meet</i>—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>I rather think Luisa's sparrows</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Fetch it aloft there from the street!</i></span><br /> -<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>What would you have? In la Verdura</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>All the day long she keeps a stall:</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Students, bachelors buy her nosegays,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Given with a look and—well, that's all!</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Go, silly boy, believe you first with her</i>—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Twenty at once she'll entertain.</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Why love a mistress and be curst with her?</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Copy Luisa—love all Spain!</i></span><br /> -</p> - -<p>He paused, still eyeing them. "You recognise the tune, Sirs? Does she -play it yet? Well, then, I made it for her."</p> - -<p>"<i>You?</i> How came <i>you</i> to make her that tune?" The younger man had -found his voice at length. "No, Sir; coquette she may be, but that -she ever was friends with such a one as Andrea Galazza I will not yet -believe."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span></p> - -<p>"And you are right. Sirs, you have not yet told me your names: but in -your generous heat you have given me your secret—that you are two -lovers of Spain, and even such a pair as my friend and I have travelled -some distance to seek. In return you shall have mine. I tricked you -just now. I am not Don Andrea, but his brother Eugenio—or, as some -call him, Fuentes."</p> - -<p>"Fuentes! <i>You!</i>"</p> - -<p>"Upon my honour, yes." He pulled off his spectacles, meeting their -incredulity with a frank laugh. "What proof can I give you?" The guitar -still lay across his knees: he picked it up as if to play, but set it -down after a moment with another laugh, hard and bitter. "Let us go -together, gentlemen, to the Street of the Virgins, and ask Luisa if she -remembers me."</p> - -<p>It was agreed that the young men—who gave their names as Diego de -Ribalta and Sebastian Paz—should not accompany us into the city, but -wend their way back across the bridge, while we finished our wine -and mounted our beasts at leisure. The officer at the bridge-end -made no pother about our passports (borrowed, I need scarcely say, -from the estimable Don Andrea, who, as his brother explained, was a -careful man, and zealous in all dealings with the authorities);<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span> and -by-and-by we were clattering up-hill through the ill-lighted streets -of Salamanca. At the head of the first street our two friends stepped -out of the shadow and joined us in silence. In silence, too, Fuentes -regreeted them, and led the way—to an inn first, the Four Crowns, -standing almost under the shadow of the Old Cathedral, where we stabled -mare and mule; then, on foot, through a maze of zigzagging lanes and -alleys, back into the depths of a waterside quarter. Once he was at -fault—the lane we followed ending abruptly in an open space strewn -with rubble-heaps, a broad area where the French had lately been at -work. Among these heaps he blundered for a while in the darkness, and -then, retracing his steps, took up the scent again and led us down one -narrow street, across another; turned to the right, counting the houses -as he went, and knocked at the twelfth door without hesitation. The -knock was a peculiar one—five quick taps, followed, after a pause, by -one distinct and heavy.</p> - -<p>"But I must ask these gentlemen to do what remains," said he, turning -and addressing our companions. "Luisa has doubtless changed the -password since my time."</p> - -<p>"Willingly, Seņor Fuentes," agreed de Ribalta.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span> "You will not, of -course, object to be blindfolded?—a formality, merely, in your case."</p> - -<p>The porter, having received the password in a whisper through the -grille, unbolted to us, and opened the door upon a pitch-dark passage. -Here we submitted to have our eyes bandaged, and Sebastian Paz took -my hand to guide me. Eight flights of stairs we mounted before the -hubbub of many voices and the tinkle of a guitar saluted my ears; two -more, and the hubbub grew louder; another, and it grew obstreperous, -deafening. At the head of the twelfth flight one of our guides rapped -on a door; the noise died down suddenly; a bolt was shot back and the -bandage dragged from my eyes.</p> - -<p>I found myself blinking and staring across a room filled with -tobacco-smoke, and upon a company which at first glance I took for -a crew of demons. They were, in fact, a students' chorus—young men -in black, with black silk masks covering the upper half of their -faces. All wore the same uniform—black tunic, short black cloak, -knee-breeches, and stockings. Some squatted on the floor, two lolled -on a divan by the window—each with a guitar across his knees. The -man who had opened to us held a tambourine, and he alone wore a -little round cap.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span> The others wore black cocked hats, or had flung -them off for better ease. In a deep armchair beside the fireplace sat -a stiff-backed, middle-aged woman in black—a duenna evidently—who -regarded us with eyes like large black beads, but did not interrupt her -knitting. In the corner behind the door stood a bed, with a crucifix -above it: and on the bed, between two crates, the one of them heaped -with flowers, sat a young woman dangling a pretty pair of feet and -smoking a cigarette while she made up a posy.</p> - -<p>In spite of their masks one could tell that all the men were -young—mere lads, indeed. And if this were Luisa, Fuentes had slandered -her sorely. She seemed scarcely eighteen—and we had taken her, too, at -unawares, when a woman forgets for a moment her endless vigilant parry -against Time. She tossed her posy into the half-filled basket, clapped -her hands, and sprang off the bed.</p> - -<p>"Two new recruits! Bravo, Sebastianillo!"</p> - -<p>With that, as she stepped gaily forward, her eyes fell on Fuentes, and -she swayed and fell back a pace, catching at the foot of the bed.</p> - -<p>"Don Eugenio!"</p> - -<p>"Your servant, Seņorita." He bowed elaborately and coldly. "You keep -the lamp burning, and I accepted its invitation. Your cheeks, too,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span> -Seņorita, keep the old colour. I congratulate you—and you, Doņa -Isabel." He bowed to the old lady. "To live with youth—that is the way -to live always young."</p> - -<p>She had moved forward again, as if to take him by both hands: but -faltered. "Yes, we have kept the lamp burning, Don Eugenio," she -answered with a voice curiously strained. "My friends"—she turned -to the young men—"rise and salute our guest of guests, Don Eugenio -Fuentes!"</p> - -<p>"Fuentes!"</p> - -<p>"What are you telling us, Luisa? <i>The</i> Fuentes? But it is impossible!"</p> - -<p>"Impossible! Fuentes comes no more to Salamanca."</p> - -<p>Nevertheless all had sprung to their feet, and Fuentes comprehended -them all in an ironical bow.</p> - -<p>"That is the name by which I call myself, Sirs, since leaving the -University."</p> - -<p>Luisa made a dumb signal, and one of the youths handed him a guitar. He -struck but one chord to assure himself of its tune—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"<i>There's one that lives in Salamanca</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>All up a dozen flights of stairs;</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>There with the sparrows, night and morning,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Under the roof she chirps her prayers.</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>They say her wisdom comes from heaven</i>—</span><br /> -</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span></p> - -<p>Will you not take a guitar, Seņorita, and help me with the old song?</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>So near the clouds and chimneys meet</i>—</span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I <i>rather think Luisa's sparrows</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Fetch it aloft there from the street!</i>"</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>Above all things women suspect and fear irony: it is not one of their -weapons. Luisa glanced at Fuentes doubtfully, I could see, and with -some pain in her doubt. But it was the old song, after all, and he was -singing it <i>de bon cœur</i>. She caught up a guitar and chimed in with -the second verse, taking up the soprano's part, while he at once obeyed -and dropped from treble to alto—</p> - -<p style="margin-left: 30%;"> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Which will you have? In la Verdura</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Pretty Luisa keeps a stall:</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>Hands you a rose for your peseta,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Nothing to pay but a thorn—that's all!</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>King of her love, with no Prime Minister,</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Lord of an attic blithe I'd reign.</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>But</i> ay de mil! <i>from here to Finisterre</i></span><br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Pretty Luisa loves all Spain</i>.</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>His eyes, as he sang, were fastened on young Sebastian Paz, and she, -noting them, played the verse to its ringing close, turned abruptly, -and laid the guitar on the bed between the flower-baskets.</p> - -<p class="center"> -<img src="images/illus08.jpg" alt="guitar" /> -<a id="illus08" name="illus08"></a> -</p> -<p class="caption"> SHE CAUGHT UP A GUITAR AND CHIMED IN.</p> - -<p>"But I think it is business brings you here, Don Eugenio."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span></p> - -<p>He had stepped to the open lattice, and with an upward glance at the -lamp, burning steadily in the windless air, leaned on the sill and -looked out over the city. Somewhere below by the waterside a dull noise -sounded—the thud of a falling beam. The French down there were working -by lantern-light, clearing away the houses from their fortifications.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I come on business, and from Lord Wellington. The good citizens -in Salamanca have ceased to write."</p> - -<p>"And small blame to them," one of the young men answered.</p> - -<p>"Small blame to them, I agree. And yet they must send news—this time -to Lord Wellington, who knows better than to print it."</p> - -<p>His eyes interrogated Luisa, who raised hers at length to meet them.</p> - -<p>"That will not be easy," said she, with a pucker of her pretty -forehead. "They are scared and afraid for their heads: nevertheless, -Don Eugenio might bring back their confidence, if only we can bring him -face to face with them." She seated herself on the bed's edge and mused -awhile with her hands in her lap.</p> - -<p>"You know where to find them?" asked Fuentes, addressing the company in -general.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Oh, yes, Seņor—assuredly we know where to find them!" answered one or -two.</p> - -<p>"Then the whole thing is very simple. You must let me join your choir, -gentlemen."</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes, <i>that</i> is simple enough," put in Luisa impatiently: "the -more so, as our chorus is popular not only in the taverns, but at the -French officers' messes. But these spies of ours are slow and dull to a -degree: I think sometimes it takes a quite special clumsiness to be a -clerk of the arsenal or to swindle the country in the military stores. -We can get you into communication with them, Don Eugenio: but how are -they to pass their information to <i>you</i>? They are born bunglers, and -the French begin to use their eyes." She pursed her lips for a moment. -"Is your friend new to this work?" she asked, suddenly turning toward -me a gaze of frank inspection.</p> - -<p>Fuentes smiled. "You would not say so, Seņorita, were I free to tell -you his name."</p> - -<p>"As for that," said I, "where Seņor Don Eugenio entrusts his secret I -may not hesitate to entrust mine. My name is Manuel MacNeill, Seņorita, -and I kiss your hands and am at your service."</p> - -<p>Luisa rose and dropped me a very stately curtsey. "Happy were I, -Don Manuel MacNeill,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span> to welcome you, even if you did not solve our -difficulty. You are clever at disguises, I have been told. Well, I have -a disguise for you—though not, to be sure, a pleasant one."</p> - -<p>"I take the downs with the ups," said I.</p> - -<p>"Well, then, Don Diego here is an artist. He can paint you a bunch of -grapes so that the birds come to peck at it: moreover, he has studied -at the hospital. We must find you a suit of rags, Sir, and Don Diego -shall paint you as full of sores as Lazarus."</p> - -<p>"And after that?"</p> - -<p>"After that you will go to the porch of the New Cathedral, to the -shady side of it—look you how I study your comfort—facing on the -Square of the Old College: and there you shall collect the alms of the -charitable. Many things, I am told, find their way into a beggar's hat."</p> - -<p>"Seņorita," said Fuentes gravely, with a glance up at the lamp, "it was -a good star that led us here to-night."</p> - -<p>"The star, as you call it, has not failed in all these years," she -answered, with a look of timid appeal which hardened to one of defiance.</p> - -<p>"Nay," answered he coldly and lightly, "I never doubted it would—while -there was oil to feed it."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span></p> - -<p>On the morrow, then, I took up my station by the porch of the -Cathedral, with a highly artistic wound in my left leg, a shade over -my right eye, and beside me a crutch and a ragged cap. The first day -brought me coppers only: but late on the second afternoon a stout -citizen, pausing on the steps and catching his breath asthmatically -before entering the Cathedral, dropped a paper pellet in with his -penny. On the third day it began to rain pellets, and I drank that -night to the assured success of our campaign.</p> - -<p>I saw nothing of Fuentes. It had been agreed between us that I should -play my part in my own fashion, and I played it so thoroughly as to -take lodgings in the beggars' quarter, in a thieves' den—it was little -better—off the Street of the Rosary. It was enough for me that, -however Fuentes went about the sowing, the harvest kept pouring in. As -for the Street of the Virgins, I had been brought to it and had quitted -it in the dark, and it is a question if by daylight I could have found -it again. At any rate, I did not try.</p> - -<p>But on the fourth day, at about five in the afternoon, as the day's -heat began to grow tolerable, I caught sight of Luisa herself picking -her way towards the Cathedral porch along the pavement under the faįade -of the University.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span> Before entering the great doors she paused on the -step beside me, bent to drop a coin into my cap, and whispered—</p> - -<p>"When I come out, follow me."</p> - -<p>She passed on into the Cathedral and did not reappear for a quarter of -an hour, perhaps. In this time I had made up my mind that, whatever -the risk of my obeying her, she had probably weighed it against some -risk more urgent, and perhaps brought the message direct from Fuentes. -So when she came forth, and after pausing a moment to readjust her -mantilla, tripped down the steps and away to the left down the street -leading to the Porta del Rio, I picked up my crutch, yawned, shook the -coppers in my wallet, and hobbled after her at a decent distance.</p> - -<p>All the way I kept my eyes open and my ears too. In the streets around -the Porta del Rio the city's traffic was beginning to flow again -after the day's siesta: but I made pretty sure that we were not being -tracked. Through half-a-dozen streets she led me, and so to one which -I supposed to be the Street of the Virgins, and to a door which I -recognised for that to which Fuentes had brought me four nights ago.</p> - -<p>She had already knocked and been admitted: but the door opened again as -I came abreast of it,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span> and I stepped past the porter into the passage. -Luisa stood half-way up the first flight of stairs under a sunny window -and beckoned, and aloft I climbed after her to her attic. With her hand -on the latch of her own door, she turned.</p> - -<p>"You will find your clothes within," she said, and opened the door for -me to pass. "Dress—dress with speed—and find Don Eugenio. Your work -is done, and you must both be beyond the bridge before sunset."</p> - -<p>"Is there treachery, Seņorita?" I asked.</p> - -<p>"There is treachery of a kind, but not of the kind you guess. It is -important that Don Eugenio should be beyond the bridge to-night. Your -beasts at the Four Crowns are ready saddled. Find your friend, and help -him to go with all speed."</p> - -<p>"But where shall I find him, Seņorita? I have not set eyes on him for -three or four days."</p> - -<p>"Yet he has done his work surely, has he not?"</p> - -<p>"Far better than I could have hoped."</p> - -<p>"You ask where he is to be found? But where else than by the -Archbishop's College, near by where the French have pulled down his own -College of San Lorenzo, and are destroying more? You men!" She broke -out into sudden passionate contempt. "The past is all you have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span> eyes -for—the poor, wild, blundering past. You have no eyes for the present, -and with the past you poison its living joy. We women cannot be always -seventeen: yet because we are not, you kill us—you kill us, I say!" -Then, while I stared at her in downright amaze, "Go, dress!" she cried, -thrusting me into the room. "In your coat you will find two letters. -That without address you will give to Don Eugenio when you find him: -that which is marked with a cross you will hand to him when you shall -have passed the bridge—on no account before. And now be quick, I -beseech you: for this one room is all my house."</p> - -<p>Almost she thrust me within, and closed the door gently upon me. When I -emerged, in my right and proper clothes, it was to find her yet waiting -there upon the landing.</p> - -<p>"I thank you for your speed, Seņor Don Manuel; for I, too, am in haste -to change my dress: and my dress will require care to-night, since I go -to a masquerade." She gave me her hand. "Farewell, friend!" she said.</p> - -<p>I found Don Eugenio behind the College of the Archbishop, seated on a -mound and watching the French sappers at their work. I gave him Luisa's -letter.</p> - -<p>"The wench," said he calmly, having read it, "is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span> a born conspirator. -She cannot be happy unless she has a card hidden even from her -fellow-plotters. Still, it is usually safe to follow her advice. Our -work is pretty thoroughly done, I fancy?"</p> - -<p>I nodded.</p> - -<p>"We will see to our beasts then."</p> - -<p>"She tells me they are ready saddled."</p> - -<p>"Saints! She is in a hurry, that girl! Ah, well, then let us go and ask -no questions."</p> - -<p>We found our mare and mule, paid our reckoning, and rode forth from -Salamanca. At the bridge-end we showed the passports, and were bidden -to go in peace. As we climbed the hill beyond, I handed Fuentes Luisa's -second letter.</p> - -<p>"She bade me deliver it here," I explained.</p> - -<p>He read it, turned in his saddle, and looked back towards the twilit -sky. "A likely tale," said he, crushing the letter into his pocket.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Scarcely a year later—to be precise, on the 17th of June, 1812—the -Allied forces crossed the fords above and below Salamanca, and invested -the fortifications which still commanded the bridge. In the suburbs and -outlying quarters the inhabitants lit up their houses and, cheering and -weeping, thronged the streets to press the hands of the deliverers.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span></p> - -<p>On the 27th the forts fell, and these scenes were renewed. I was -passing through the Plaza Mayor that night, about eight o'clock, when a -man plucked me by the sleeve, and, turning in the light of a bonfire, I -confronted Fuentes. I had not seen him since our return to Lisbon: and -his face, in the bonfire's glare, seemed to me to have aged woefully.</p> - -<p>"The shells may have spared her house," said he. "Do you care to go -with me and see what remains of it?"</p> - -<p>He linked his arm in mine. We dived into the dark streets together.</p> - -<p>The Street of the Virgins had suffered from the Allies' artillery, and -we picked our way over fallen chimney-stacks and heaps of rubble to -the remembered door. It stood open, no porter guarding it: but a lamp -smoked in the stairway, and by the light of it we mounted together.</p> - -<p>On the topmost landing all was dark, but here within the half-open door -a light shone. Fuentes tapped on the door and pressed it open. From a -deep armchair beside the empty fireplace a woman rose to greet us. It -was the duenna, Doņa Isabel. Behind her in the open window a lamp shone -within a red shade, swaying a little in the draught.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I give you welcome, Sirs," quavered the old lady in a voice that -seemed to flicker, too, in the draught. "By the shouting I understood -that the forts have fallen and for some while I have been expecting -you.... It is dull up here, and a poor welcome for young gentlemen -since my darling died. But on such a night as this——"</p> - -<p>She gazed around her, resting both hands on the arms of her chair.</p> - -<p>"Luisa! Where is Luisa?" cried Fuentes sharply.</p> - -<p>"They come very seldom now," pursued the old woman, not hearing or not -comprehending. "It is dull, you understand. You, Sir, are Don Eugenio, -are you not?" She nodded palsywise toward the white bed, where a broken -guitar lay between two baskets of withered flowers.</p> - -<p>"I was to tell you——" She broke off and lifted a hand half-way to -her brow, but let it drop. "I was to tell you, if you came, that her -letter was true, and always the lamp had been lit for you only. It -burns still, you see. She loved you, my little one did; and she was -good—always, though she laughed, she was good."</p> - -<p>Fuentes stepped to the bed and took the guitar in his hands. Some blow -had broken in the sounding-board, and one of the strings had snapped.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span></p> - -<p>"There is no blood upon it," went on the old woman in the same tone -that seemed pitilessly striving not to hurt. "The little one scarcely -bled at all. But Don Diego struck hard, and somehow the guitar was -broken, yet it may have been with her elbow as she fell. It was -not treachery, you understand. At first she believed that in his -jealousy he meant to betray you, but he meant only to murder. And she, -discovering this, dressed herself in your clothes and took your place -in the line that night: I heard her playing down the stairs: they were -all playing 'My love, she lives in Salamanca'—that was the tune—your -own tune, Don Eugenio—and she, with her mask on, singing bravely, the -third in the line. She was short, you remember—oh, perhaps a head and -shoulders shorter than you!—but Don Diego, outside the door in the -darkness, could not see well, or maybe he was misled by your guitar. -And, afterwards, Don Sebastian ran him through. They brought her -upstairs to me and laid her on the bed. She was breathing yet, but for -a very little while: and I was to tell you—I was to tell you——" She -broke off again, seeking to remember.</p> - -<p>"Was it something about the lamp, Doņa Isabel?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Yes, that was it—but I have told you already, eh? Only for you she -had ever lit it: for years, yet always and only for you...."</p> - -<p>He crept past me, the guitar beneath his arm, and I followed. He went -like a blind man, groping between the stair-rail and the wall.</p> - - - - -<p class="center" style="margin-top: 10em;"><small> -PRINTED BY<br /> -WILLIAM CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED<br /> -LONDON AND BECCLES.</small> -</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Shakespeare's Christmas and other -stories, by A. T. 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