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diff --git a/6201-h/6201-h.htm b/6201-h/6201-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1dd33bf --- /dev/null +++ b/6201-h/6201-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,10348 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + + <title> + Cumner's Son and Other South Sea Folk, by Gilbert Parker + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd7; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> +Project Gutenberg's Cumner & South Sea Folk, Complete, by Gilbert Parker + +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 + + +Title: Cumner & South Sea Folk, Complete + +Author: Gilbert Parker + +Release Date: October 17, 2006 [EBook #6201] +Last Updated: August 27, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CUMNER & SOUTH SEA FOLK, COMPLETE *** + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + +</pre> + + <h1> + CUMNER’S SON AND OTHER SOUTH SEA FOLK + </h1> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h2> + by Gilbert Parker + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <a href="#link2H_INTR"> INTRODUCTION </a><br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>CUMNER’S SON</b> </a><br /><br /> <a + href="#link2H_4_0003"> I. </a> THE CHOOSING OF THE MESSENGER + <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> II. </a> "REST AT THE + KOONGAT BRIDGE AN HOUR” <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> III. </a> THE + CODE OF THE HILLS <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> IV. </a> BY + THE OLD WELL OF JAHAR <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> V. </a> CHOOSE + YE WHOM YE WILL SERVE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VI. </a> CONCERNING + THE DAUGHTER OF CUSHNAN DI <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> VII. + </a> THE RED PLAGUE <br /><br /> <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> + VIII. </a> THE CHOOSING OF THE DAKOON <br /><br /> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> IX. </a> THE PROPHET OF PEACE <br /><br /><br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> THE HIGH COURT OF BUDGERY-GAR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> AN EPIC IN YELLOW </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0014"> DIBBS, R.N. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> A LITTLE MASQUERADE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> DERELICT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> OLD ROSES </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> MY WIFE’S LOVERS </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> THE STRANGERS’ HUT </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> THE PLANTER’S WIFE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> BARBARA GOLDING </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> THE LONE CORVETTE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> A SABLE SPARTAN </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> A VULGAR FRACTION </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> HOW PANGO WANGO WAS ANNEXED </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> AN AMIABLE REVENGE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> THE BLIND BEGGAR AND THE LITTLE RED PEG </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> A FRIEND OF THE COMMUNE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> A PAGAN OF THE SOUTH </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_INTR" id="link2H_INTR"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + INTRODUCTION + </h2> + <p> + In a Foreword to Donovan Pasha, published in 1902, I used the following + words: + </p> + <p> + “It is now twelve years since I began giving to the public tales of life + in lands well known to me. The first of them were drawn from Australia and + the islands of the southern Pacific, where I had lived and roamed in the + middle and late eighties.... Those tales of the Far South were given out + with some prodigality. They did not appear in book form, however; for at + the time I was sending out these antipodean sketches I was also writing—far + from the scenes where they were laid—a series of Canadian tales, + many of which appeared in the ‘Independent’ of New York, in the ‘National + Observer’, edited by Mr. Henley, and in the ‘Illustrated London News’. On + the suggestion of my friend Mr. Henley, the Canadian tales, Pierre and His + People, were published first; with the result that the stories of the + southern hemisphere were withheld from publication, though they have been + privately printed and duly copyrighted. Some day I may send them forth, + but meanwhile I am content to keep them in my care.” + </p> + <p> + These stories made the collection published eventually under the title of + Cumner’s Son, in 1910. They were thus kept for nearly twenty years without + being given to the public in book form. In 1910 I decided, however, that + they should go out and find their place with my readers. The first story + in the book, Cumner’s Son, which represents about four times the length of + an ordinary short story, was published in Harper’s Weekly, midway between + 1890 and 1900. All the earlier stories belonged to 1890, 1891, 1892, and + 1893. The first of these to be published was ‘A Sable Spartan’, ‘An + Amiable Revenge’, ‘A Vulgar Fraction’, and ‘How Pango Wango Was Annexed’. + They were written before the Pierre series, and were instantly accepted by + Mr. Frederick Greenwood, that great journalistic figure of whom the + British public still takes note, and for whom it has an admiring memory, + because of his rare gifts as an editor and publicist, and by a political + section of the public, because Mr. Greenwood recommended to Disraeli the + purchase of the Suez Canal shares. Seventeen years after publishing these + stories I had occasion to write to Frederick Greenwood, and in my letter I + said: “I can never forget that you gave me a leg up in my first struggle + for recognition in the literary world.” His reply was characteristic; it + was in keeping with the modest, magnanimous nature of the man. He said: “I + cannot remember that there was any day when you required a leg up.” + </p> + <p> + While still contributing to the ‘Anti-Jacobin’, which had a short life and + not a very merry one, I turned my attention to a weekly called ‘The + Speaker’, to which I have referred elsewhere, edited by Mr. Wemyss Reid, + afterwards Sir Wemyss Reid, and in which Mr. Quiller-Couch was then + writing a striking short story nearly every week. Up to that time I had + only interviewed two editors. One was Mr. Kinloch-Cooke, now Sir Clement + Kinloch-Cooke, who at that time was editor of the ‘English Illustrated + Magazine’, and a very good, courteous, and generous editor he was, and he + had a very good magazine; the other was an editor whose name I do not care + to mention, because his courtesy was not on the same expansive level as + his vanity. + </p> + <p> + One bitter winter’s day in 1891 I went to Wemyss Reid to tell him, if he + would hear me, that I had in my mind a series of short stories of + Australia and the South Seas, and to ask him if he could give them a place + in ‘The Speaker’. It was a Friday afternoon, and as I went into the smudgy + little office I saw a gentleman with a small brown bag emerging from + another room. + </p> + <p> + At that moment I asked for Mr. Wemyss Reid. The gentleman with the little + brown bag stood and looked sharply at me, but with friendly if penetrating + eyes. “I am Wemyss Reid—you wish to see me?” he said. “Will you give + me five minutes?” I asked. “I am just going to the train, but I will spare + you a minute,” he replied. He turned back into another smudgy little room, + put his bag on the table, and said: “Well?” I told him quickly, eagerly, + what I wished to do, and I said to him at last: “I apologise for seeking + you personally, but I was most anxious that my work should be read by your + own eyes, because I think I should be contented with your judgment, + whether it was favourable or unfavourable.” Taking up his bag again, he + replied, “Send your stories along. If I think they are what I want I will + publish them. I will read them myself.” He turned the handle of the door, + and then came back to me and again looked me in the eyes. “If I cannot use + them—and there might be a hundred reasons why I could not, and none + of them derogatory to your work—” he said, “do not be discouraged. + There are many doors. Mine is only one. Knock at the others. Good luck to + you.” + </p> + <p> + I never saw Wemyss Reid again, but he made a friend who never forgot him, + and who mourned his death. It was not that he accepted my stories; it was + that he said what he did say to a young man who did not yet know what his + literary fortune might be. Well, I sent him a short story called, ‘An Epic + in Yellow’. Proofs came by return of post. This story was followed by ‘The + High Court of Budgery-Gar’, ‘Old Roses’, ‘My Wife’s Lovers’, ‘Derelict’, + ‘Dibbs, R.N.’, ‘A Little Masquerade’, and ‘The Stranger’s Hut’. Most, if + not all, of these appeared before the Pierre stories were written. + </p> + <p> + They did not strike the imagination of the public in the same way as the + Pierre series, but they made many friends. They were mostly Australian, + and represented the life which for nearly four years I knew and studied + with that affection which only the young, open-eyed enthusiast, who makes + his first journey in the world, can give. In the same year, for + ‘Macmillan’s Magazine’, I wrote ‘Barbara Golding’ and ‘A Pagan of the + South’, which was originally published as ‘The Woman in the Morgue’. ‘A + Friend of the Commune’ was also published in the ‘English Illustrated + Magazine’, and ‘The Blind Beggar and the Little Red Peg’ found a place in + the ‘National Observer’ after W. E. Henley had ceased to be its editor, + and Mr. J. C. Vincent, also since dead, had taken his place. ‘The Lone + Corvette’ was published in ‘The Westminster Gazette’ as late as 1893. + </p> + <p> + Of certain of these stories, particularly of the Australian group, I have + no doubt. They were lifted out of the life of that continent with sympathy + and care, and most of the incidents were those which had come under my own + observation. I published them at last in book form, because I felt that no + definitive edition of my books ought to appear—and I had then a + definitive edition in my mind—without these stories which + represented an early phase in my work. Whatever their degree of merit, + they possess freshness and individuality of outlook. Others could no doubt + have written them better, but none could have written them with quite the + same touch or turn or individuality; and, after all, what we want in the + art of fiction is not a story alone, not an incident of life or soul + simply as an incident, but the incident as seen with the eye—and + that eye as truthful and direct as possible—of one individual + personality. George Meredith and Robert Louis Stevenson might each have + chosen the same subject and the same story, and each have produced a + masterpiece, and yet the world of difference between the way it was + presented by each was the world of difference between the eyes that saw. + So I am content to let these stories speak little or much, but still to + speak for me. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + CUMNER’S SON + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I. THE CHOOSING OF THE MESSENGER + </h2> + <p> + There was trouble at Mandakan. You could not have guessed it from anything + the eye could see. In front of the Residency two soldiers marched up and + down sleepily, mechanically, between two ten-pounders marking the limit of + their patrol; and an orderly stood at an open door, lazily shifting his + eyes from the sentinels to the black guns, which gave out soft, quivering + waves of heat, as a wheel, spinning, throws off delicate spray. A hundred + yards away the sea spread out, languid and huge. It was under-tinged with + all the colours of a morning sunrise over Mount Bobar not far beyond, + lifting up its somnolent and massive head into the Eastern sky. + “League-long rollers” came in as steady as columns of infantry, with white + streamers flying along the line, and hovering a moment, split, and ran on + the shore in a crumbling foam, like myriads of white mice hurrying up the + sand. + </p> + <p> + A little cloud of tobacco smoke came curling out of a window of the + Residency. It was sniffed up by the orderly, whose pipe was in barracks, + and must lie there untouched until evening at least; for he had stood at + this door since seven that morning, waiting orders; and he knew by the + look on Colonel Cumner’s face that he might be there till to-morrow. + </p> + <p> + But the ordinary spectator could not have noticed any difference in the + general look of things. All was quiet, too, in the big native city. At the + doorways the worker in brass and silver hammered away at his metal, a + sleepy, musical assonance. The naked seller of sweetmeats went by calling + his wares in a gentle, unassertive voice; in dark doorways worn-eyed women + and men gossiped in voices scarce above a whisper; and brown children + fondled each other, laughing noiselessly, or lay asleep on rugs which + would be costly elsewhere. In the bazaars nothing was selling, and no man + did anything but mumble or eat, save the few scholars who, cross-legged on + their mats, read and laboured towards Nirvana. Priests in their yellow + robes and with bare shoulders went by, oblivious of all things. + </p> + <p> + Yet, too, the keen observer could have seen gathered into shaded corners + here and there, a few sombre, low-voiced men talking covertly to each + other. They were not the ordinary gossipers; in the faces of some were the + marks of furtive design, of sinister suggestion. But it was all so deadly + still. + </p> + <p> + The gayest, cheeriest person in Mandakan was Colonel Cumner’s son. Down at + the opal beach, under a palm-tree, he sat, telling stories of his pranks + at college to Boonda Broke, the half-breed son of a former Dakoon who had + ruled the State of Mandakan when first the English came. The saddest + person in Mandakan was the present Dakoon, in his palace by the Fountain + of the Sweet Waters, which was guarded by four sacred warriors in stone + and four brown men armed with the naked kris. + </p> + <p> + The Dakoon was dying, though not a score of people in the city knew it. He + had drunk of the Fountain of Sweet Waters, also of the well that is by + Bakbar; he had eaten of the sweetmeat called the Flower of Bambaba, his + chosen priests had prayed, and his favourite wife had lain all day and all + night at the door of his room, pouring out her soul; but nothing came of + it. + </p> + <p> + And elsewhere Boonda Broke was showing Cumner’s Son how to throw a kris + towards one object and make it hit another. He gave an illustration by + aiming at a palm-tree and sticking a passing dog behind the shoulder. The + dog belonged to Cumner’s Son, and the lad’s face suddenly blazed with + anger. He ran to the dog, which had silently collapsed like a punctured + bag of silk, drew out the kris, then swung towards Boonda Broke, whose + cool, placid eyes met his without emotion. + </p> + <p> + “You knew that was my dog,” he said quickly in English, “and—and I + tell you what, sir, I’ve had enough of you. A man that’d hit a dog like + that would hit a man the same way.” + </p> + <p> + He was standing with the crimson kris in his hand above the dog. His + passion was frank, vigorous, and natural. + </p> + <p> + Boonda Broke smiled passively. + </p> + <p> + “You mean, could hit a man the same way, honoured lord.” + </p> + <p> + “I mean what I said,” answered the lad, and he turned on his heel; but + presently he faced about again, as though with a wish to give his foe the + benefit of any doubt. Though Boonda Broke was smiling, the lad’s face + flushed again with anger, for the man’s real character had been revealed + to him on the instant, and he was yet in the indignant warmth of the new + experience. If he had known that Boonda Broke had cultivated his + friendship for months, to worm out of him all the secrets of the + Residency, there might have been a violent and immediate conclusion to the + incident, for the lad was fiery, and he had no fear in his heart; he was + combative, high-tempered, and daring. Boonda Broke had learned no secrets + of him, had been met by an unconscious but steady resistance, and at + length his patience had given way in spite of himself. He had white blood + in his veins—fighting Irish blood—which sometimes overcame his + smooth, Oriental secretiveness and cautious duplicity; and this was one of + those occasions. He had flung the knife at the dog with a wish in his + heart that it was Cumner’s Son instead. As he stood looking after the + English lad, he said between his teeth with a great hatred, though his + face showed no change: + </p> + <p> + “English dog, thou shalt be dead like thy brother there when I am Dakoon + of Mandakan.” + </p> + <p> + At this moment he saw hurrying towards him one of those natives who, a + little while before, had been in close and furtive talk in the Bazaar. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile the little cloud of smoke kept curling out of the Governor’s + door, and the orderly could catch the fitful murmur of talk that followed + it. Presently rifle shots rang out somewhere. Instantly a tall, + broad-shouldered figure, in white undress uniform, appeared in the doorway + and spoke quickly to the orderly. In a moment two troopers were galloping + out of the Residency Square and into the city. Before two minutes had + passed one had ridden back to the orderly, who reported to the Colonel + that the Dakoon had commanded the shooting of five men of the tribe of the + outlaw hill-chief, Pango Dooni, against the rear wall of the Palace, where + the Dakoon might look from his window and see the deed. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel sat up eagerly in his chair, then brought his knuckles down + smartly on the table. He looked sharply at the three men who sat with him. + </p> + <p> + “That clinches it,” said he. “One of those fellows was Pango Dooni’s + nephew, another was his wife’s brother. It’s the only thing to do—some + one must go to Pango Dooni, tell him the truth, ask him to come down and + save the place, and sit up there in the Dakoon’s place. He’ll stand by us, + and by England.” + </p> + <p> + No one answered at first. Every face was gloomy. At last a grey-haired + captain of artillery spoke his mind in broken sentences: + </p> + <p> + “Never do—have to ride through a half-dozen sneaking tribes—Pango + Dooni, rank robber—steal like a barrack cat—besides, no man + could get there. Better stay where we are and fight it out till help + comes.” + </p> + <p> + “Help!” said Cumner bitterly. “We might wait six months before a + man-of-war put in. The danger is a matter of hours. A hundred men, and a + score of niggers—what would that be against thirty thousand + natives?” + </p> + <p> + “Pango Dooni is as likely to butcher us as the Dakoon,” said McDermot, the + captain of artillery. Every man in the garrison had killed at least one of + Pango Dooni’s men, and every man of them was known from the Kimar Gate to + the Neck of Baroob, where Pango Dooni lived and ruled. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel was not to be moved. “I’d ride the ninety miles myself, if my + place weren’t here—no, don’t think I doubt you, for I know you all! + But consider the nest of murderers that’ll be let loose here when the + Dakoon dies. Better a strong robber with a strong robber’s honour to perch + there in the Palace, than Boonda Broke and his cut-throats—” + </p> + <p> + “Honour—honour?—Pango Dooni!” broke out McDermot the gunner + scornfully. + </p> + <p> + “I know the man,” said the Governor gruffly; “I know the man, I tell you, + and I’d take his word for ten thousand pounds, or a thousand head of + cattle. Is there any of you will ride to the Neck of Baroob for me? For + one it must be, and no more—we can spare scarce that, God knows!” he + added sadly. “The women and children—” + </p> + <p> + “I will go,” said a voice behind them all; and Cumner’s Son stepped + forward. “I will go, if I may ride the big sorrel from the Dakoon’s stud.” + </p> + <p> + The Colonel swung round in his chair and stared mutely at the lad. He was + only eighteen years old, but of good stature, well-knit, and straight as a + sapling. + </p> + <p> + Seeing that no one answered him, but sat and stared incredulously, he + laughed a little, frankly and boyishly. “The kris of Boonda Broke is for + the hearts of every one of us,” said he. “He may throw it soon—to-night—to-morrow. + No man can leave here—all are needed; but a boy can ride; he is + light in the saddle, and he may pass where a man would be caught in a rain + of bullets. I have ridden the sorrel of the Dakoon often; he has pressed + it on me; I will go to the master of his stud, and I will ride to the Neck + of Baroob.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said one after the other, getting to his feet, “I will go.” + </p> + <p> + The Governor waved them down. “The lad is right,” said he, and he looked + him closely and proudly in the eyes. “By the mercy of God, you shall ride + the ride,” said he. “Once when Pango Dooni was in the city, in disguise, + aye, even in the Garden of the Dakoon, the night of the Dance of the + Yellow Fire, I myself helped him to escape, for I stand for a fearless + robber before a cowardly saint.” His grey moustache and eyebrows bristled + with energy as he added: “The lad shall go. He shall carry in his breast + the bracelet with the red stone that Pango Dooni gave me. On the stone is + written the countersign that all hillsmen heed, and the tribe-call I know + also.” + </p> + <p> + “The danger—the danger—and the lad so young!” said McDermot; + but yet his eyes rested lovingly on the boy. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel threw up his head in anger. “If I, his father, can let him go, + why should you prate like women? The lad is my son, and he shall win his + spurs—and more, and more, maybe,” he added. + </p> + <p> + He took from his pocket Pango Dooni’s gift and gave it to the lad, and + three times he whispered in his ear the tribe-call and the countersign + that he might know them. The lad repeated them three times, and, with his + finger, traced the countersign upon the stone. + </p> + <p> + That night he rode silently out of the Dakoon’s palace yard by a quiet + gateway, and came, by a roundabout, to a point near the Residency. + </p> + <p> + He halted under a flame-tree, and a man came out of the darkness and laid + a hand upon his knee. + </p> + <p> + “Ride straight and swift from the Kimar Gate. Pause by the Koongat Bridge + an hour, rest three hours at the Bar of Balmud, and pause again where the + roof of the Brown Hermit drums to the sorrel’s hoofs. Ride for the sake of + the women and children and for your own honour. Ride like a Cumner, lad.” + </p> + <p> + The last sound of the sorrel’s hoofs upon the red dust beat in the + Colonel’s ears all night long, as he sat waiting for news from the Palace, + the sentinels walking up and down, the orderly at the door, and Boonda + Broke plotting in the town. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. “REST AT THE KOONGAT BRIDGE AN HOUR” + </h2> + <p> + There was no moon, and but few stars were shining. When Cumner’s Son first + set out from Mandakan he could scarcely see at all, and he kept his way + through the native villages more by instinct than by sight. As time passed + he saw more clearly; he could make out the figures of natives lying under + trees or rising from their mats to note the flying horseman. Lights + flickered here and there in the houses and by the roadside. A late + traveller turned a cake in the ashes or stirred some rice in a calabash; + an anxious mother put some sandalwood on the coals and added incense, that + the gods might be good to the ailing child on the mat; and thrice, at + forges in the village, he saw the smith languidly beating iron into shape, + while dark figures sat on the floor near by, and smoked and murmured to + each other. + </p> + <p> + These last showed alertness at the sound of the flying sorrel’s hoofs, and + all at once a tall, keen-eyed horseman sprang to the broad doorway and + strained his eyes into the night after Cumner’s Son. He waited a few + moments; then, as if with a sudden thought, he ran to a horse tethered + near by and vaulted into the saddle. At a word his chestnut mare got away + with telling stride in pursuit of the unknown rider, passing up the Gap of + Mandakan like a ghost. + </p> + <p> + Cumner’s Son had a start by about half a mile, but Tang-a-Dahit rode a + mare that had once belonged to Pango Dooni, and Pango Dooni had got her + from Colonel Cumner the night he escaped from Mandakan. + </p> + <p> + For this mare the hill-chief had returned no gift save the gold bracelet + which Cumner’s Son now carried in his belt. + </p> + <p> + The mare leaned low on her bit, and travelled like a thirsty hound to + water, the sorrel tugged at the snaffle, and went like a bullmoose + hurrying to his herd, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “That long low gallop that can tire + The hounds’ deep hate or hunter’s fire.” + </pre> + <p> + The pace was with the sorrel. Cumner’s Son had not looked behind after the + first few miles, for then he had given up thought that he might be + followed. He sat in his saddle like a plainsman; he listened like a + hillsman; he endured like an Arab water-carrier. There was not an ounce of + useless flesh on his body, and every limb, bone, and sinew had been + stretched and hardened by riding with the Dakoon’s horsemen, by travelling + through the jungle for the tiger and the panther, by throwing the kris + with Boonda Broke, fencing with McDermot, and by sabre practice with + red-headed Sergeant Doolan in the barracks by the Residency Square. After + twenty miles’ ride he was dry as a bone, after thirty his skin was moist + but not damp, and there was not a drop of sweat on the skin-leather of his + fatigue cap. When he got to Koongat Bridge he was like a racer after + practice, ready for a fight from start to finish. Yet he was not + foolhardy. He knew the danger that beset him, for he could not tell, in + the crisis come to Mandakan, what designs might be abroad. He now saw + through Boonda Broke’s friendship for him, and he only found peace for his + mind upon the point by remembering that he had told no secrets, had given + no information of any use to the foes of the Dakoon or the haters of the + English. + </p> + <p> + On this hot, long, silent ride he looked back carefully, but he could not + see where he had been to blame; and, if he were, he hoped to strike a + balance with his own conscience for having been friendly to Boonda Broke, + and to justify himself in his father’s eyes. If he came through all right, + then “the Governor”—as he called his father, with the friendly + affection of a good comrade, and as all others in Mandakan called him + because of his position—the Governor then would say that whatever + harm he had done indirectly was now undone. + </p> + <p> + He got down at the Koongat Bridge, and his fingers were still in the + sorrel’s mane when he heard the call of a bittern from the river bank. He + did not loose his fingers, but stood still and listened intently, for + there was scarcely a sound of the plain, the river, or jungle he did not + know, and his ear was keen to balance ‘twixt the false note and the true. + He waited for the sound again. From that first call he could not be sure + which had startled him—the night was so still—the voice of a + bird or the call between men lying in ambush. He tried the trigger of his + pistol softly, and prepared to mount. As he did so, the call rang out + across the water again, a little louder, a little longer. + </p> + <p> + Now he was sure. It was not from a bittern—it was a human voice, of + whose tribe he knew not—Pango Dooni’s, Boonda Broke’s, the Dakoon’s, + or the segments of peoples belonging to none of these—highway + robbers, cattle-stealers, or the men of the jungle, those creatures as + wild and secret as the beasts of the bush and more cruel and more furtive. + </p> + <p> + The fear of the ambushed thing is the worst fear of this world—the + sword or the rifle-barrel you cannot see and the poisoned wooden spear + which the men of the jungle throw gives a man ten deaths, instead of one. + </p> + <p> + Cumner’s Son mounted quickly, straining his eyes to see and keeping his + pistol cocked. When he heard the call a second time he had for a moment a + thrill of fear, not in his body, but in his brain. He had that fatal gift, + imagination, which is more alive than flesh and bone, stronger than iron + and steel. In his mind he saw a hundred men rise up from ambush, surround + him, and cut him down. He saw himself firing a half-dozen shots, then + drawing his sword and fighting till he fell; but he did fall in the end, + and there was an end of it. It seemed like years while these visions + passed through his mind, but it was no longer than it took to gather the + snaffle-rein close to the sorrel’s neck, draw his sword, clinch it in his + left hand with the rein, and gather the pistol snugly in his right. He + listened again. As he touched the sorrel with his knee he thought he heard + a sound ahead. + </p> + <p> + The sorrel sprang forward, sniffed the air, and threw up his head. His + feet struck the resounding timbers of the bridge, and, as they did so, he + shied; but Cumner’s Son, looking down sharply, could see nothing to either + the right or left—no movement anywhere save the dim trees on the + banks waving in the light wind which had risen. A crocodile slipped off a + log into the water—he knew that sound; a rank odour came from the + river bank—he knew the smell of the hippopotamus. + </p> + <p> + These very things gave him new courage. Since he came from Eton to + Mandakan he had hunted often and well, and once he had helped to quarry + the Little Men of the Jungle when they carried off the wife and daughter + of a soldier of the Dakoon. The smell and the sound of wild life roused + all the hunter in him. He had fear no longer; the primitive emotion of + fighting or self-defence was alive in him. + </p> + <p> + He had left the bridge behind by twice the horse’s length, when, all at + once, the call of the red bittern rang out the third time, louder than + before; then again; and then the cry of a grey wolf came in response. + </p> + <p> + His peril was upon him. He put spurs to the sorrel. As he did so, dark + figures sprang up on all sides of him. Without a word he drove the excited + horse at his assailants. Three caught his bridle-rein, and others snatched + at him to draw him from his horse. + </p> + <p> + “Hands off!” he cried, in the language of Mandakan, and levelled his + pistol. + </p> + <p> + “He is English!” said a voice. “Cut him down!” + </p> + <p> + “I am the Governor’s son,” said the lad. “Let go.” “Cut him down!” snarled + the voice again. + </p> + <p> + He fired twice quickly. + </p> + <p> + Then he remembered the tribe-call given his father by Pango Dooni. Rising + in his saddle and firing again, he called it out in a loud voice. His + plunging horse had broken away from two of the murderers; but one still + held on, and he slashed the hand free with his sword. + </p> + <p> + The natives were made furious by the call, and came on again, striking at + him with their krises. He shouted the tribe-call once more, but this time + it was done involuntarily. There was no response in front of him; but one + came from behind. There was clattering of hoofs on Koongat Bridge, and the + password of the clan came back to the lad, even as a kris struck him in + the leg and drew out again. Once again he called, and suddenly a horseman + appeared beside him, who clove through a native’s head with a broadsword, + and with a pistol fired at the fleeing figures; for Boonda Broke’s men who + were thus infesting the highway up to Koongat Bridge, and even beyond, up + to the Bar of Balmud, hearing the newcomer shout the dreaded name of Pango + Dooni, scattered for their lives, though they were yet twenty to two. One + stood his ground, and it would have gone ill for Cumner’s Son, for this + thief had him at fatal advantage, had it not been for the horseman who had + followed the lad from the forge-fire to Koongat Bridge. He stood up in his + stirrups and cut down with his broadsword, so that the blade was driven + through the head and shoulders of his foe as a woodsman splits a log half + through, and grunts with the power of his stroke. + </p> + <p> + Then he turned to the lad. + </p> + <p> + “What stranger calls by the word of our tribe?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I am Cumner’s Son,” was the answer, “and my father is brother-in-blood + with Pango Dooni. I ride to Pango Dooni for the women and children’s + sake.” + </p> + <p> + “Proof! Proof! If you be Cumner’s Son, another word should be yours.” + </p> + <p> + The Colonel’s Son took out the bracelet from his breast. “It is safe hid + here,” said he, “and hid also under my tongue. If you be from the Neck of + Baroob you will know it when I speak it;” and he spoke reverently the + sacred countersign. + </p> + <p> + By a little fire kindled in the road, the bodies of their foe beside them, + they vowed to each other, mingling their blood from dagger pricks in the + arm. Then they mounted again and rode towards the Neck of Baroob. + </p> + <p> + In silence they rode awhile, and at last the hillsman said: “If fathers be + brothers-in-blood, behold it is good that sons be also.” + </p> + <p> + By this the lad knew that he was now brother-in-blood to the son of Pango + Dooni. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. THE CODE OF THE HILLS + </h2> + <p> + “You travel near to Mandakan!” said the lad. “Do you ride with a thousand + men?” + </p> + <p> + “For a thousand men there are ten thousand eyes to see; I travel alone and + safe,” answered Tang-a-Dahit. + </p> + <p> + “To thrust your head in the tiger’s jaw,” said Cumner’s Son. “Did you ride + to be in at the death of the men of your clan?” + </p> + <p> + “A man will ride for a face that he loves, even to the Dreadful Gates,” + answered Tang-a-Dahit. “But what is this of the men of my clan?” + </p> + <p> + Then the lad told him of those whose heads hung on the rear Palace wall, + where the Dakoon lay dying, and why he rode to Pango Dooni. + </p> + <p> + “It is fighting and fighting, naught but fighting,” said Tang-a-Dahit + after a pause; “and there is no peace. It is fighting and fighting, for + honour, and glory, and houses and cattle, but naught for love, and naught + that there may be peace.” + </p> + <p> + Cumner’s Son turned round in his saddle as if to read the face of the man, + but it was too dark. + </p> + <p> + “And naught that there maybe peace.” Those were the words of a hillsman + who had followed him furiously in the night ready to kill, who had cloven + the head of a man like a piece of soap, and had been riding even into + Mandakan where a price was set on his head. + </p> + <p> + For long they rode silently, and in that time Cumner’s Son found new + thoughts; and these thoughts made him love the brown hillsman as he had + never loved any save his own father. + </p> + <p> + “When there is peace in Mandakan,” said he at last, “when Boonda Broke is + snapped in two like a pencil, when Pango Dooni sits as Dakoon in the + Palace of Mandakan—” + </p> + <p> + “There is a maid in Mandakan,” interrupted Tanga-Dahit, “and these two + years she has lain upon her bed, and she may not be moved, for the bones + of her body are as the soft stems of the lily, but her face is a perfect + face, and her tongue has the wisdom of God.” + </p> + <p> + “You ride to her through the teeth of danger?” + </p> + <p> + “She may not come to me, and I must go to her,” answered the hillsman. + </p> + <p> + There was silence again for a long time, for Cumner’s Son was turning + things over in his mind; and all at once he felt that each man’s acts must + be judged by the blood that is in him and the trail by which he has come. + </p> + <p> + The sorrel and the chestnut mare travelled together as on one snaffle-bar, + step by step, for they were foaled in the same stable. Through stretches + of reed-beds and wastes of osiers they passed, and again by a path through + the jungle where the briar-vines caught at them like eager fingers, and a + tiger crossed their track, disturbed in his night’s rest. At length out of + the dank distance they saw the first colour of dawn. + </p> + <p> + “Ten miles,” said Tang-a-Dahit, “and we shall come to the Bar of Balmud. + Then we shall be in my own country. See, the dawn comes up! ‘Twixt here + and the Bar of Balmud our danger lies. A hundred men may ambush there, for + Boonda Broke’s thieves have scattered all the way from Mandakan to our + borders.” + </p> + <p> + Cumner’s Son looked round. There were hills and defiles everywhere, and a + thousand places where foes could hide. The quickest way, but the most + perilous, lay through the long defile between the hills, flanked by + boulders and rank scrub. Tang-a-Dahit pointed out the ways that they might + go—by the path to the left along the hills, or through the green + defile; and Cumner’s Son instantly chose the latter way. + </p> + <p> + “If the fight were fair,” said the hillsman, “and it were man to man, the + defile is the better way; but these be dogs of cowards who strike from + behind rocks. No one of them has a heart truer than Boonda Broke’s, the + master of the carrion. We will go by the hills. The way is harder but more + open, and if we be prospered we will rest awhile at the Bar of Balmud, and + at noon we will tether and eat in the Neck of Baroob.” + </p> + <p> + They made their way through the medlar trees and scrub to the plateau + above, and, the height gained, they turned to look back. The sun was up, + and trailing rose and amber garments across the great Eastern arch. Their + path lay towards it, for Pango Dooni hid in the hills, where the sun hung + a roof of gold above his stronghold. + </p> + <p> + “Forty to one!” said Tang-a-Dahit suddenly. “Now indeed we ride for our + lives!” + </p> + <p> + Looking down the track of the hillsman’s glance Cumner’s Son saw a bunch + of horsemen galloping up the slope. Boonda Broke’s men! + </p> + <p> + The sorrel and the mare were fagged, the horses of their foes were fresh; + and forty to one were odds that no man would care to take. It might be + that some of Pango Dooni’s men lay between them and the Bar of Balmud, but + the chance was faint. + </p> + <p> + “By the hand of Heaven,” said the hillsman, “if we reach to the Bar of + Balmud, these dogs shall eat their own heads for dinner!” + </p> + <p> + They set their horses in the way, and gave the sorrel and mare the bit and + spur. The beasts leaned again to their work as though they had just come + from a feeding-stall and knew their riders’ needs. The men rode light and + free, and talked low to their horses as friend talks to friend. Five miles + or more they went so, and then the mare stumbled. She got to her feet + again, but her head dropped low, her nostrils gaped red and swollen, and + the sorrel hung back with her, for a beast, like a man, will travel + farther two by two than one by one. At another point where they had a long + view behind they looked back. Their pursuers were gaining. Tang-a-Dahit + spurred his horse on. + </p> + <p> + “There is one chance,” said he, “and only one. See where the point juts + out beyond the great medlar tree. If, by the mercy of God, we can but make + it!” + </p> + <p> + The horses gallantly replied to call and spur. They rounded a curve which + made a sort of apse to the side of the valley, and presently they were hid + from their pursuers. Looking back from the thicket they saw the plainsmen + riding hard. All at once Tang-a-Dahit stopped. + </p> + <p> + “Give me the sorrel,” said he. “Quick—dismount!” Cumner’s Son did as + he was bid. Going a little to one side, the hillsman pushed through a + thick hedge of bushes, rolled away a rock, and disclosed an opening which + led down a steep and rough-hewn way to a great misty valley beneath, where + was never a bridle-path or causeway over the brawling streams and + boulders. + </p> + <p> + “I will ride on. The mare is done, but the sorrel can make the Bar of + Balmud.” + </p> + <p> + Cumner’s Son opened his mouth to question, but stopped, for the eyes of + the hillsman flared up, and Tang-a-Dahit said: + </p> + <p> + “My arm in blood has touched thy arm, and thou art in my hills and not in + thine own country. Thy life is my life, and thy good is my good. Speak + not, but act. By the high wall of the valley where no man bides there is a + path which leads to the Bar of Balmud; but leave it not, whether it go up + or down or be easy or hard. If thy feet be steady, thine eye true, and thy + heart strong, thou shalt come by the Bar of Balmud among my people.” + </p> + <p> + Then he caught the hand of Cumner’s Son in his own and kissed him between + the eyes after the manner of a kinsman, and, urging him into the hole, + rolled the great stone into its place again. Mounting the sorrel he rode + swiftly out into the open, rounded the green point full in view of his + pursuers, and was hid from them in an instant. Then, dismounting, he + swiftly crept back through the long grass into the thicket again, mounted + the mare, and drove her at laboured gallop also around the curve, so that + it seemed to the plainsmen following that both men had gone that way. He + mounted the sorrel again, and loosing a long sash from his waist drew it + through the mare’s bit. The mare, lightened of the weight, followed well. + When the plainsmen came to the cape of green, they paused not by the + secret place, for it seemed to them that two had ridden past and not one. + </p> + <p> + The Son of Pango Dooni had drawn pursuit after himself, for it is the law + of the hills that a hillsman shall give his life or all that he has for a + brother-in-blood. + </p> + <p> + When Cumner’s Son had gone a little way he understood it all! And he would + have turned back, but he knew that the hillsman had ridden far beyond his + reach. So he ran as swiftly as he could; he climbed where it might seem + not even a chamois could find a hold; his eyes scarcely seeing the long, + misty valley, where the haze lay like a vapour from another world. There + was no sound anywhere save the brawling water or the lonely cry of the + flute-bird. Here was the last refuge of the hillsmen if they should ever + be driven from the Neck of Baroob. They could close up every entrance, and + live unscathed; for here was land for tilling, and wood, and wild fruit, + and food for cattle. + </p> + <p> + Cumner’s Son was supple and swift, and scarce an hour had passed ere he + came to a steep place on the other side, with rough niches cut in the + rocks, by which a strong man might lift himself up to safety. He stood a + moment and ate some coffee-beans and drank some cold water from a stream + at the foot of the crag, and then began his ascent. Once or twice he + trembled, for he was worn and tired; but he remembered the last words of + Tang-a-Dahit, and his fingers tightened their hold. At last, with a strain + and a gasp, he drew himself up, and found himself on a shelf of rock with + all the great valley spread out beneath him. A moment only he looked, + resting himself, and then he searched for a way into the hills; for + everywhere there was a close palisade of rocks and saplings. At last he + found an opening scarce bigger than might let a cat through; but he + laboured hard, and at last drew himself out and looked down the path which + led into the Bar of Balmud—the great natural escarpment of giant + rocks and monoliths and medlar trees, where lay Pango Dooni’s men. + </p> + <p> + He ran with all his might, and presently he was inside the huge defence. + There was no living being to be seen; only the rock-strewn plain and the + woods beyond. + </p> + <p> + He called aloud, but nothing answered; he called again the tribe-call of + Pango Dooni’s men, and a hundred armed men sprang up. + </p> + <p> + “I am a brother-in-blood of Pango Dooni’s Son,” said he. “Tang-a-Dahit + rides for his life to the Bar of Balmud. Ride forth if ye would save him.” + </p> + <p> + “The lad speaks with the tongue of a friend,” said a scowling hillsman, + advancing, “yet how know we but he lies?” + </p> + <p> + “Even by this,” said Cumner’s Son, and he spoke the sacred countersign and + showed again the bracelet of Pango Dooni, and told what had happened. Even + as he spoke the hillsmen gave the word, and two score men ran down behind + the rocks, mounted, and were instantly away by the road that led to the + Koongat Bridge. + </p> + <p> + The tall hillsman turned to the lad. + </p> + <p> + “You are beaten by travel,” said he. “Come, eat and drink, and rest.” + </p> + <p> + “I have sworn to breakfast where Pango Dooni bides, and there only will I + rest and eat,” answered the lad. + </p> + <p> + “The son of Pango Dooni knows the lion’s cub from the tame dog’s whelp. + You shall keep your word. Though the sun ride fast towards noon, faster + shall we ride in the Neck of Baroob,” said the hillsman. + </p> + <p> + It was half-way towards noon when the hoof-beats drummed over the Brown + Hermit’s cave, and they rested not there; but it was noon and no more when + they rode through Pango Dooni’s gates and into the square where he stood. + </p> + <p> + The tall hillsman dropped to the ground, and Cumner’s Son made to do the + same. Yet he staggered, and would have fallen, but the hillsman ran an arm + around his shoulder. The lad put by the arm, and drew him self up. He was + most pale. Pango Dooni stood looking at him, without a word, and Cumner’s + Son doffed his cap. There was no blood in his lips, and his face was white + and drawn. + </p> + <p> + “Since last night what time the bugle blows in the Palace yard, I have + ridden,” said he. + </p> + <p> + At the sound of his voice the great chief started. “The voice I know, but + not the face,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “I am Cumner’s Son,” replied the lad, and once more he spoke the sacred + countersign. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV. BY THE OLD WELL OF JAHAR + </h2> + <p> + To Cumner’s Son when all was told, Pango Dooni said: “If my son be dead + where those jackals swarm, it is well he died for his friend. If he be + living, then it is also well. If he be saved, we will march to Mandakan, + with all our men, he and I, and it shall be as Cumner wills, if I stay in + Mandakan or if I return to my hills.” + </p> + <p> + “My father said in the council-room, ‘Better the strong robber than the + weak coward,’ and my father never lied,” said the lad dauntlessly. The + strong, tall chief, with the dark face and fierce eyes, roused in him the + regard of youth for strong manhood. + </p> + <p> + “A hundred years ago they stole from my fathers the State of Mandakan,” + answered the chief, “and all that is here and all that is there is mine. + If I drive the kine of thieves from the plains to my hills, the cattle + were mine ere I drove them. If I harry the rich in the midst of the + Dakoon’s men, it is gaining my own over naked swords. If I save your tribe + and Cumner’s men from the half-bred jackal Boonda Broke, and hoist your + flag on the Palace wall, it is only I who should do it.” + </p> + <p> + Then he took the lad inside the house, with the great wooden pillars and + the high gates, and the dark windows all barred up and down with iron, and + he led him to a court-yard where was a pool of clear water. He made him + bathe in it, and dark-skinned natives brought him bread dipped in wine, + and when he had eaten they laid him on skins and rubbed him dry, and + rolled him in soft linen, and he drank the coffee they gave him, and they + sat by and fanned him until he fell asleep. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ....................... +</pre> + <p> + The red birds on the window-sill sang through his sleep into his dreams. + In his dreams he thought he was in the Dakoon’s Palace at Mandakan with a + thousand men before him, and three men came forward and gave him a sword. + And a bird came flying through the great chambers and hung over him, + singing in a voice that he understood, and he spoke to the three and to + the thousand, in the words of the bird, and said: + </p> + <p> + “It is fighting, and fighting for honour and glory and houses and kine, + but naught for love, and naught that there may be peace.” + </p> + <p> + And the men said in reply: “It is all for love and it is all for peace,” + and they still held out the sword to him. So he took it and buckled it to + his side, and the bird, flying away out of the great window of the + chamber, sang: “Peace! Peace! Peace!” And Pango Dooni’s Son standing by, + with a shining face, said, “Peace! Peace!” and the great Cumner said, + “Peace!” and a woman’s voice, not louder than a bee’s, but clear above all + others, said, “Peace!” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ...................... +</pre> + <p> + He awoke and knew it was a dream; and there beside him stood Pango Dooni, + in his dress of scarlet and gold and brown, his broadsword buckled on, a + kris at his belt, and a rich jewel in his cap. + </p> + <p> + “Ten of my captains and three of my kinsmen are come to break bread with + Cumner’s Son,” said he. “They would hear the tale of our kinsmen who died + against the Palace wall, by the will of the sick Dakoon.” + </p> + <p> + The lad sprang to his feet fresh and well, the linen and skins falling + away from his lithe, clean body and limbs, and he took from the slaves his + clothes. The eye of the chief ran up and down his form, from his keen blue + eyes to his small strong ankle. + </p> + <p> + “It is the body of a perfect man,” said he. “In the days when our State + was powerful and great, when men and not dogs ruled at Mandakan, no man + might be Dakoon save him who was clear of mote or beam; of true bone and + body, like a high-bred yearling got from a perfect stud. But two such are + there that I have seen in Mandakan to-day, and they are thyself and mine + own son.” + </p> + <p> + The lad laughed. “I have eaten good meat,” said he, “and I have no muddy + blood.” + </p> + <p> + When they came to the dining-hall, the lad at first was abashed, for + twenty men stood up to meet him, and each held out his hand and spoke the + vow of a brother-in-blood, for the ride he had made and his honest face + together acted on them. Moreover, whom the head of their clan honoured + they also willed to honour. They were tall, barbaric-looking men, and some + had a truculent look, but most were of a daring open manner, and careless + in speech and gay at heart. + </p> + <p> + Cumner’s Son told them of his ride and of Tang-a-Dahit, and, at last, of + the men of their tribe who died by the Palace wall. With one accord they + rose in their places and swore over bread and a drop of blood of their + chief that they would not sheathe their swords again till a thousand of + Boonda Broke’s and the Dakoon’s men lay where their own kinsmen had + fallen. If it chanced that Tang-a-Dahit was dead, then they would never + rest until Boonda Broke and all his clan were blotted out. Only Pango + Dooni himself was silent, for he was thinking much of what should be done + at Mandakan. + </p> + <p> + They came out upon the plateau where the fortress stood, and five hundred + mounted men marched past, with naked swords and bare krises in their + belts, and then wheeled suddenly and stood still, and shot their swords up + into the air the full length of the arm, and called the battle-call of + their tribe. The chief looked on unmoved, save once when a tall trooper + rode near him. He suddenly called this man forth. + </p> + <p> + “Where hast thou been, brother?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Three days was I beyond the Bar of Balmud, searching for the dog who + robbed my mother; three days did I ride to keep my word with a foe, who + gave me his horse when we were both unarmed and spent, and with broken + weapons could fight no more; and two days did I ride to be by a woman’s + side when her great sickness should come upon her. This is all, my lord, + since I went forth, save this jewel which I plucked from the cap of a + gentleman from the Palace. It was toll he paid even at the gates of + Mandakan.” + </p> + <p> + “Didst thou do all that thou didst promise?” + </p> + <p> + “All, my lord.” + </p> + <p> + “Even to the woman?” The chief’s eye burned upon the man. + </p> + <p> + “A strong male child is come into the world to serve my lord,” said the + trooper, and he bowed his head. “The jewel is thine and not mine, + brother,” said the chief softly, and the fierceness of his eyes abated; + “but I will take the child.” + </p> + <p> + The trooper drew back among his fellows, and the columns rode towards the + farther end of the plateau. Then all at once the horses plunged into wild + gallop, and the hillsmen came thundering down towards the chief and + Cumner’s Son, with swords waving and cutting to right and left, calling + aloud, their teeth showing, death and valour in their eyes. The chief + glanced at Cumner’s Son. The horses were not twenty feet from the lad, but + he did not stir a muscle. They were not ten feet from him, and swords + flashed before his eyes, but still he did not stir a hair’s breadth. In + response to a cry the horses stopped in full career, not more than three + feet from him. Reaching out he could have stroked the flaming nostril of + the stallion nearest him. + </p> + <p> + Pango Dooni took from his side a short gold-handled sword and handed it to + him. + </p> + <p> + “A hundred years ago,” said he, “it hung in the belt of the Dakoon of + Mandakan; it will hang as well in thine.” Then he added, for he saw a + strange look in the lad’s eyes: “The father of my father’s father wore it + in the Palace, and it has come from his breed to me, and it shall go from + me to thee, and from thee to thy breed, if thou wilt honour me.” + </p> + <p> + The lad stuck it in his belt with pride, and taking from his pocket a + silver-mounted pistol, said: + </p> + <p> + “This was the gift of a fighting chief to a fighting chief when they met + in a beleaguered town, with spoil, and blood, and misery, and sick women + and children round them; and it goes to a strong man, if he will take the + gift of a lad.” + </p> + <p> + At that moment there was a cry from beyond the troopers, and it was + answered from among them by a kinsman of Pango Dooni, and presently, the + troopers parting, down the line came Tang-a-Dahit, with bandaged head and + arm. + </p> + <p> + In greeting, Pango Dooni raised the pistol which Cumner’s Son had given + him and fired it into the air. Straightway five hundred men did the same. + </p> + <p> + Dismounting, Tang-a-Dahit stood before his father. “Have the Dakoon’s + vermin fastened on the young bull at last?” asked Pango Dooni, his eyes + glowering. “They crawled and fastened, but they have not fed,” answered + Tang-a-Dahit in a strong voice, for his wounds had not sunk deep. “By the + Old Well of Jahar, which has one side to the mountain wall, and one to the + cliff edge, I halted and took my stand. The mare and the sorrel of + Cumner’s Son I put inside the house that covers the well, and I lifted two + stones from the floor and set them against the entrance. A beggar lay dead + beside the well, and his dog licked his body. I killed the cur, for, + following its master, it would have peace, and peace is more than life. + Then, with the pole of the waterpail, I threw the dead dog across the + entrance upon the paving stones, for these vermin of plainsmen will not + pass where a dead dog lies, as my father knows well. They came not by the + entrance, but they swarmed elsewhere, as ants swarm upon a sandhill, upon + the roofs, and at the little window where the lamp burns. + </p> + <p> + “I drove them from the window and killed them through the doorway, but + they were forty to one. In the end the pest would have carried me to + death, as a jackal carries the broken meats to his den, if our hillsmen + had not come. For an hour I fought, and five of them I killed and seven + wounded, and then at the shouts of our hillsmen they fled at last. Nine of + them fell by the hands of our people. Thrice was I wounded, but my wounds + are no deeper than the scratches of a tiger’s cub.” + </p> + <p> + “Hadst thou fought for thyself the deed were good,” said Pango Dooni, “but + thy blood was shed for another, and that is the pride of good men. We have + true men here, but thou art a true chief and this shalt thou wear.” + </p> + <p> + He took the rich belt from his waist, and fastened it round the waist of + his son. + </p> + <p> + “Cumner’s Son carries the sword that hung in the belt. We are for war, and + the sword should be out of the belt. When we are at peace again ye shall + put the sword in the belt once more, and hang it upon the wall of the + Palace at Mandakan, even as ye who are brothers shall never part.” + </p> + <p> + Two hours Tang-a-Dahit rested upon skins by the bathing pool, and an hour + did the slaves knead him and rub him with oil, and give him food and + drink; and while yet the sun was but half-way down the sky, they poured + through the Neck of Baroob, over five hundred fighting men, on horses that + would kneel and hide like dogs, and spring like deer, and that knew each + tone of their masters’ voices. By the Bar of Balmud they gathered another + fifty hillsmen, and again half-way beyond the Old Well of Jahar they met + two score more, who had hunted Boonda Broke’s men, and these moved into + column. So that when they came to Koongat Bridge, in the country infested + by the men of the Dakoon, seven hundred stalwart and fearless men rode + behind Pango Dooni. From the Neck of Baroob to Koongat Bridge no man + stayed them, but they galloped on silently, swiftly, passing through the + night like a cloud, upon which the dwellers by the wayside gazed in wonder + and in fear. + </p> + <p> + At Koongat Bridge they rested for two hours, and drank coffee, and broke + bread, and Cumner’s Son slept by the side of Tang-a-Dahit, as brothers + sleep by their mother’s bed. And Pango Dooni sat on the ground near them + and pondered, and no man broke his meditation. When the two hours were + gone, they mounted again and rode on through the dark villages towards + Mandakan. + </p> + <p> + It was just at the close of the hour before dawn that the squad of + troopers who rode a dozen rods before the columns, heard a cry from the + dark ahead. “Halt-in the name of the Dakoon!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V. CHOOSE YE WHOM YE WILL SERVE + </h2> + <p> + The company drew rein. All they could see in the darkness was a single + mounted figure in the middle of the road. The horseman rode nearer. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” asked the leader of the company. + </p> + <p> + “I keep the road for the Dakoon, for it is said that Cumner’s Son has + ridden to the Neck of Baroob to bring Pango Dooni down.” + </p> + <p> + By this time the chief and his men had ridden up. The horseman recognised + the robber chief, and raised his voice. + </p> + <p> + “Two hundred of us rode out to face Pango Dooni in this road. We had not + come a mile from the Palace when we fell into an ambush, even two thousand + men led by Boonda Broke, who would steal the roof and bed of the Dakoon + before his death. For an hour we fought but every man was cut down save + me.” + </p> + <p> + “And you?” asked Pango Dooni. + </p> + <p> + “I come to hold the road against Pango Dooni, as the Dakoon bade me.” + </p> + <p> + Pango Dooni laughed. “Your words are large,” said he. “What could you, one + man, do against Pango Dooni and his hillsman?” + </p> + <p> + “I could answer the Dakoon here or elsewhere, that I kept the road till + the hill-wolves dragged me down.” + </p> + <p> + “We be the wolves from the hills,” answered Pango Dooni. “You would scarce + serve a scrap of flesh for one hundred, and we are seven.” + </p> + <p> + “The wolves must rend me first,” answered the man, and he spat upon the + ground at Pango Dooni’s feet. + </p> + <p> + A dozen men started forward, but the chief called them back. + </p> + <p> + “You are no coward, but a fool,” said he to the horseman. “Which is it + better: to die, or to turn with us and save Cumner and the English, and + serve Pango Dooni in the Dakoon’s Palace?” + </p> + <p> + “No man knows that he must die till the stroke falls, and I come to fight + and not to serve a robber mountaineer.” + </p> + <p> + Pango Dooni’s eyes blazed with anger. “There shall be no fighting, but a + yelping cur shall be hung to a tree,” said he. + </p> + <p> + He was about to send his men upon the stubborn horseman when the fellow + said: + </p> + <p> + “If you be a man you will give me a man to fight. We were two hundred. If + it chance that one of a company shall do as the Dakoon hath said, then is + all the company absolved; and beyond the mists we can meet the Dakoon with + open eyes and unafraid when he saith, ‘Did ye keep your faith?’” + </p> + <p> + “By the word of a hillsman, but thou shalt have thy will,” said the chief. + “We are seven hundred men—choose whom to fight.” + </p> + <p> + “The oldest or the youngest,” answered the man. “Pango Dooni or Cumner’s + Son.” + </p> + <p> + Before the chief had time to speak, Cumner’s Son struck the man with the + flat of his sword across the breast. + </p> + <p> + The man did not lift his arm, but looked at the lad steadily for a moment. + “Let us speak together before we fight,” said he, and to show his good + faith he threw down his sword. + </p> + <p> + “Speak,” said Cumner’s Son, and laid his sword across the pommel of his + saddle. + </p> + <p> + “Does a man when he dies speak his heart to the ears of a whole tribe?” + </p> + <p> + “Then choose another ear than mine,” said Cumner’s Son. “In war I have no + secrets from my friends.” + </p> + <p> + A look of satisfaction came into Pango Dooni’s face. “Speak with the man + alone,” said he, and he drew back. + </p> + <p> + Cumner’s Son drew a little to one side with the man, who spoke quickly and + low in English. + </p> + <p> + “I have spoken the truth,” said he. “I am Cushnan Di”—he drew + himself up—“and once I had a city of my own and five thousand men, + but a plague and then a war came, and the Dakoon entered upon my city. I + left my people and hid, and changed myself that no one should know me, and + I came to Mandakan. It was noised abroad that I was dead. Little by little + I grew in favour with the Dakoon, and little by little I gathered strong + men about me-two hundred in all at last. It was my purpose, when the day + seemed ripe, to seize upon the Palace as the Dakoon had seized upon my + little city. I knew from my father, whose father built a new portion of + the Palace, of a secret way by the Aqueduct of the Failing Fountain, even + into the Palace itself. An army could ride through and appear in the + Palace yard like the mist-shapes from the lost legions. When I had a + thousand men I would perform this thing, I thought. + </p> + <p> + “But day by day the Dakoon drew me to him, and the thing seemed hard to + do, even now before I had the men. Then his sickness came, and I could not + strike an ailing man. When I saw how he was beset by traitors, in my heart + I swore that he should not suffer by my hands. I heard of your riding to + the Neck of Baroob—the men of Boonda Broke brought word. So I told + the Dakoon, and I told him also that Boonda Broke was ready to steal into + his Palace even before he died. He started up, and new life seemed given + him. Calling his servants, he clothed himself, and he came forth and + ordered out his troops. He bade me take my men to keep the road against + Pango Dooni. Then he ranged his men before the Palace, and scattered them + at points in the city to resist Boonda Broke. + </p> + <p> + “So I rode forth, but I came first to my daughter’s bedside. She lies in a + little house not a stone’s throw from the Palace, and near to the Aqueduct + of the Falling Fountain. Once she was beautiful and tall and straight as a + bamboo stem, but now she is in body no more than a piece of silken thread. + Yet her face is like the evening sky after a rain. She is much alone, and + only in the early mornings may I see her. She is cared for by an old woman + of our people, and there she bides, and thinks strange thoughts, and + speaks words of wisdom. + </p> + <p> + “When I told her what the Dakoon bade me do, and what I had sworn to + perform when the Dakoon was dead, she said: + </p> + <p> + “‘But no. Go forth as the Dakoon hath bidden. Stand in the road and oppose + the hillsmen. If Cumner’s Son be with them, thou shalt tell him all. If he + speak for the hillsmen and say that all shall be well with thee, and thy + city be restored when Pango Dooni sits in the Palace of the Dakoon, then + shalt thou join with them, that there may be peace in the land, for Pango + Dooni and the son of Pango Dooni be brave strong men. But if he will not + promise for the hillsmen, then shalt thou keep the secret of the Palace, + and abide the will of God.”’ + </p> + <p> + “Dost thou know Pango Dooni’s son?” asked the lad, for he was sure that + this man’s daughter was she of whom Tang-a-Dahit had spoken. + </p> + <p> + “Once when I was in my own city and in my Palace I saw him. Then my + daughter was beautiful, and her body was like a swaying wand of the boolda + tree. But my city passed, and she was broken like a trailing vine, and the + young man came no more.” + </p> + <p> + “But if he came again now?” + </p> + <p> + “He would not come.” + </p> + <p> + “But if he had come while she lay there like a trailing vine, and listened + to her voice, and thought upon her words and loved her still. If for her + sake he came secretly, daring death, wouldst thou stand—” + </p> + <p> + The man’s eyes lighted. “If there were such truth in any man,” he + interrupted, “I would fight, follow him, and serve him, and my city should + be his city, and the knowledge of my heart be open to his eye.” + </p> + <p> + Cumner’s Son turned and called to Pango Dooni and his son, and they came + forward. Swiftly he told them all. When he had done so the man sprang from + his horse, and taking off the thin necklet of beaten gold he wore round + his throat, without a word he offered it to Tang-a-Dahit, and Tang-a-Dahit + kissed him on the cheek and gave him the thick, loose chain of gold he + wore. + </p> + <p> + “For this was it you risked your life going to Mandakan,” said Pango + Dooni, angrily, to his son; “for a maid with a body like a withered + gourd.” Then all at once, with a new look in his face, he continued + softly: “Thou hast the soul of a woman, but thy deeds are the deeds of a + man. As thy mother was in heart so art thou.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ...................... +</pre> + <p> + Day was breaking over Mandakan, and all the city was a tender pink. Tower + and minaret were like inverted cups of ruddy gold, and the streets all + velvet dust, as Pango Dooni, guided by Cushnan Di, halted at the wood of + wild peaches, and a great thicket near to the Aqueduct of the Failing + Fountain, and looked out towards the Palace of the Dakoon. It was the time + of peach blossoms, and all through the city the pink and white petals fell + like the gay crystals of a dissolving sunrise. Yet there rose from the + midst of it a long, rumbling, intermittent murmur, and here and there + marched columns of men in good order, while again disorderly bands ran + hither and hither with krises waving in the sun, and the red turban of war + wound round their heads. + </p> + <p> + They could not see the front of the Palace, nor yet the Residency Square, + but, even as they looked, a cannonade began, and the smoke of the guns + curled through the showering peach-trees. Hoarse shoutings and cries came + rolling over the pink roofs, and Cumner’s Son could hear through all the + bugle-call of the artillery. + </p> + <p> + A moment later Cushnan Di was leading them through a copse of pawpaw trees + to a secluded garden by the Aqueduct, overgrown with vines and ancient + rose trees, and cherry shrubs. After an hour’s labour with spades, while + pickets guarded all approach, an opening was disclosed beneath the great + flag-stones of a ruined building. Here was a wide natural corridor + overhung with stalactites, and it led on into an artificial passage which + inclined gradually upwards till it came into a mound above the level by + which they entered. Against this mound was backed a little temple in the + rear of the Palace. A dozen men had remained behind to cover up the + entrance again. When these heard Pango Dooni and the others in the Palace + yard they were to ride straight for a gate which should be opened to them. + </p> + <p> + There was delay in opening the stone door which led into the temple, but + at last they forced their way. The place was empty, and they rode through + the Palace yard, pouring out like a stream of spectral horsemen from the + altar of the temple. Not a word was spoken as Pango Dooni and his company + galloped towards the front of the Palace. Hundreds of the Dakoon’s + soldiers and terrified people who had taken refuge in the great + court-yard, ran screaming into corners, or threw themselves in terror upon + the ground. The walls were lined with soldiers, but not one raised his + hand to strike—so sudden was the coming of the dreaded hillsman. + They knew him by the black flag and the yellow sunburst upon it. + </p> + <p> + Presently Pango Dooni gave the wild battle-call of his tribe, and every + one of his seven hundred answered him as they rode impetuously to the + Palace front. Two thousand soldiers of the Dakoon, under command of his + nephew, Gis-yo-Bahim, were gathered there. They were making ready to march + out and defend the Palace. When they saw the flag and heard the battle-cry + there was a movement backward, as though this handful of men were an + overwhelming army coming at them. Scattered and disorderly groups of men + swayed here and there, and just before the entrance of the Palace was a + wailing group, by which stood two priests with their yellow robes and bare + shoulders, speaking to them. From the walls the soldiers paused from + resisting the swarming herds without. + </p> + <p> + “The Dakoon is dead!” cried Tang-a-Dahit. + </p> + <p> + As if in response came the wailing death-cry of the women of the Palace + through the lattice windows, and it was taken up by the discomfited crowd + before the Palace door. + </p> + <p> + “The Lord of all the Earth, the great Dakoon, is dead.” + </p> + <p> + Pango Dooni rode straight upon the group, who fled at his approach, and, + driving the priests indoors, he called aloud: + </p> + <p> + “The Dakoon is living. Fear not!” + </p> + <p> + For a moment there was no reply, and he waved his men into place before + the Palace, and was about to ride down upon the native army, but Cumner’s + Son whispered to him, and an instant after the lad was riding alone upon + the dark legions. He reined in his horse not ten feet away from the + irregular columns. + </p> + <p> + “You know me,” said he. “I am Cumner’s Son. I rode into the hills at the + Governor’s word to bring a strong man to rule you. Why do ye stand here + idle? My father, your friend, fights with a hundred men at the Residency. + Choose ye between Boonda Broke, the mongrel, and Pango Dooni, the great + hillsman. If ye choose Boonda Broke, then shall your city be levelled to + the sea, and ye shall lose your name as a people. Choose!” + </p> + <p> + One or two voices cried out; then from the people, and presently from the + whole dark battalions, came the cry: “Long live Pango Dooni!” + </p> + <p> + Pango Dooni rode down with Tang-a-Dahit and Cushnan Di. He bade all but + five hundred mounted men to lay down their arms. Then he put over them a + guard of near a hundred of his own horsemen. Gathering the men from the + rampart he did the same with these, reserving only one hundred to remain + upon the walls under guard of ten hillsmen. Then, taking his own six + hundred men and five hundred of the Dakoon’s horsemen, he bade the gates + to be opened, and with Cushnan Di marched out upon the town, leaving + Tanga-Dahit and Cumner’s Son in command at the Palace. + </p> + <p> + At least four thousand besiegers lay before the walls, and, far beyond, + they could see the attack upon the Residency. + </p> + <p> + The gates of the Palace closed on the last of Pango Dooni’s men, and with + a wild cry they rode like a monstrous wave upon the rebel mob. There was + no preparation to resist the onset. The rush was like a storm out of the + tropics, and dread of Pango Dooni’s name alone was as death among them. + </p> + <p> + The hillsmen clove the besiegers through like a piece of pasteboard, and + turning, rode back again through the broken ranks, their battle-call + ringing high above the clash of steel. Again they turned at the Palace + wall, and, gathering impetus, they rode at the detached and battered + segments of the miserable horde, and once more cut them down, then + furiously galloped towards the Residency. + </p> + <p> + They could hear one gun firing intermittently, and the roars of Boonda + Broke’s men. They did not call or cry till within a few hundred yards of + the Residency Square. Then their battle-call broke forth, and Boonda Broke + turned to see seven hundred bearing down on his ten thousand, the black + flag with the yellow sunburst over them. + </p> + <p> + Cumner, the Governor, and McDermot heard the cry of the hillsmen, too, and + took heart. + </p> + <p> + Boonda Broke tried to divide his force, so that half of them should face + the hillsmen, and half the Residency; but there was not time enough; and + his men fought as they were attacked, those in front against Pango Dooni, + those behind against Cumner. The hillsmen rode upon the frenzied rebels, + and were swallowed up by the great mass of them, so that they seemed lost. + But slowly, heavily, and with ferocious hatred, they drove their hard path + on. A head and shoulders dropped out of sight here and there; but the + hillsmen were not counting their losses that day, and when Pango Dooni at + last came near to Boonda Broke the men he had lost seemed found again, for + it was like water to the thirsty the sight of this man. + </p> + <p> + But suddenly there was a rush from the Residency Square, and thirty men, + under the command of Cumner, rode in with sabres drawn. + </p> + <p> + There was a sudden swaying movement of the shrieking mass between Boonda + Broke and Pango Dooni, and in the confusion and displacement Boonda Broke + had disappeared. + </p> + <p> + Panic and flight came after, and the hillsmen and the little garrison were + masters of the field. + </p> + <p> + “I have paid the debt of the mare,” said Pango Dooni, laughing. + </p> + <p> + “No debt is paid till I see the face of my son,” answered Cumner + anxiously. + </p> + <p> + Pango Dooni pointed with his sword. “In the Palace yard,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “In the Palace yard, alive?” asked Cumner. Pango Dooni smiled. “Let us go + and see.” + </p> + <p> + Cumner wiped the sweat and dust and blood from his face, and turned to + McDermot. + </p> + <p> + “Was I right when I sent the lad?” said he proudly. “The women and + children are safe.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI. CONCERNING THE DAUGHTER OF CUSHNAN DI + </h2> + <p> + The British flag flew half-mast from the Palace dome, and two others flew + behind it; one the black and yellow banner of the hillsmen, the other the + red and white pennant of the dead Dakoon. In the Palace yard a thousand + men stood at attention, and at their head was Cushnan Di with fifty + hillsmen. At the Residency another thousand men encamped, with a hundred + hillsmen and eighty English, under the command of Tang-a-Dahit and + McDermot. By the Fountain of the Sweet Waters, which is over against the + Tomb where the Dakoon should sleep, another thousand men were patrolled, + with a hundred hillsmen, commanded by a kinsman of Pango Dooni. Hovering + near were gloomy, wistful crowds of people, who drew close to the mystery + of the House of Death, as though the soul of a Dakoon were of more moment + than those of the thousand men who had fallen that day. Along the line of + the Bazaar ranged another thousand men, armed only with krises, under the + command of the heir of the late Dakoon, and with these were a hundred and + fifty mounted hillsmen, watchful and deliberate. These were also under the + command of a kinsman of Pango Dooni. + </p> + <p> + It was at this very point that the danger lay, for the nephew of the + Dakoon, Gis-yo-Bahim, was a weak but treacherous man, ill-fitted to rule; + a coward, yet ambitious; distrusted by the people, yet the heir to the + throne. Cumner and Pango Dooni had placed him at this point for no other + reason than to give him his chance for a blow, if he dared to strike it, + at the most advantageous place in the city. The furtive hangers-on, + cut-throats, mendicants, followers of Boonda Broke, and haters of the + English, lurked in the Bazaars, and Gis-yo-Bahim should be tempted for the + first and the last time. Crushed now, he could never rise again. Pango + Dooni had carefully picked the hillsmen whom he had sent to the Bazaar, + and their captain was the most fearless and the wariest fighter from the + Neck of Baroob, save Pango Dooni himself. + </p> + <p> + Boonda Broke was abroad still. He had escaped from the slaughter before + the Residency and was hidden somewhere in the city. There were yet in + Mandakan ten thousand men who would follow him that would promise the + most, and Boonda Broke would promise the doors of Heaven as a gift to the + city, and the treasures of Solomon to the people, if it might serve his + purposes. But all was quiet save where the mourners followed their dead to + the great funeral pyres, which were set on three little hills just outside + the city. These wailed as they passed by. The smoke of the burnt powder + had been carried away by a gentle wind, and in its place was the pervasive + perfume of the peach and cherry trees, and the aroma of the gugan wood + which was like cut sandal in the sun after a rain. In the homes of a few + rich folk there was feasting also, for it mattered little to them whether + Boonda Broke or Pango Dooni ruled in Mandakan, so that their wealth was + left to them. But hundreds of tinkling little bells broke the stillness. + These were carried by brown bare-footed boys, who ran lightly up and down + the streets, calling softly: “Corn and tears and wine for the dead!” It + was the custom for mourners to place in the hands of the dead a bottle of + tears and wine, and a seed of corn, as it is written in the Proverbs of + Dol: + </p> + <p> + “When thou journeyest into the Shadows, take not sweetmeats with thee, but + a seed of corn and a bottle of tears and wine; that thou mayest have a + garden in the land whither thou goest.” + </p> + <p> + It was yet hardly night when the pyres were lighted on the little hills + and a warm glow was thrown over all the city, made warmer by roseate-hued + homes and the ruddy stones and velvety dust of the streets. At midnight + the Dakoon was to be brought to the Tomb with the Blue Dome. Now in the + Palace yard his body lay under a canopy, the flags of Mandakan and England + over his breast, twenty of his own naked body-guard stood round, and four + of his high chiefs stood at his head and four at his feet, and little lads + ran softly past, crying: “Corn and tears and wine for the dead!” And + behind all these again were placed the dark battalions and the hillsmen. + It went abroad through the city that Pango Dooni and Cumner paid great + homage to the dead Dakoon, and the dread of the hillsmen grew less. + </p> + <p> + But in one house there had been no fear, for there, by the Aqueduct of the + Failing Fountain, lived Cushnan Di, a fallen chief, and his daughter with + the body like a trailing vine; for one knew the sorrow of dispossession + and defeat and the arm of a leader of men, and the other knew Tang-a-Dahit + and the soul that was in him. + </p> + <p> + This night, while yet there was an hour before the body of the dead Dakoon + should go to the Tomb with the Blue Dome, the daughter of Cushnan Di lay + watching for her door to open; for she knew what had happened in the city, + and there was one whom her spirit longed for. An old woman sat beside her + with hands clasped about her knees. + </p> + <p> + “Dost thou hear nothing?” said a voice from the bed. “Nothing but the stir + of the mandrake trees, beloved.” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, but dost thou not hear a step?” + </p> + <p> + “Naught, child of the heaven-flowers, but a dog’s foot in the moss.” + </p> + <p> + “Thou art sure that my father is safe?” + </p> + <p> + “The Prince is safe, angel of the high clouds. He led the hillsmen by the + secret way into the Palace yard.” There was silence for a moment, and then + the girl’s voice said again: “Hush! but there was a footstep—I heard + a breaking twig.” + </p> + <p> + Her face lighted, and the head slightly turned towards the door. But the + body did not stir. It lay moveless, save where the bosom rose and fell + softly, quivering under the white robe. A great wolf-dog raised its head + at the foot of the bed and pointed its ears, looking towards the door. + </p> + <p> + The face of the girl was beautiful. A noble peace was upon it, and the + eyes were like lamps of dusky fire, as though they held all the strength + of the nerveless body. The love burning in them was not the love of a maid + for a man, but that which comes after, through pain and trouble and + wisdom. It was the look that lasts after death, the look shot forward from + the Hereafter upon a living face which has looked into the great mystery, + but has not passed behind the curtains. + </p> + <p> + There was a knock upon the door, and, in response to a summons, + Tang-a-Dahit stepped inside. A beautiful smile settled upon the girl’s + face, and her eyes brooded tenderly upon the young hillsman. + </p> + <p> + “I am here, Mami,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Friend of my heart,” she answered. “It is so long!” + </p> + <p> + Then he told her how, through Cumner’s Son, he had been turned from his + visit two days before, and of the journey down, and of the fighting, and + of all that had chanced. + </p> + <p> + She smiled, and assented with her eyes—her father had told her. “My + father knows that thou dost come to me, and he is not angry,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Then she asked him what was to be the end of all, and he shook his head. + “The young are not taken into counsel,” he answered, “neither I nor + Cumner’s Son.” + </p> + <p> + All at once her eyes brightened as though a current of light had been + suddenly sent through them. “Cumner’s Son,” said she—“Cumner’s Son, + and thou—the future of Mandakan is all with ye; neither with Cumner, + nor with Pango Dooni, nor with Cushnan Di. To the old is given counsel, + and device, and wisdom, and holding; but to the young is given hope, and + vision, and action, and building, and peace.” + </p> + <p> + “Cumner’s Son is without,” said he. “May I fetch him to thee?” + </p> + <p> + She looked grave, and shrank a little, then answered yes. + </p> + <p> + “So strong, so brave, so young!” she said, almost under her breath, as the + young man entered. Cumner’s Son stood abashed at first to see this angelic + head, so full of light and life, like nothing he had ever seen, and the + nerveless, moveless body, like a flower with no roots. + </p> + <p> + “Thou art brave,” said she, “and thy heart is without fear, for thou hast + no evil in thee. Great things shall come to thee, and to thee,” she added, + turning to Tang-a-Dahit, “but by different ways.” + </p> + <p> + Tang-a-Dahit looked at her as one would look at the face of a saint; and + his fingers, tired yet with the swinging of the sword, stroked the white + coverlet of her couch gently and abstractedly. Once or twice Cumner’s Son + tried to speak, but failed; and at last all he could say was: “Thou art + good—thou art good!” and then he turned and stole quietly from the + room. + </p> + <p> + At midnight they carried the Dakoon to the resting-place of his fathers. A + thousand torches gleamed from the Palace gates through the Street of + Divers Pities, and along the Path by the Bazaar to the Tomb with the Blue + Dome. A hundred hillsmen rode before, and a hundred behind, and between + were two thousand soldiers of Mandakan on foot and fifty of the late + Dakoon’s body-guard mounted and brilliant in scarlet and gold. Behind the + gun-carriage, which bore the body, walked the nephew of the great Dakoon, + then came a clear space, and then Pango Dooni, and Cumner, and behind + these twenty men of the artillery, at whose head rode McDermot and + Cumner’s Son. + </p> + <p> + As they passed the Path by the Bazaar every eye among the hillsmen and + among the handful of British was alert. Suddenly a savage murmuring among + the natives in the Bazaar broke into a loud snarl, and it seemed as if a + storm was about to break; but as suddenly, at a call from Cumner, the + hillsmen, the British, and a thousand native soldiers, faced the Bazaar in + perfect silence, their lances, swords, and rifles in a pose of menace. The + whole procession stood still for a moment. In the pause the crowds in the + Bazaar drew back, then came a loud voice calling on them to rescue the + dead Dakoon from murderers and infidels; and a wave of dark bodies moved + forward, but suddenly cowered before the malicious stillness of the + hillsmen and the British, and the wave retreated. + </p> + <p> + Cumner’s Son had recognised the voice, and his eye followed its direction + with a perfect certainty. Even as he saw the figure of Boonda Broke + disguised as a native soldier the half-breed’s arm was raised, and a kris + flew from his hands, aimed at the heart of Pango Dooni. But as the kris + flew the youth spurred his horse out of the ranks and down upon the + murderer, who sprang back into the Bazaar. The lad fearlessly rode + straight into the Bazaar, and galloped down upon the fugitive, who + suddenly swung round to meet him with naked kris; but, as he did so, a dog + ran across his path, tripped him up, and he half fell. Before he could + recover himself a pistol was at his head. “March!” said the lad; and even + as ten men of the artillery rode through the crowd to rescue their + Colonel’s son, he marched the murderer on. But a sudden frenzy possessed + Boonda Broke. He turned like lightning on the lad, and raised his kris to + throw; but a bullet was quicker, and he leaped into the air and fell dead + without a cry, the kris dropping from his hand. + </p> + <p> + As Cumner’s Son came forth into the path the hills men and artillery + cheered him, the native troops took it up, and it was answered by the + people in all the thoroughfare. + </p> + <p> + Pango Dooni had also seen the kris thrown at himself, but he could not + escape it, though he half swung round. It struck him in the shoulder, and + quivered where it struck, but he drew it out and threw it down. A hillsman + bound up the wound, and he rode on to the Tomb. + </p> + <p> + The Dakoon was placed in his gorgeous house of death, and every man cried: + “Sleep, lord of the earth!” Then Cumner stood up in his saddle, and cried + aloud: + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow, when the sun stands over the gold dome of the Palace, ye shall + come to hear your Dakoon speak in the hall of the Heavenly Hours.” + </p> + <p> + No man knew from Cumner’s speech who was to be Dakoon, yet every man in + Mandakan said in the quiet of his home that night: + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow Pango Dooni will be Dakoon. We will be as the stubble of the + field before him. But Pango Dooni is a strong man.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII. THE RED PLAGUE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “He promised he’d bring me a basket of posies, + A garland of lilies, a garland of roses, + A little straw hat to set off the blue ribbons + That tie up my bonnie brown hair.” + </pre> + <p> + This was the song McDermot sang to himself as he walked up the great + court-yard of the Palace, past the lattice windows, behind which the + silent women of the late Dakoon’s household still sat, passive and + grief-stricken. How knew they what the new Dakoon would do—send them + off into the hills, or kill them? McDermot was in a famous humour, for he + had just come from Pango Dooni, the possessor of a great secret, and he + had been paid high honour. He looked round on the court-yard complacently, + and with an air of familiarity and possession which seemed hardly + justified by his position. He noted how the lattices stirred as he passed + through this inner court-yard where few strangers were ever allowed to + pass, and he cocked his head vaingloriously. He smiled at the lizards + hanging on the foundation stones, he paused to dip his finger in the basin + of a fountain, he eyed good-humouredly the beggars—old pensioners of + the late Dakoon—seated in the shade with outstretched hands. One of + them drew his attention, a slim, cadaverous-looking wretch who still was + superior to his fellows, and who sat apart from them, evidently by their + wish as much as by his own. + </p> + <p> + McDermot was still humming the song to himself as he neared the group; but + he stopped short, as he heard the isolated beggar repeat after him in + English: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “He promised he’d bring me a bunch of blue ribbons, + To tie up my bonnie brown hair.” + </pre> + <p> + He was startled. At first he thought it might be an Englishman in + disguise, but the brown of the beggar’s face was real, and there was no + mistaking the high narrow forehead, the slim fingers, and the sloe-black + eyes. Yet he seemed not a native of Mandakan. McDermot was about to ask + him who he was, when there was a rattle of horse’s hoofs, and Cumner’s Son + galloped excitedly up the court-yard. + </p> + <p> + “Captain, captain,” said he, “the Red Plague is on the city!” + </p> + <p> + McDermot staggered back in consternation. “No, no,” cried he, “it is not + so, sir!” + </p> + <p> + “The man, the first, lies at the entrance of the Path by the Bazaar. No + one will pass near him, and all the city goes mad with fear. What’s to be + done? What’s to be done? Is there no help for it?” the lad cried in + despair. “I’m going to Pango Dooni. Where is he? In the Palace?” + </p> + <p> + McDermot shook his head mournfully, for he knew the history of this + plague, the horror of its ravages, the tribes it had destroyed. + </p> + <p> + The beggar leaned back against the cool wall and laughed. McDermot turned + on him in his fury, and would have kicked him, but Cumner’s Son, struck by + some astute intelligence in the man’s look, said: + </p> + <p> + “What do you know of the Red Plague?” + </p> + <p> + Again the beggar laughed. “Once I saved the city of Nangoon from the + plague, but they forgot me, and when I complained and in my anger went mad + at the door of the Palace, the Rajah drove me from the country. That was + in India, where I learned to speak English; and here am I at the door of a + Palace again!” + </p> + <p> + “Can you save the city from the plague?” asked Cumner’s Son, coming closer + and eagerly questioning. “Is the man dead?” asked the beggar. + </p> + <p> + “Not when I saw him—he had just been taken.” + </p> + <p> + “Good. The city may be saved if—” he looked at Cumner’s Son, “if + thou wilt save him with me. If he be healed there is no danger; it is the + odour of death from the Red Plague which carries death abroad.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do you ask this?” asked McDermot, nodding towards Cumner’s Son. + </p> + <p> + The beggar shrugged his shoulders. “That he may not do with me as did the + Rajah of Nangoon.” + </p> + <p> + “He is not Dakoon,” said McDermot. + </p> + <p> + “Will the young man promise me?” + </p> + <p> + “Promise what?” asked Cumner’s Son. + </p> + <p> + “A mat to pray on, a house, a servant, and a loaf of bread, a bowl of + goat’s milk, and a silver najil every day till I die.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not Dakoon,” said the lad, “but I promise for the Dakoon—he + will do this thing to save the city.” + </p> + <p> + “And if thou shouldst break thy promise?” + </p> + <p> + “I keep my promises,” said the lad stoutly. + </p> + <p> + “But if not, wilt thou give thy life to redeem it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + The beggar laughed again and rose. “Come,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t go—it’s absurd!” said McDermot, laying a hand on the young + man’s arm. “The plague cannot be cured.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I will go,” answered Cumner’s Son. “I believe he speaks the truth. + Go you to Pango Dooni and tell him all.” + </p> + <p> + He spurred his horse and trotted away, the beggar running beside him. They + passed out of the court-yard, and through the Gate by the Fountain of + Sweet Waters. + </p> + <p> + They had not gone far when they saw Cumner, the Governor, and six men of + the artillery riding towards them. The Governor stopped, and asked him + where he was going. + </p> + <p> + The young man told him all. + </p> + <p> + The Colonel turned pale. “You would do this thing!” said he dumfounded. + “Suppose this rascal,” nodding towards the beggar, “speaks the truth; and + suppose that, after all, the sick man should die and—” + </p> + <p> + “Then the lad and myself would be the first to follow him,” interrupted + the beggar, “and all the multitude would come after, from the babe on the + mat to the old man by the Palace gates. But if the sick man lives—” + </p> + <p> + The Governor looked at his son partly in admiration, partly in pain, and + maybe a little of anger. + </p> + <p> + “Is there no one else? I tell you I—” + </p> + <p> + “There is no one else; the lad or death for the city! I can believe the + young; the old have deceived me,” interposed the beggar again. + </p> + <p> + “Time passes,” said Cumner’s Son anxiously. “The man may die. You say yes + to my going, sir?” he asked his father. + </p> + <p> + The Governor frowned, and the skin of his cheeks tightened. + </p> + <p> + “Go-go, and good luck to you, boy.” He made as if to ride on, but stopped + short, flung out his hand, and grasped the hand of his son. “God be with + you, lad,” said he; then his jaws closed tightly, and he rode on. It was + easier for the lad than for him. + </p> + <p> + When he told the story to Pango Dooni the chief was silent for a moment; + then he said: + </p> + <p> + “Until we know whether it be death or life, whether Cumner’s Son save the + city or lose his life for its sake, we will not call the people together + in the Hall of the Heavenly Hours. I will send the heralds abroad, if it + be thy pleasure, Cumner.” + </p> + <p> + At noon—the hour when the people had been bidden to cry, “Live, + Prince of the Everlasting Glory!”—they were moving restlessly, + fearfully through the Bazaar and the highways, and watching from a + distance a little white house, with blue curtains, where lay the man who + was sick with the Red Plague, and where watched beside his bed Cumner’s + Son and the beggar of Nangoon. No one came near. + </p> + <p> + From the time the sick man had been brought into the house, the beggar had + worked with him, giving him tinctures which he boiled with sweetmeat + called the Flower of Bambaba, while Cumner’s Son rubbed an ointment into + his body. Now and again the young man went to the window and looked out at + the lines of people hundreds of yards away, and the empty spaces where the + only life that showed was a gay-plumaged bird that drifted across the + sunlight, or a monkey that sat in the dust eating a nut. All at once the + awe and danger of his position fell upon him. Imagination grew high in him + in a moment—that beginning of fear and sorrow and heart-burning; + yet, too, the beginning of hope and wisdom and achievement. For the first + time in his life that knowledge overcame him which masters us all + sometimes. He had a desire to fly the place; he felt like running from the + house, shrieking as he went. A sweat broke out on his forehead, his lips + clung to his teeth, his mouth was dry, his breast seemed to contract, and + breathing hurt him. + </p> + <p> + “What a fool I was! What a fool I was to come here!” he said. + </p> + <p> + He buried his head in his arms as he leaned against the wall, and his legs + trembled. From that moment he passed from headlong, daring, lovable youth, + to manhood; understanding, fearful, conscientious, and morally strong. + Just as abject as was his sudden fear, so triumphant was his reassertion + of himself. + </p> + <p> + “It was the only way,” he said to himself, suddenly wresting his head from + his protecting arms. “There’s a chance of life, anyhow, chance for all of + us.” He turned away to the sick man’s bed, to see the beggar watching him + with cold, passive eyes and a curious, half-sneering smile. He braced + himself and met the passive, scrutinising looks firmly. The beggar said + nothing, but motioned to him to lift the sick man upright, while he poured + some tincture down his throat, and bound the head and neck about with + saturated linen. + </p> + <p> + There came a knocking at the door. The beggar frowned, but Cumner’s Son + turned eagerly. He had only been in this room ten hours, but it seemed + like years in which he had lived alone-alone. But he met firmly the + passive, inquisitorial eyes of the healer of the plague, and he turned, + dropped another bar across the door, and bade the intruder to depart. + </p> + <p> + “It is I, Tang-a-Dahit. Open!” came a loud, anxious voice. + </p> + <p> + “You may not come in.” + </p> + <p> + “I am thy brother-in-blood, and my life is thine.” + </p> + <p> + “Then keep it safe for those who prize it. Go back to the Palace.” + </p> + <p> + “I am not needed there. My place is with thee.” + </p> + <p> + “Go, then, to the little house by the Aqueduct.” There was silence for a + moment, and then Tang-a-Dahit said: + </p> + <p> + “Wilt thou not let me enter?” + </p> + <p> + The sudden wailing of the stricken man drowned Tang-a-Dahit’s words, and + without a word Cumner’s Son turned again to the victim of the Red Plague. + </p> + <p> + All day the people watched from afar, and all day long soldiers and + hillsmen drew a wide cordon of quarantine round the house. Terror seized + the people when the sun went down, and to the watchers the suspense grew. + Ceaseless, alert, silent, they had watched and waited, and at last the + beggar knelt with his eyes fixed on the sleeper, and did not stir. A + little way off from him stood Cumner’s Son-patient, pale, worn, older by + ten years than he was three days before. + </p> + <p> + In the city dismay and misery ruled. Boonda Broke and the dead Dakoon were + forgotten. The people were in the presence of a monster which could sweep + them from their homes as a hail-storm scatters the hanging nests of wild + bees. In a thousand homes little red lights of propitiation were shining, + and the sweet boolda wood was burning at a thousand shrines. Midnight + came, then the long lethargic hours after; then that moment when all + cattle of the field and beasts of the forest wake and stand upon their + feet, and lie down again, and the cocks crow, and the birds flutter their + wings, and all resign themselves to sleep once more. It was in this hour + that the sick man opened his eyes and raised his head, as though the + mysterious influence of primitive life were rousing him. He said nothing + and did nothing, but lay back and drew in a long, good breath of air, and + afterwards fell asleep. + </p> + <p> + The beggar got to his feet. “The man is safe,” said he. + </p> + <p> + “I will go and tell them,” said Cumner’s Son gladly, and he made as if to + open the door. + </p> + <p> + “Not till dawn,” commanded the beggar. “Let them suffer for their sins. We + hold the knowledge of life and death in our hands.” + </p> + <p> + “But my father, and Tang-a-Dahit, and Pango Dooni.” + </p> + <p> + “Are they without sin?” asked the beggar scornfully. “At dawn, only at + dawn!” + </p> + <p> + So they sat and waited till dawn. And when the sun was well risen, the + beggar threw wide open the door of the house, and called aloud to the + horsemen far off, and Cumner’s Son waved with his hand; and McDermot came + galloping to them. He jumped from his horse and wrung the boy’s hand, then + that of the beggar, then talked in broken sentences, which were spattered + by the tears in his throat. He told Cumner’s Son that his face was as that + of one who had lain in a grave, and he called aloud in a blustering voice, + and beckoned for troopers to come. The whole line moved down on them, + horsemen and soldiers and people. + </p> + <p> + The city was saved from the Red Plague, and the people, gone mad with joy, + would have carried Cumner’s Son to the Palace on their shoulders, but he + walked beside the beggar to his father’s house, hillsmen in front and + English soldiers behind; and wasted and ghostly, from riding and fighting + and watching, he threw himself upon the bed in his own room, and passed, + as an eyelid blinks, into a deep sleep. + </p> + <p> + But the beggar sat down on a mat with a loaf of bread, a bowl of goat’s + milk, and a long cigar which McDermot gave him, and he received idly all + who came, even to the sick man, who ere the day was done was brought to + the Residency, and, out of danger and in his right mind, lay in the shade + of a banyan tree, thinking of nothing save the joy of living. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII. THE CHOOSING OF THE DAKOON + </h2> + <p> + It was noon again. In the Hall of the Heavenly Hours all the chiefs and + great people of the land were gathered, and in the Palace yard without + were thousands of the people of the Bazaars and the one-storied houses. + The Bazaars were almost empty, the streets deserted. Yet silken banners of + gorgeous colours flew above the pink terraces, and the call of the silver + horn of Mandakan, which was made first when Tubal Cain was young, rang + through the long vacant avenues. A few hundred native troops and a handful + of hillsmen rode up and down, and at the Residency fifty men kept guard + under command of Sergeant Doolan of the artillery—his superior + officers and the rest of his comrades were at the Palace. + </p> + <p> + In the shade of a banyan tree sat the recovered victim of the Red Plague + and the beggar of Nangoon, playing a game of chuck-farthing, taught them + by Sergeant Doolan, a bowl of milk and a calabash of rice beside them, and + cigarettes in their mouths. The beggar had a new turban and robe, and he + sat on a mat which came from the Palace. + </p> + <p> + He had gone to the Palace that morning as Colonel Cumner had commanded, + that he might receive the thanks of the Dakoon for the people of Mandakan; + but he had tired of the great place, and had come back to play at + chuck-farthing. Already he had won everything the other possessed, and was + now playing for his dinner. He was still chuckling over his victory when + an orderly and two troopers arrived with a riderless horse, bearing the + command of Colonel Cumner for the beggar to appear at once at the Palace. + The beggar looked doubtfully at the orderly a moment, then rose with an + air of lassitude and languidly mounted the horse. Before he had got + half-way to the Palace he suddenly slid from the horse and said: + </p> + <p> + “Why should I go? The son of the great Cumner promised for the Dakoon. He + tells the truth. Light of my soul, but truth is the greatest of all! I go + to play chuck-farthing.” + </p> + <p> + So saying, he turned and ran lazily back to the Residency and sat down + beneath the banyan tree. The orderly had no commands to bring him by + force, so he returned to the Palace, and entered it as the English + Governor was ending his speech to the people. “We were in danger,” said + Cumner, “and the exalted chief, Pango Dooni, came to save us. He shielded + us from evil and death and the dagger of the mongrel chief, Boonda Broke. + Children of heavenly Mandakan, Pango Dooni has lived at variance with us, + but now he is our friend. A strong man should rule in the Palace of + Mandakan as my brother and the friend of my people. I speak for Pango + Dooni. For whom do you speak?” + </p> + <p> + As he had said, so said all the people in the Hall of the Heavenly Hours, + and it was taken up with shouts by the people in the Palace yard. Pango + Dooni should be Dakoon! + </p> + <p> + Pango Dooni came forward and said: “If as ye say I have saved ye, then + will ye do after my desire, if it be right. I am too long at variance with + this Palace to sit comfortably here. Sometime, out of my bitter memories, + I should smite ye. Nay, let the young, who have no wrongs to satisfy, let + the young who have dreams and visions and hopes, rule; not the old lion of + the hills, who loves too well himself and his rugged ease of body and + soul. But if ye owe me any debt, and if ye mean me thanks, then will ye + make my son Dakoon. For he is braver than I, and between ye there is no + feud. Then will I be your friend, and because my son shall be Dakoon I + will harry ye no more, but bide in my hills, free and friendly, and ready + with sword and lance to stand by the faith and fealty that I promise. If + this be your will, and the will of the great Cumner, speak.” + </p> + <p> + Cumner bowed his head in assent, and the people called in a loud voice for + Tang-a-Dahit. + </p> + <p> + The young man stepped forth, and baring his head, said: + </p> + <p> + “It is meet that the race be to the swift, to those who have proven their + faith and their swords; who have the gift for ruling, and the talent of + the sword to sustain it. For me, if ye will hear me, I will go another + way. I will not rule. My father hath passed on this honour to me, but I + yield it up to one who hath saved ye from a double death, even to the + great Cumner’s Son. He rode, as ye know, through peril to Pango Dooni, + bearing the call for help, and he hath helped to save the whole land from + the Red Plague. But for him Mandakan would be only a place of graves. + Speak, children of heavenly Mandakan, whom will ye choose?” When Cumner’s + Son stood forth he was pale and astounded before the cries of greeting + that were carried out through the Palace yard, through the highways, and + even to the banyan tree where sat the beggar of Nangoon. + </p> + <p> + “I have done nothing, I have done nothing,” said he sincerely. “It was + Pango Dooni, it was the beggar of Nangoon. I am not fit to rule.” + </p> + <p> + He turned to his father, but saw no help in his eyes for refusal. The lad + read the whole story of his father’s face, and he turned again to the + people. + </p> + <p> + “If ye will have it so, then, by the grace of God, I will do right by this + our land,” said he. + </p> + <p> + A half-hour later he stood before them, wearing the costly robe of yellow + feathers and gold and perfect silk of the Dakoon of Mandakan. + </p> + <p> + “The beggar of Nangoon who saved our city, bid him come near,” he said; + but the orderly stepped forward and told his story of how the beggar had + returned to his banyan tree. + </p> + <p> + “Then tell the beggar of Nangoon,” said he, “that if he will not visit me, + I will visit him; and all that I promised for the Dakoon of Mandakan I + will fulfil. Let Cushnan Di stand forth,” he added, and the old man came + near. “The city which was yours is yours, again, and all that was taken + from it shall be restored,” said he. + </p> + <p> + Then he called him by his real name, and the people were amazed. + </p> + <p> + Cushnan Di, as he had been known to them, said quietly: + </p> + <p> + “If my Lord will give me place near him as general of his armies and + keeper of the gates, I will not ask that my city be restored, and I will + live near to the Palace—” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, but in the Palace,” interrupted Cumner’s Son, “and thy daughter + also, who hath the wisdom of heaven, that there be always truth shining in + these high places.” + </p> + <p> + An hour later the Dakoon passed through the Path by the Bazaar. + </p> + <p> + “Whither goes the Dakoon?” asked a native chief of McDermot. + </p> + <p> + “To visit a dirty beggar in the Residency Square, and afterwards to the + little house of Cushnan Di,” was the reply. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX. THE PROPHET OF PEACE + </h2> + <h3> + The years went by. + </h3> + <p> + In the cool of a summer evening a long procession of people passed through + the avenues of blossoming peach and cherry trees in Mandakan, singing a + high chant or song. It was sacred, yet it was not solemn; peaceful, yet + not sombre; rather gentle, aspiring, and clear. The people were not of the + city alone, but they had been gathered from all parts of the land—many + thousands, who were now come on a pilgrimage to Mandakan. + </p> + <p> + At the head of the procession was a tall, lithe figure, whose face shone, + and whose look was at once that of authority and love. Three years’ labour + had given him these followers and many others. His dreams were coming + true. + </p> + <p> + “Fighting, fighting, naught but fighting for honour and glory and homes + and kine, but naught for love, and naught that there may be peace.”—This + was no longer true; for the sword of the young Dakoon was ever lifted for + love and for peace. + </p> + <p> + The great procession stopped near a little house by the Aqueduct of the + Failing Fountain, and spread round it, and the leader stepped forward to + the door of the little house and entered. A silence fell upon the crowd, + for they were to look upon the face of a dying girl, who chose to dwell in + her little home rather than in a palace. + </p> + <p> + She was carried forth on a litter, and set down, and the long procession + passed by her as she lay. She smiled at all an ineffable smile of peace, + and her eyes had in them the light of a good day drawing to its close. + Only once did she speak, and that was when all had passed, and a fine + troop of horsemen came riding up. + </p> + <p> + This was the Dakoon of Mandakan and his retinue. When he dismounted and + came to her, and bent over her, he said something in a low tone for her + ear alone, and she smiled at him, and whispered the one word “Peace!” + </p> + <p> + Then the Dakoon, who once was known only as Cumner’s Son, turned and + embraced the prophet Sandoni, as he was now called, though once he had + been called Tang-a-Dahit the hillsman. + </p> + <p> + “What message shall I bear thy father?” asked the Dakoon, after they had + talked a while. + </p> + <p> + Sandoni told him, and then the Dakoon said: + </p> + <p> + “Thy father and mine, who are gone to settle a wild tribe of the hills in + a peaceful city, send thee a message.” And he held up his arm, where a + bracelet shone. + </p> + <p> + The Prophet read thereon the Sacred Countersign of the hillsmen. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE HIGH COURT OF BUDGERY-GAR + </h2> + <p> + We were camped on the edge of a billabong. Barlas was kneading a damper, + Drysdale was tenderly packing coals about the billy to make the water + boil, and I was cooking the chops. The hobbled horses were picking the + grass and the old-man salt-bush near, and Bimbi, the black boy, was + gathering twigs and bark for the fire. That is the order of merit—Barlas, + Drysdale, myself, the horses and Bimbi. Then comes the Cadi all by + himself. He is given an isolated and indolent position, because he was our + guest and also because, in a way, he represented the Government. And + though bushmen do not believe much in a far-off Government—even + though they say when protesting against a bad Land Law, “And your + Petitioners will ever Pray,” and all that kind of yabber-yabber—they + give its representative the lazy side of the fire and a fig of the best + tobacco when he bails up a camp as the Cadi did ours. Stewart Ruttan, the + Cadi, was the new magistrate at Windowie and Gilgan, which stand for a + huge section of the Carpentaria country. He was now on his way to Gilgan + to try some cases there. He was a new chum, though he had lived in + Australia for years. As Barlas said, he’d been kept in a + cultivation-paddock in Sydney and Brisbane; and he was now going to take + the business of justice out of the hands of Heaven and its trusted agents + the bushmen, and reduce the land to the peace of the Beatitudes by the + imposing reign of law and summary judgments. Barlas had just said as much, + though in different language. + </p> + <p> + I knew by the way that Barlas dropped the damper on the hot ashes and + swung round on his heel that he was in a bad temper. “And so you think, + Cadi,” said he, “that we squatters and bushmen are a strong, murderous + lot; that we hunt down the Myalls—[Aborigines]—like kangaroos + or dingoes, and unrighteously take justice in our own hands instead of + handing it over to you?” + </p> + <p> + “I think,” said the Cadi, “that individual and private revenge should not + take the place of the Courts of Law. If the blacks commit depredations—” + </p> + <p> + “Depredations!” interjected Drysdale with sharp scorn. + </p> + <p> + “If they commit depredations and crimes,” the Cadi continued, “they should + be captured as criminals are captured elsewhere and be brought in and + tried. In that way respect would be shown to British law and—” here + he hesitated slightly, for Barlas’s face was not pleasant to see—“and + the statutes.” + </p> + <p> + But Barlas’s voice was almost compassionate as he said: “Cadi, every man + to his trade, and you’ve got yours. But you haven’t learned yet that this + isn’t Brisbane or Melbourne. You haven’t stopped to consider how many + police would be necessary for this immense area of country if you are + really to be of any use. And see here,”—his face grew grim and dark, + “you don’t know what it is to wait for the law to set things right in this + Never Never Land. There isn’t a man in the Carpentaria and Port Darwin + country but has lost a friend by the cowardly crack of a waddy in the dead + of night or a spear from behind a tree. Never any fair fighting, but red + slaughter and murder—curse their black hearts!” Barlas gulped down + what seemed very like a sob. + </p> + <p> + Drysdale and I knew how strongly Barlas felt. He had been engaged to be + married to a girl on the Daly River, and a week before the wedding she and + her mother and her two brothers were butchered by blacks whom they had + often befriended and fed. We knew what had turned Barlas’s hair grey and + spoiled his life. + </p> + <p> + Drysdale took up the strain: “Yes, Cadi, you’ve got the true missionary + gospel, the kind of yabber they fire at each other over tea and buns at + Darling Point and Toorak—all about the poor native and the bad, bad + men who don’t put peas in their guns, and do sometimes get an eye for an + eye and a tooth for a tooth.... Come here, Bimbi.” Bimbi came. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, master,” Bimbi said. + </p> + <p> + “You kill that black-fellow mother belonging to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, master.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Drysdale continued, “Bimbi went out with a police expedition + against his own tribe, and himself cut his own mother’s head off. As a + race, as a family, the blacks have no loyalty. They will track their own + brothers down for the whites as ruthlessly as they track down the whites. + As a race they are treacherous and vile, though as individuals they may + have good points.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Cadi,” once more added Barlas, “we can get along very well without + your consolidated statutes or High Courts or Low Courts just yet. They are + too slow. Leave the black devils to us. You can never prove anything + against them in a court of law. We’ve tried that. Tribal punishment is the + only proper thing for individual crime. That is what the nations practise + in the islands of the South Seas. A trader or a Government official is + killed. Then a man-of-war sweeps a native village out of existence with + Hotchkiss guns. Cadi, we like you; but we say to you, Go back to your + cultivation-paddock at Brisbane, and marry a wife and beget children + before the Lord, and feed on the Government, and let us work out our own + salvation. We’ll preserve British justice and the statutes, too. ... + There, the damper, as Bimbi would say, is ‘corbon budgery’, and your chop + is done to a turn, Cadi. And now let’s talk of something that doesn’t + leave a bad taste in the mouth.” + </p> + <p> + The Cadi undoubtedly was more at home with reminiscences of nights at the + Queensland Club and moonlight picnics at lovely Humpy Bong and champagne + spreads in a Government launch than at dispensing law in the Carpentaria + district. And he had eager listeners. Drysdale’s open-mouthed, admiring + “My word!” as he puffed his pipe, his back against an ironbark tree, was + most eloquent of long banishment from the delights of the + “cultivation-paddock”; and Barlas nodded frequently his approval, and was + less grim than usual. Yet, peaceful as we were, it might have puzzled a + stranger to see that all of us were armed—armed in this tenantless, + lonely wilderness! Lonely and tenantless enough it seemed. There was the + range of the Copper-mine hills to the south, lighted by the wan moon; and + between and to the west a rough scrub country, desolating beyond words, + and where even edible snakes would be scarce; spots of dead-finish, gidya, + and brigalow-bush to north and east, and in the trees by the billabong the + cry of the cockatoo and the laughing-jackass. It was lonely, but surely it + was safe. Yes, perhaps it was safe! + </p> + <p> + It was late when we turned in, our heads upon our saddles, for the Cadi + had been more than amusing—he had been confidential, and some + political characters were roughly overhauled for our benefit, while + so-called Society did not escape flagellation. Next morning the Cadi left + us. He gave us his camps—Bora Bora, Budgery-Gar, Wintelliga, and + Gilgan—since we were to go in his direction also soon. He turned + round in his saddle as he rode off, and said gaily: “Gentlemen, I hope + you’ll always help to uphold the majesty of the law as nobly as you have + sustained its envoy from your swags.” + </p> + <p> + Drysdale and I waved our hands to him, but Barlas muttered something + between his teeth. We had two days of cattle-hunting in the Copper-mine + hills, and then we started westward, in the tracks of the Cadi, to make + for Barlas’s station. The second day we camped at Bora Bora Creek. We had + just hobbled the horses, and were about to build a fire, when Bimbi came + running to us. “Master, master,” he said to Drysdale, “that fellow Cadi + yarraman mumkull over there. Plenty myall mandowie!”—(‘Master, + master, the Cadi’s horse is dead over there, and there are plenty of black + fellows’ tracks about.’) + </p> + <p> + We found the horse pierced with spears. The Cadi had evidently mounted and + tried to get away. And soon, by a clump of the stay-a-while bush, we + discovered, alas! the late companion of our camp-fire. He was gashed from + head to foot, and naked. + </p> + <p> + We buried him beneath a rustling sandal-tree, and on its bark carved the + words: + </p> + <p> + “Sacred to the memory of Stewart Ruttan.” + </p> + <p> + And beneath, Barlas added the following: + </p> + <p> + “The Cadi sleeps. The Law regards him not.” + </p> + <p> + In a pocket of the Cadi’s coat, which lay near, we found the picture of a + pretty girl. On it was written: + </p> + <p> + “To dearest Stewart, from Alice.” + </p> + <p> + Barlas’s face was stern and drawn. He looked at us from under his shaggy + brows. + </p> + <p> + “There’s a Court to be opened,” he said. “Do you stand for law or + justice?” + </p> + <p> + “For justice,” we replied. + </p> + <p> + Four days later in a ravine at Budgery-Gar a big camp of blacks were + feasting. With loathsome pantomime they were re-enacting the murders they + had committed within the past few days; murders of innocent white women + and children, and good men and true—among them the Cadi, God help + him! Great fires were burning in the centre of the camp, and the bodies of + the black devils writhed with hideous colour in the glare. Effigies of + murdered whites were speared and mangled with brutal cries, and then black + women of the camp were brought out, and mockeries of unnameable horrors + were performed. Hell had emptied forth its carrion. + </p> + <p> + But twelve bitter white men looked down upon this scene from the scrub and + rocks above, and their teeth were set. Barlas, their leader, turned to + them and said: “This court is open. Are you ready?” + </p> + <p> + The click of twelve rifles was the reply. + </p> + <p> + When these twelve white jurymen rode away from the ravine there was not + one but believed that justice had been done by the High Court of + Budgery-Gar. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AN EPIC IN YELLOW + </h2> + <p> + There was a culminating growth of irritation on board the Merrie Monarch. + The Captain was markedly fitful and, to a layman’s eye, unreliable at the + helm; the Hon. Skye Terryer was smoking violently, and the Newspaper + Correspondent—representing an American syndicate—chewed his + cigar in silence. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” Gregson, the Member of Parliament, continued, “if I had my way I’d + muster every mob of Chinamen in Australia, I’d have one thundering big + roundup, and into the Pacific and the Indian Sea they’d go, to the crack + of a stock-whip or of something more convincing.” The Hon. Skye Terryer + was in agreement with the Squatting Member in the principle of his + argument if not in the violence of his remedies. He was a young travelling + Englishman; one of that class who are Radicals at twenty, Independents at + thirty, and Conservatives at forty. He had not yet reached the + intermediate stage. He saw in this madcap Radical Member one of the crude + but strong expressions of advanced civilisation. He had the noble ideal of + Australia as a land trodden only by the Caucasian. The Correspondent, much + to our surprise, had by occasional interjections at the beginning of the + discussion showed that he was not antipathetic to Mongolian immigration. + The Captain? + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I’d give ‘em Botany Bay, my word!” added the Member as an + anti-climax. + </p> + <p> + The Captain let go the helm with a suddenness which took our breath away, + apparently regardless that we were going straight as an arrow on the + Island of Pentecost, the shore of which, in its topaz and emerald tints, + was pretty enough to look at but not to attack, end on. He pushed both + hands down deep into his pockets and squared himself for war. + </p> + <p> + “Gregson,” he said, “that kind of talk may be good enough for Parliament + and for labour meetings, but it is not proper diet for the Merrie Monarch. + It’s a kind of political gospel that’s no better than the creed of the + Malay who runs amuck. God’s Providence—where would your Port Darwin + Country have been without the Chinaman? What would have come to tropical + agriculture in North Queensland if it had not been for the same? And what + would all your cities do for vegetables to eat and clean shirts to their + backs if it was not for the Chinkie? As for their morals, look at the + police records of any well-regulated city where they are—well-regulated, + mind you, not like San Francisco! I pity the morals of a man and the + stupidity of him and the benightedness of him that would drive the + Chinaman out at the point of the bayonet or by the crack of a rifle. I + pity that man, and—and I wash my hands of him.” + </p> + <p> + And having said all this with a strong Scotch accent the Captain + opportunely turned to his duty and prevented us from trying conclusions + with the walls of a precipice, over which fell silver streams of water + like giant ropes up which the Naiads might climb to the balmy enclosures + where the Dryads dwelt. The beauty of the scene was but a mechanical + impression, to be remembered afterward when thousands of miles away, for + the American Correspondent now at last lit his cigar and took up the + strain. + </p> + <p> + “Say, the Captain’s right,” he said. “You English are awful prigs and + hypocrites, politically; as selfish a lot as you’ll find on the face of + the globe. But in this matter of the Chinaman there isn’t any difference + between a man from Oregon and one from Sydney, only the Oregonian isn’t a + prig and a hypocrite; he’s only a brute, a bragging, hard-handed brute. He + got the Chinaman to build his railways—he couldn’t get any other + race to do it—same fix as the planter in North Queensland with the + Polynesian; and to serve him in pioneer times and open up the country, and + when that was done he turns round and says: ‘Out you go, you Chinkie—out + you go and out you stay! We’re going to reap this harvest all alone; we’re + going to Chicago you clean off the table!’ And Washington, the Home of + Freedom and Tammany Tigers, shoves a prohibitive Bill through the + Legislature, as Parkes did in Sydney; only Parkes talked a lot of + Sunday-school business about the solidarity of the British race, and + Australia for the Australians, and all that patter; and the Oregonian + showed his dirty palm of selfishness straight out, and didn’t blush + either. ‘Give ‘em Botany Bay! Give’em the stock-whip and the rifle!’ + That’s a nice gospel for the Anglo-Saxon dispensation.” + </p> + <p> + The suddenness of the attack overwhelmed the Member, but he was choking + with wrath. Had he not stone-walled in the New South Wales Parliament for + nine hours, and been placed on a Royal Commission for that service? “My + word!” But the box of cigars was here amiably passed, and what seemed like + a series of international complications was stayed. It was perhaps + fortunate, however, that at this moment a new interest sprang up. We were + rounding a lofty headland crowned with groves of cocoa-palms and bananas + and with trailing skirts of flowers and vines, when we saw ahead of us a + pretty little bay, and on the shore a human being plainly not a + Polynesian. Up the hillside that rose suddenly from the beach was a + thatched dwelling, not built open all round like most native houses, and + apparently having but one doorway. In front of the house, and near it, was + a tall staff, and on the staff the British Flag. + </p> + <p> + In a moment we, too, had the British Flag flying at our mast-head. + </p> + <p> + Long ago I ceased to wonder at coincidences, still I confess I was + scarcely prepared for the Correspondent’s exclamation, as, taking the + marine glass from his eyes, he said: “Well, I’m decalogued if it ain’t a + Chinaman!” + </p> + <p> + It certainly was so. Here on the Island of Pentecost, in the New Hebrides, + was a Celestial washing clothes on the beach as much at home as though he + were in Tacoma or Cooktown. The Member’s “My oath!” Skye Terryer’s “Ah!” + and the Captain’s chuckle were as weighty with importance as though the + whole question of Chinese immigration were now to be settled. As we + hove-to and dropped anchor, a boat was pushed out into the surf by a man + who had hurriedly come down the beach from the house. In a moment or two + he was alongside. An English face and an English voice greeted us, and in + the doorway of the house were an English woman and her child. + </p> + <p> + What pleasure this meeting gave to us and to the trader—for such he + was, those only can know who have sailed these Southern Seas through long + and nerveless tropic days, and have lived, as this man did with his wife + and child, for months never seeing a white face, and ever in danger of an + attack from cannibal tribes, who, when apparently most disposed to amity, + are really planning a massacre. Yet with that instinct of gain so strong + in the Anglo-Saxon, this trader had dared the worst for the chance of + making money quickly and plentifully by the sale of copra to occasional + vessels. The Chinaman had come with the trader from Queensland, and we + were assured was “as good as gold.” If colour counted, he looked it. At + this the pro-Mongolian magnanimously forbore to show any signs of triumph. + The Correspondent, on the contrary, turned to the Chinaman and began + chaffing him; he continued it as the others, save myself, passed on + towards the house. + </p> + <p> + This was the close of the dialogue: “Well, John, how are you getting on?” + </p> + <p> + “Welly good,” was John’s reply; “thirletty dollars a month, and learn the + plan of salvation.” + </p> + <p> + The Correspondent laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Well, you good Englishman, John? You like British flag? You fight?” + </p> + <p> + And John, blinking jaundicely, replied: “John allee samee + Linglishman-muchee fightee blimeby—nigger no eatee China boy;” and + he chuckled. + </p> + <p> + A day and a night we lingered in the little Bay of Vivi, and then we left + it behind; each of us, however, watching till we could see the house on + the hillside and the flag no longer, and one at least wondering if that + secret passage into the hills from the palm-thatched home would ever be + used as the white dwellers fled for their lives. + </p> + <p> + We had promised that, if we came near Pentecost again on our cruise, we + would spend another idle day in the pretty bay. Two months passed and then + we kept our word. As we rounded the lofty headland the Correspondent said: + “Say, I’m hankering after that baby!” But the Captain at the moment + hoarsely cried: “God’s love! but where are the house and the flag?” + </p> + <p> + There was no house and there was no flag above the Bay of Vivi. + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes afterwards we stood beside the flag-staff, and at our feet lay + a moaning, mangled figure. It was the Chinaman, and over his gashed misery + were drawn the folds of the flag that had flown on the staff. What horror + we feared for those who were not to be seen needs no telling here. + </p> + <p> + As for the Chinaman, it was as he said; the cannibals would not “eatee + Chinee boy.” They were fastidious. They had left him, disdaining even to + take his head for a trophy. + </p> + <p> + Hours after, on board the Merrie Monarch, we learned in fragments the sad + story. It was John Chinaman that covered the retreat of the wife and child + into the hills when the husband had fallen. + </p> + <p> + The last words that the dying Chinkie said were these: “Blitish flag + wellee good thing keepee China boy walm; plentee good thing China boy + sleepee in all a-time.” + </p> + <p> + So it was. With rude rites and reverent hands, we lowered him to the deep + from the decks of the Merrie Monarch, and round him was that flag under + which he had fought for English woman and English child so valorously. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “And he went like a warrior into his rest + With the Union Jack around him.” + </pre> + <p> + That was the paraphrasing epitaph the Correspondent wrote for him in the + pretty Bay of Vivi, and when he read it, we all drank in silence to the + memory of “a Chinkie.” + </p> + <p> + We found the mother and the child on the other side of the island ere a + week had passed, and bore them away in safety. They speak to-day of a + member of a despised race, as one who showed + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The constant service of the antique world.” + </pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0014" id="link2H_4_0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DIBBS, R.N. + </h2> + <p> + “Now listen to me, Neddie Dibbs,” she said, as she bounced the ball + lightly on her tennis-racket, “you are very precipitate. It’s only four + weeks since you were court-martialed, and you escaped being reduced by the + very closest shave; and yet you come and make love to me, and want me to + marry you. You don’t lack confidence, certainly.” + </p> + <p> + Commander Dibbs, R.N. was hurt; but he did not become dramatic. He felt + the point of his torpedo-cut beard, and smiled up pluckily at her—she + was much taller than he. + </p> + <p> + “I know the thing went against me rather,” he said, “but it was all wrong, + I assure you. It’s cheeky, of course, to come to you like this so soon + after, but for two years I’ve been looking forward up there in the China + Sea to meeting you again. You don’t know what a beast of a station it is—besides, + I didn’t think you’d believe the charge.” + </p> + <p> + “The charge was that you had endangered the safety of one of her Majesty’s + cruisers by trying to run through an unexplored opening in the Barrier + Reef. Was that it?” + </p> + <p> + “That was it.” + </p> + <p> + “And you didn’t endanger her?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I did, but not wilfully, of course, nor yet stupidly.” + </p> + <p> + “I read the evidence, and, frankly, it looked like stupidity.” + </p> + <p> + “I haven’t been called stupid usually, have I?” + </p> + <p> + “No. I’ve heard you called many things, but never that.” + </p> + <p> + Every inch of his five-feet-five was pluck. He could take her shots + broadside, and laugh while he winced. “You’ve heard me called a good many + things not complimentary, I suppose, for I know I’m not much to look at, + and I’ve an edge to my tongue sometimes. What is the worst thing you ever + said of me?” he added a little bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “What I say to you now—though, by the way, I’ve never said it before—that + your self-confidence is appalling. Don’t you know that I’m very popular, + that they say I’m clever, and that I’m a tall, good-looking girl?” + </p> + <p> + She looked down at him, and said it with such a delightful naivete, + through which a tone of raillery ran, that it did not sound as it may + read. She knew her full value, but no one had ever accused her of vanity—she + was simply the most charming, outspoken girl in the biggest city of + Australia. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know all that,” he replied with an honest laugh. “When you were a + little child,—according to your mother, and were told you were not + good, you said: ‘No, I’m not good—I’m only beautiful.’” + </p> + <p> + Dibbs had a ready tongue, and nothing else he said at the moment could + have had so good an effect. She laughed softly and merrily. “You have + awkward little corners in your talk at times. I wonder they didn’t reduce + you at the court-martial. You were rather keen with your words once or + twice there.” + </p> + <p> + A faint flush ran over Dibbs’s face, but he smiled through it, and didn’t + give away an inch of self-possession. “If the board had been women, I’d + have been reduced right enough—women don’t go by evidence, but by + their feelings; they don’t know what justice really is, though by nature + they’ve some undisciplined generosity.” + </p> + <p> + “There again you are foolish. I’m a woman. Now why do you say such things + to me, especially when—when you are aspiring! Properly, I ought to + punish you. But why did you say those sharp things at your trial? They + probably told against you.” + </p> + <p> + “I said them because I felt them, and I hate flummery and + thick-headedness. I was as respectful as I could be; but there were things + about the trial I didn’t like—irregular things, which the Admiral + himself, who knows his business, set right.” + </p> + <p> + “I remember the Admiral said there were points about the case that he + couldn’t quite understand, but that they could only go by such testimony + as they had.” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” he said sententiously. + </p> + <p> + She wheeled softly on him, and looked him full in the eyes. “What other + testimony was there to offer?” + </p> + <p> + “We are getting a long way from our starting-point,” he answered + evasively. “We were talking of a more serious matter.” + </p> + <p> + “But a matter with which this very thing has to do, Neddie Dibbs. There’s + a mystery somewhere. I’ve asked Archie; but he won’t say a word about it, + except that he doesn’t think you were to blame.” + </p> + <p> + “Your brother is a cautious fellow.” Then, hurriedly: “He is quite right + to express no opinion as to any mystery. Least said soonest mended.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean that it is proper not to discuss professional matters in + society?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s it.” A change had passed over Dibbs’s face—it was slightly + paler, but his voice was genial and inconsequential. + </p> + <p> + “Come and sit down at the Point,” she said. + </p> + <p> + They went to a cliff which ran out from one corner of the garden, and sat + down on a bench. Before them stretched the harbour, dotted with sails; + men-of-war lay at anchor, among them the little Ruby, Commander Dibbs’s + cruiser. Pleasure-steamers went hurrying along to many shady harbours; a + tall-masted schooner rode grandly in between the Heads, balanced with + foam; and a beach beneath them shone like opal: it was a handsome sight. + </p> + <p> + For a time they were silent. At last he said: “I know I haven’t much to + recommend me. I’m a little beggar—nothing to look at; I’m pretty + poor; I’ve had no influence to push me on; and just at the critical point + in my career—when I was expecting promotion—I get this + set-back, and lose your good opinion, which is more to me, though I say it + bluntly like a sailor, than the praise of all the Lords of the Admiralty, + if it could be got. You see, I always was ambitious; I was certain I’d be + a captain; I swore I’d be an admiral one day; and I fell in love with the + best girl in the world, and said I’d not give up thinking I would marry + her until and unless I saw her wearing another man’s name—and I + don’t know that I should even then.” + </p> + <p> + “Now that sounds complicated—or wicked,” she said, her face turned + away from him. + </p> + <p> + “Believe me, it is not complicated; and men marry widows sometimes.” + </p> + <p> + “You are shocking,” she said, turning on him with a flush to her cheek and + an angry glitter in her eye. “How dare you speak so cold-bloodedly and + thoughtlessly?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not cold-blooded or thoughtless, nor yet shocking. I only speak what + is in my mind with my usual crudeness. I know it sounds insolent of me, + but, after all, it is only being bold with the woman for whom—half-disgraced, + insignificant, but unquenchable fellow as I am—I’d do as much as, + and, maybe, dare more for than any one of the men who would marry her if + they could.” + </p> + <p> + “I like ambitious men,” she said relenting, and meditatively pushing the + grass with her tennis-racket; “but ambition isn’t everything, is it? There + must be some kind of fulfilment to turn it into capital, as it were. Don’t + let me hurt your feelings, but you haven’t done a great deal yet, have + you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I haven’t. There must be occasion. The chance to do something big may + start up any time, however. You never can tell when things will come your + way. You’ve got to be ready, that’s all.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very confident.” + </p> + <p> + “You’ll call me a prig directly, perhaps, but I can’t help that. I’ve said + things to you that I’ve never said to any one in the world, and I don’t + regret saying them.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at him earnestly. She had never been made love to in this + fashion. There was no sentimentalism in it, only straightforward feeling, + forceful, yet gentle. She knew he was aware that the Admiral of his + squadron had paid, and was paying, court to her; that a titled + aide-de-camp at Government House was conspicuously attentive; that one of + the richest squatters in the country was ready to make astonishing + settlements at any moment; and that there was not a young man of note + acquainted with her who did not offer her gallant service-in the + ball-room. She smiled as she thought of it. He was certainly not large, + but no finer head was ever set on a man’s shoulders, powerful, strongly + outlined, nobly balanced. The eyes were everywhere; searching, + indomitable, kind. It was a head for a sculptor. Ambition became it well. + She had studied that head from every stand-point, and had had the keenest + delight in talking to the man. But, as he said, that was two years before, + and he had had bad luck since then. + </p> + <p> + She suddenly put this question to him: “Tell me all the truth about that + accident to the Ruby. You have been hiding something. The Admiral was + right, I know. Some evidence was not forthcoming that would have thrown a + different light on the affair.” + </p> + <p> + “I can tell you nothing,” he promptly replied. + </p> + <p> + “I shall find out one day,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I hope not; though I’m grateful that you wish to do so.” + </p> + <p> + He rose hurriedly to his feet; he was looking at the harbour below. He + raised the field-glass he had carried from the veranda to his eyes. He was + watching a yacht making across the bay towards them. + </p> + <p> + She spoke again. “You are going again to-morrow?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; all the ships of the squadron but one get away.” + </p> + <p> + “How long shall you be gone?” + </p> + <p> + “Six months at least——Great God!” + </p> + <p> + He had not taken the glasses from his eyes as they talked, but had watched + the yacht as she came on to get under the lee of the high shore at their + right. He had noticed that one of those sudden fierce winds, called + Southerly Busters, was sweeping down towards the craft, and would catch it + when it came round sharp, as it must do. He recognised the boat also. It + belonged to Laura Harman’s father, and her brother Archie was in it. The + gale caught the yacht as Dibbs foresaw, and swamped her. He dropped the + glass, cried to the girl to follow, and in a minute had scrambled down the + cliff, and thrown off most of his things. He had launched a skiff by the + time the girl reached the shore. She got in without a word. She was deadly + pale, but full of nerve. They rowed hard to where they could see two men + clinging to the yacht; there had been three in it. The two men were not + hauled in, for the gale was blowing too hard, but they clung to the + rescuing skiff. The girl’s brother was not to be seen. Instantly Dibbs + dived under the yacht. It seemed an incredible time before he reappeared; + but when he did, he had a body with him. Blood was coming from his nose, + the strain of holding his breath had been so great. It was impossible to + get the insensible body into the skiff. He grasped the side, and held the + boy’s head up. The girl rowed hard, but made little headway. Other rescue + boats arrived presently, however, and they were all got to shore safely. + </p> + <p> + Lieutenant Archie Harman did not die. Animation was restored after great + difficulty, but he did not sail away with the Ruby next morning to the + Polynesian Islands. Another man took his place. + </p> + <p> + Little was said between Commander Dibbs and Laura Harman at parting late + that night. She came from her brother’s bedside and laid her hand upon his + arm. “It is good,” she said, “for a man to be brave as well as ambitious. + You are sure to succeed; and I shall be proud of you, for—for you + saved my brother’s life, you see,” she timidly added; and she was not + often timid. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ......................... +</pre> + <p> + Five months after, when the Ruby was lying with the flag-ship off one of + the Marshall Islands, a packet of letters was brought from Fiji by a + trading-schooner. One was for Commander Dibbs. It said in brief: “You + saved my brother’s life—that was brave. You saved his honour—that + was noble. He has told me all. He will resign and clear you when the + Admiral returns. You are a good man.” + </p> + <p> + “He ought to be kicked,” Dibbs said to himself. “Did the cowardly beggar + think I did it for him—blast him!” + </p> + <p> + He raged inwardly; but he soon had something else to think of, for a + hurricane came down on them as they lay in a trap of coral with only one + outlet, which the Ruby had surveyed that day. He took his ship out + gallantly, but the flag-ship dare not attempt it—Dibbs was the only + man who knew the passage thoroughly. He managed to land on the shore below + the harbour, and then, with a rope round him, essayed to reach the + flag-ship from the beach. It was a wild chance, but he got there badly + battered. Still, he took her with her Admiral out to the open safely. + </p> + <p> + That was how Dibbs became captain of a great iron-clad. + </p> + <p> + Archie Harman did not resign; Dibbs would not let him. Only Archie’s + sister knew that he was responsible for the accident to the Ruby, which + nearly cost Dibbs his reputation; for he and Dibbs had surveyed the + passage in the Barrier Reef when serving on another ship, and he had + neglected instructions and wrongly and carelessly interpreted the chart. + And Dibbs had held his tongue. + </p> + <p> + One evening Laura Harman said to Captain Dibbs: “Which would you rather be—Admiral + of the Fleet or my husband?” Her hand was on his arm at the time. + </p> + <p> + He looked up at her proudly, and laughed slyly. “I mean to be both, dear + girl.” + </p> + <p> + “You have an incurable ambition,” she said. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A LITTLE MASQUERADE + </h2> + <p> + “Oh, nothing matters,” she said, with a soft, ironical smile, as she + tossed a bit of sugar to the cockatoo. + </p> + <p> + “Quite so,” was his reply, and he carefully gathered in a loose leaf of + his cigar. Then, after a pause: “And yet, why so? It’s a very pretty world + one way and another.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it’s a pretty world at times.” + </p> + <p> + At that moment they were both looking out over a part of the world known + as the Nindobar Plains, and it was handsome to the eye. As far as could be + seen was a carpet of flowers under a soft sunset. The homestead by which + they sat was in a wilderness of blossoms. To the left was a high + rose-coloured hill, solemn and mysterious; to the right—afar off—a + forest of gum-trees, pink and purple against the horizon. At their feet, + beyond the veranda, was a garden joyously brilliant, and bright-plumaged + birds flitted here and there. + </p> + <p> + The two looked out for a long time, then, as if by a mutual impulse, + suddenly turned their eyes on each other. They smiled, and, somehow, that + smile was not delightful to see. The girl said presently: “It is all on + the surface.” + </p> + <p> + Jack Sherman gave a little click of the tongue peculiar to him, and said: + “You mean that the beautiful birds have dreadful voices; that the flowers + are scentless; that the leaves of the trees are all on edge and give no + shade; that where that beautiful carpet of blossoms is there was a blazing + quartz plain six months ago, and there’s likely to be the same again; + that, in brief, it’s pretty, but hollow.” He made a slight fantastic + gesture, as though mocking himself for so long a speech, and added: + “Really, I didn’t prepare this little oration.” + </p> + <p> + She nodded, and then said: “Oh, it’s not so hollow,—you would not + call it that exactly, but it’s unsatisfactory.” + </p> + <p> + “You have lost your illusions.” + </p> + <p> + “And before that occurred you had lost yours.” + </p> + <p> + “Do I betray it, then?” He laughed, not at all bitterly, yet not with + cheerfulness. + </p> + <p> + “And do you think that you have such acuteness, then, and I—” Nellie + Hayden paused, raised her eyebrows a little coldly, and let the cockatoo + bite her finger. + </p> + <p> + “I did not mean to be egotistical. The fact is I live my life alone, and I + was interested for the moment to know how I appeared to others. You and I + have been tolerably candid with each other since we met, for the first + time, three days ago; I knew you would not hesitate to say what was in + your mind, and I asked out of honest curiosity. One fancies one hides + one’s self, and yet—you see!” + </p> + <p> + “Do you find it pleasant, then, to be candid and free with some one?... + Why with me?” She looked him frankly in the eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Well, to be more candid. You and I know the world very well, I fancy. You + were educated in Europe, travelled, enjoyed—and suffered.” The girl + did not even blink, but went on looking at him steadily. “We have both had + our hour with the world; have learned many sides of the game. We haven’t + come out of it without scars of one kind or another. Knowledge of the kind + is expensive.” + </p> + <p> + “You wanted to say all that to me the first evening we met, didn’t you?” + There was a smile of gentle amusement on her face. + </p> + <p> + “I did. From the moment I saw you I knew that we could say many things to + each other ‘without pre liminaries.’ To be able to do that is a great + deal.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a relief to say things, isn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “It is better than writing them, though that is pleasant, after its kind.” + </p> + <p> + “I have never tried writing—as we talk. There’s a good deal of + vanity at the bottom of it though, I believe.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. But vanity is a kind of virtue, too.” He leaned over towards + her, dropping his arms on his knees and holding her look. “I am very glad + that I met you. I intended only staying here over night, but—” + </p> + <p> + “But I interested you in a way—you see, I am vain enough to think + that. Well, you also interested me, and I urged my aunt to press you to + stay. It has been very pleasant, and when you go it will be very humdrum + again; our conversation, mustering, rounding-up, bullocks, and rabbits. + That, of course, is engrossing in a way, but not for long at a time.” + </p> + <p> + He did not stir, but went on looking at her. “Yes, I believe it has been + pleasant for you, else it had not been so pleasant for me. Honestly, I + don’t believe I shall ever get you out of my mind.” + </p> + <p> + “That is either slightly rude or badly expressed,” she said. “Do you wish, + then, to get me out of your mind?” + </p> + <p> + “No, no——You are very keen. I wish to remember you always. But + what I felt at the moment was this. There are memories which are always + passive and delightful. We have no wish to live the scenes of which they + are over again, the reflection is enough. There are others which cause us + to wish the scenes back again, with a kind of hunger; and yet they won’t + or can’t come back. I wondered of what class this memory would be.” + </p> + <p> + The girl flushed ever so slightly, and her fingers clasped a little + nervously, but she was calm. Her voice was even; it had, indeed, a little + thrilling ring of energy. “You are wonderfully daring,” she replied, “to + say that to me. To a school-girl it might mean so much: to me—!” She + shook her head at him reprovingly. + </p> + <p> + He was not in the least piqued. “I was absolutely honest in that. I said + nothing but what I felt. I would give very much to feel confident one way + or the other—forgive me, for what seems incredible egotism. If I + were five years younger I should have said instantly that the memory would + be one—” + </p> + <p> + “Which would disturb you, make you restless, cause you to neglect your + work, fill you with regret; and yet all too late—isn’t that it?” She + laughed lightly and gave a lump of sugar to the cockatoo. + </p> + <p> + “You read me accurately. But why touch your words with satire?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe I read you better than you read me. I didn’t mean to be + satirical. Don’t you know that what often seems irony directed towards + others is in reality dealt out to ourselves? Such irony as was in my voice + was for myself.” + </p> + <p> + “And why for yourself?” he asked quietly, his eyes full of interest. He + was cutting the end of a fresh cigar. “Was it”—he was about to + strike a match, but paused suddenly—“was it because you had thought + the same thing?” + </p> + <p> + She looked for a moment as though she would read him through and through; + as though, in spite of all their candour, there was some lingering + uncertainty as to his perfect straightforwardness; then, as if satisfied, + she said at last: “Yes, but with a difference. I have no doubt which + memory it will be. You will not wish to be again on the plains of + Nindobar.” + </p> + <p> + “And you,” he said musingly, “you will not wish me here?” There was no + real vanity in the question. He was wondering how little we can be sure of + what we shall feel to-morrow from what we feel to-day. Besides, he knew + that a wise woman is wiser than a wise man. + </p> + <p> + “I really don’t think I shall care particularly. Probably, if we met again + here, there would be some jar to our comradeship—I may call it that, + I suppose?” + </p> + <p> + “Which is equivalent to saying that good-bye in most cases, and always in + cases such as ours, is a little tragical, because we can never meet quite + the same again.” + </p> + <p> + She bowed her head, but did not reply. Presently she glanced up at him + kindly. “What would you give to have back the past you had before you lost + your illusions, before you had—trouble?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not want it back. I am not really disillusionised. I think that we + should not make our own personal experience a law unto the world. I + believe in the world in spite—of trouble. You might have said + trouble with a woman—I should not have minded.” He was smoking now, + and the clouds twisted about his face so that only his eyes looked through + earnestly. “A woman always makes laws from her personal experience. She + has not the faculty of generalisation—I fancy that’s the word to + use.” + </p> + <p> + She rose now with a little shaking motion, one hand at her belt, and + rested a shoulder against a pillar of the veranda. He rose also at once, + and said, touching her hand respectfully with his finger tips: “We may be + sorry one day that we did not believe in ourselves more.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no,” she said, turning and smiling at him, “I think not. You will be + in England hard at work, I here hard at living; our interests will lie far + apart. I am certain about it all. We might have been what my cousin calls + ‘trusty pals’—no more.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish to God I felt sure of that.” + </p> + <p> + She held out her hand to him. “I believe you are honest in this. I expect + both of us have played hide-and-seek with sentiment in our time; but it + would be useless for us to masquerade with each other: we are of the + world, very worldly.” + </p> + <p> + “Quite useless—here comes your cousin! I hope I don’t look as + agitated as I feel.” + </p> + <p> + “You look perfectly cool, and I know I do. What an art this living is! My + cousin comes about the boarhunt to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall you join us?” + </p> + <p> + “Of course. I can handle a rifle. Besides, it is your last day here.” + </p> + <p> + “Who can tell what to-morrow may bring forth?” he said. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ........................ +</pre> + <p> + The next day the boar-hunt occurred. They rode several miles to a little + lake and a scrub of brigalow, and, dismounting, soon had exciting sport. + Nellie was a capital shot, and, without loss of any womanliness, was a + thorough sportsman. To-day, however, there was something on her mind, and + she was not as alert and successful as usual. Sherman kept with her as + much as possible—the more so because he saw that her cousins, + believing she was quite well able to take care of herself, gave her to her + own resources. Presently, however, following an animal, he left her a + distance behind. + </p> + <p> + On the edge of a little billabong she came upon a truculent boar. It + turned on her, but she fired, and it fell. Seeing another ahead, she + pushed on quickly to secure it, too. As she went she half-cocked her + rifle. Had her mind been absolutely intent on the sport, she had full + cocked it. All at once she heard the thud of feet behind her. She turned + swiftly, and saw the boar she had shot bearing upon her, its long yellow + tusks standing up like daggers. A sweeping thrust from one of them leaves + little chance of life. + </p> + <p> + She dropped upon a knee, swung her rifle to her shoulder, and pulled the + trigger. The rifle did not go off. For an instant she did not grasp the + trouble. With singular presence of mind, however, she neither lowered her + rifle nor took her eye from the beast; she remained immovable. It was all + a matter of seconds. Evidently cowed, the animal, when within a few feet + of her, swerved to the right, then made as though to come down on her + again. But, meanwhile, she had discovered her mistake, and cocked her + rifle. She swiftly trained it on the boar, and fired. It was hit, but did + not fall; and came on. Then another shot rang out from behind her, and the + boar fell so near her that its tusk caught her dress. + </p> + <p> + Jack Sherman had saved her. + </p> + <p> + She was very white when she faced him. She could not speak. That night, + however, she spoke very gratefully and almost tenderly. + </p> + <p> + To something that he said gently to her then about a memory, she replied: + “Tell me now as candidly as if to your own soul, did you feel at the + critical moment that life would be horrible and empty without me?” + </p> + <p> + “I thought only of saving you,” he said honestly. + </p> + <p> + “Then I was quite right; you will never have any regret,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder, ah, I wonder!” he added sorrowfully. But the girl was sure. + </p> + <p> + The regret was hers; though he never knew that. It is a lonely life on the + dry plains of Nindobar. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + DERELICT + </h2> + <p> + He was very drunk; and because of that Victoria Lindley, barmaid at + O’Fallen’s, was angry—not at him but at O’Fallen, who had given him + the liquor. + </p> + <p> + She knew more about him than any one else. The first time she saw him he + was not sober. She had left the bar-room empty; and when she came back he + was there with others who had dropped in, evidently attracted by his + unusual appearance—he wore an eyeglass—and he had been saying + something whimsically audacious to Dicky Merritt, who, slapping him on the + shoulder, had asked him to have a swizzle. + </p> + <p> + Dicky Merritt had a ripe sense of humour, and he was the first to grin. + This was followed by loud laughs from others, and these laughs went out + where the dust lay a foot thick and soft like precipitated velvet, and + hurrying over the street, waked the Postmaster and roused the Little + Milliner, who at once came to their doors. Catching sight of each other, + they nodded, and blushed, and nodded again; and then the Postmaster, + neglecting the business of the country, went upon his own business into + the private sitting-room of the Little Milliner; for those wandering + laughs from O’Fallen’s had done the work set for them by the high powers. + </p> + <p> + Over in the hot bar-room the man with the eye-glass was being frankly + “intr’juced” to Dicky Merritt and Company, Limited, by Victoria Lindley, + who, as hostess of this saloon, was, in his eyes, on a footing of + acquaintance. To her he raised his hat with accentuated form, and murmured + his name—“Mr. Jones—Mr. Jones.” Forthwith, that there might be + no possible unpleasantness—for even such hostesses have their duties + of tact—she politely introduced him as Mr. Jones. + </p> + <p> + He had been a man of innumerable occupations—nothing long: caretaker + of tanks, rabbit-trapper, boundary-rider, cook at a shearers’ camp, and, + in due time, he became book-keeper at O’Fallen’s. That was due to Vic. Mr. + Jones wrote a very fine hand—not in the least like a business man—when + he was moderately sober, and he also had an exceedingly caustic wit when + he chose to use it. He used it once upon O’Fallen, who was a rough, + mannerless creature, with a good enough heart, but easily irritated by the + man with the eye-glass, whose superior intellect and manner, even when + drunk, were too noticeable. He would never have employed him were it not + for Vic, who was worth very much money to him in the course of the year. + She was the most important person within a radius of a hundred and fifty + miles, not excepting Rembrandt, the owner of Bomba Station, which was + twenty miles square, nor the parson at Magari, ninety miles south, by the + Ring-Tail Billabong. For both Rembrandt and the parson had, and showed, a + respect for her, which might appear startling were it seen in Berkeley + Square or the Strand. + </p> + <p> + When, therefore, O’Fallen came raging into the barroom one morning, with + the gentle remark that “he’d roast the tongue of her fancy gent if he + didn’t get up and git,” he did a foolish thing. It was the first time that + he had insulted Victoria, and it was the last. She came out white and + quiet from behind the bar-counter, and, as he retreated from her into a + corner, said: “There is not a man who drinks over this bar, or puts his + horse into your shed, who wouldn’t give you the lie to that and thrash you + as well—you coward!” Her words came on low and steady: “Mr. Jones + will go now, of course, but I shall go also.” + </p> + <p> + This awed O’Fallen. To lose Vic was to lose the reputation of his house. + He instantly repented, but she turned her shoulder on him, and went into + the little hot office, where the book-keeper was, leaving him + gesticulating as he swore at himself in the glass behind the bar. When she + entered the room she found Mr. Jones sitting rigid on his stool, looking + at the open ledger before him. She spoke his name. He nodded ever so + slightly, but still looked hard at the book. She knew his history. Once he + had told it to her. It happened one day when he had resigned his position + as boundary-rider, in which he was practically useless. He had been + drinking, and, as he felt for the string of his eye-glass, his fingers + caught another thin black cord which protruded slightly from his vest. He + drew it out by mistake, and a small gold cross shone for a moment against + the faded black coat. His fingers felt for it to lift it to his eye as + though it were his eye-glass, but dropped it suddenly. He turned pale for + a minute, then caught it as suddenly again, and thrust it into his + waistcoat. But Vic had seen, and she had very calm, intelligent eyes, and + a vast deal of common sense, though she had only come from out Tibbooburra + way. She kept her eyes on him kindly, knowing that he would speak in time. + They were alone, for most of the people of Wadgery were away at a picnic. + There is always one moment when a man who has a secret, good or bad, fatal + or otherwise, feels that he must tell it or die. And Mr. Jones told Vic, + and she said what she could, though she knew that a grasp of her firm + hands was better than any words; and she was equally sure in her own mind + that word and grasp would be of no avail in the end. + </p> + <p> + She saw that the beginning of the end had come as she looked at him + staring at the ledger, yet exactly why she could not tell. She knew that + he had been making a fight since he had been book-keeper, and that now he + felt that he had lost. She guessed also that he had heard what O’Fallen + said to her, and what she had replied. + </p> + <p> + “You ought not to have offended him,” she tried to say severely. + </p> + <p> + “It had to come,” he said with a dry, crackling laugh, and he fastened his + eye-glass in his eye. “I wasn’t made for this. I could only do one thing, + and—” He laughed that peculiar laugh again, got down from the stool, + and held out his hand to her. + </p> + <p> + “What do you intend?” she said. “I’m going, of course. Good-bye!” “But not + at once?” she said very kindly. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps not just at once,” he answered with a strange smile. + </p> + <p> + She did not know what to say or do; there are puzzling moments even for a + wise woman, and there is nothing wiser than that. + </p> + <p> + He turned at the door. “God bless you!” he said. Then, as if caught in an + act to be atoned for, he hurried out into the street. From the door she + watched him till the curtains of dust rose up about him and hid him from + sight. When he came back to Wadgery months after he was a terrible wreck; + so much so that Vic could hardly look at him at first; and she wished that + she had left O’Fallen’s as she threatened, and so have no need to furnish + any man swizzles. She knew he would never pull himself together now. It + was very weak of him, and horrible, but then... When that thirst gets into + the blood, and there’s something behind the man’s life too—as Dicky + Merritt said, “It’s a case for the little black angels.” + </p> + <p> + Vic would not give him liquor. He got it, however, from other sources. He + was too far gone to feel any shame now. His sensibilities were all + blunted. One day he babbled over the bar-counter to O’Fallen, desiring + greatly that they should be reconciled. To that end he put down the last + shilling he had for a swizzle, and was so outrageously offended when + O’Fallen refused to take it, that the silver was immediately swept into + the till; and very soon, with his eye-glass to his eye, Mr. Jones was + drunk. + </p> + <p> + That was the occasion mentioned in the first sentence of this history, + when Vic was very angry. + </p> + <p> + The bar-room was full. Men were wondering why it was that the Postmaster + and the Little Milliner, who went to Magari ten days before, to get + married by the parson there, had not returned. While they talked and + speculated, the weekly coach from Magari came up slowly to the door, and, + strange to say, without a blast from the driver’s horn. Dicky Merritt and + Company rushed out to ask news of the two truants, and were met with a + warning wave of the driver’s hand, and a “Sh-h! sh—!” as he motioned + towards the inside of the coach. There they found the Postmaster and the + Little Milliner mere skeletons, and just alive. They were being cared for + by a bushman, who had found them in the plains, delirious and nearly + naked. They had got lost, there being no regular road over the plains, and + their horse, which they had not tethered properly, had gone large. They + had been days without food and water when they were found near the + coach-track. + </p> + <p> + They were carried into O’Fallen’s big sitting-room. Dicky brought the + doctor, who said that they both would die, and soon. Hours passed. The + sufferers at last became sane and conscious, as though they could not go + without something being done. The Postmaster lifted a hand to his pocket. + Dicky Merritt took out of it a paper. It was the marriage licence. The + Little Milliner’s eyes were painful to see; she was not dying happy. The + Postmaster, too, moved his head from side to side in trouble. He reached + over and took her hand. She drew it back, shuddering a little. “The ring! + The ring!” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “It is lost,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Vic, who was at the woman’s head, understood. She stooped, said something + in her ear, then in that of the Postmaster, and left the room. When she + came back, two minutes later, Mr. Jones was with her. What she had done to + him to sober him no one ever knew. But he had a book in his hand, and on + the dingy black of his waistcoat there shone a little gold cross. He came + to where the two lay. Vic drew from her finger a ring. What then occurred + was never forgotten by any who saw it; and you could feel the stillness, + it was so great, after a high, sing-song voice said: “Those whom God hath + joined let no man put asunder.” + </p> + <p> + The two lying cheek by cheek knew now that they could die in peace. + </p> + <p> + The sing-song voice rose again in the ceremony of blessing, but suddenly + it quavered and broke, the man rose, dropping the prayer-book to the + floor, and ran quickly out of the room and into the dust of the street, + and on, on into the plains. + </p> + <p> + “In the name of God, who is he?” said Dicky Merritt to Victoria Lindley. + </p> + <p> + “He was the Reverend Jones Leverton, of Harfordon-Thames,” was her reply. + </p> + <p> + “Once a priest, always a priest,” added Dicky. “He’ll never come back,” + said the girl, tears dropping from her eyes. + </p> + <p> + And she was right. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + OLD ROSES + </h2> + <p> + It was a barren country, and Wadgery was generally shrivelled with heat, + but he always had roses in his garden, on his window-sill, or in his + button-hole. Growing flowers under difficulties was his recreation. That + was why he was called Old Roses. It was not otherwise inapt, for there was + something antique about him, though he wasn’t old; a flavour, an + old-fashioned repose and self-possession. He was Inspector of Tanks for + this God-forsaken country. Apart from his duties he kept mostly to + himself, though when not travelling he always went down to O’Fallen’s + Hotel once a day for a glass of whisky and water—whisky kept + especially for him; and as he drank this slowly he talked to Victoria + Lindley the barmaid, or to any chance visitors whom he knew. He never + drank with any one, nor asked any one to drink; and, strange to say, no + one resented this. As Vic said: “He was different.” Dicky Merritt, the + solicitor, who was hail-fellow with squatter, homestead lessee, + cockatoo-farmer, and shearer, called him “a lively old buffer.” It was he, + indeed, who gave him the name of Old Roses. Dicky sometimes went over to + Long Neck Billabong, where Old Roses lived, for a reel, as he put it, and + he always carried away a deep impression of the Inspector’s qualities. + </p> + <p> + “Had his day,” said Dicky in O’Fallen’s sitting-room one night, “in marble + halls, or I’m a Jack. Run neck and neck with almighty swells once. Might + live here for a thousand years and he’d still be the nonesuch of the + back-blocks. I’d patent him—file my caveat for him to-morrow, if I + could, bully Old Roses!” + </p> + <p> + Victoria Lindley, the barmaid, lifted her chin slightly from her hands, as + she leaned through the opening between the bar and the sitting-room, and + said: “Mr. Merritt, Old Roses is a gentleman; and a gentleman is a + gentleman till he—” + </p> + <p> + “Till he humps his bluey into the Never Never Land, Vic? But what do you + know about gentlemen, anyway? You were born only five miles from the + jumping-off place, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh,” was the quiet reply, “a woman—the commonest woman—knows + a gentleman by instinct. It isn’t what they do, it’s what they don’t do; + and Old Roses doesn’t do lots of things.” + </p> + <p> + “Right you are, Victoria, right you are again! You do Tibbooburra credit. + Old Roses has the root of the matter in him—and there you have it.” + </p> + <p> + Dicky had a profound admiration for Vic. She had brains, was perfectly + fearless, no man had ever taken a liberty with her, and every one in the + Wadgery country who visited O’Fallen’s had a wholesome respect for her + opinion. + </p> + <p> + About this time news came that the Governor, Lord Malice, would pass + through Wadgery on his tour up the back-blocks. A great function was + necessary. It was arranged. Then came the question of the address of + welcome to be delivered at the banquet. Dicky Merritt and the local doctor + were named for the task, but they both declared they’d only “make rot of + it,” and suggested Old Roses. + </p> + <p> + They went to lay the thing before him. They found him in his garden. He + greeted them, smiling in his quiet, enigmatical way, and listened. While + Dicky spoke, a flush slowly passed over him, and then immediately left him + pale; but he stood perfectly still, his hand leaning against a sandal + tree, and the coldness of his face warmed up again slowly. His head having + been bent attentively as he listened, they did not see anything unusual. + </p> + <p> + After a moment of inscrutable deliberation, he answered that he would do + as they wished. Dicky hinted that he would require some information about + Lord Malice’s past career and his family’s history, but he assured them + that he did not need it; and his eyes idled ironically with Dicky’s face. + </p> + <p> + When the two had gone, Old Roses sat in his room, a handful of letters, a + photograph, and a couple of decorations spread out before him, his fingers + resting on them, his look engaged with a far horizon. + </p> + <p> + The Governor came. He was met outside the township by the citizens and + escorted in—a dusty and numerous cavalcade. They passed the + Inspector’s house. The garden was blooming, and on the roof a flag was + flying. Struck by the singular character of the place Lord Malice asked + who lived there, and proposed stopping for a moment to make the + acquaintance of its owner; adding, with some slight sarcasm, that if the + officers of the Government were too busy to pay their respects to their + Governor, their Governor must pay his respects to them. But Old Roses was + not in the garden nor in the house, and they left without seeing him. He + was sitting under a willow at the billabong, reading over and over to + himself the address to be delivered before the Governor in the evening. As + he read his face had a wintry and inhospitable look. + </p> + <p> + The night came. Old Roses entered the dining-room quietly with the crowd, + far in the Governor’s wake. According to his request, he was given a seat + in a distant corner, where he was quite inconspicuous. Most of the men + present were in evening dress. He wore a plain tweed suit, but carried a + handsome rose in his button-hole. It was impossible to put him at a + disadvantage. He looked distinguished as he was. He appeared to be much + interested in Lord Malice. The early proceedings were cordial, for the + Governor and his suite made themselves agreeable, and talk flowed amiably. + After a time there was a rattle of knives and forks, and the Chairman + rose. Then, after a chorus of “hear, hears,” there was general silence. + The doorways of the room were filled by the women-servants of the hotel. + Chief among them was Vic, who kept her eyes fixed on Old Roses. She knew + that he was to read the address and speak, and she was more interested in + him and in his success than in Lord Malice and his suite. Her admiration + of him was great. He had always treated her as though she had been born a + lady, and it had done her good. + </p> + <p> + “And I call upon Mr. Adam Sherwood to speak to the health of His + Excellency, Lord Malice.” + </p> + <p> + In his modest corner Old Roses stretched to his feet. The Governor glanced + over carelessly. He only saw a figure in grey, with a rose in his + button-hole. The Chairman whispered that it was the owner of the house and + garden which had interested His Excellency that afternoon. His Excellency + looked a little closer, but saw only a rim of iron-grey hair above the + paper held before Old Roses’ face. + </p> + <p> + Then a voice came from behind the paper: “Your Excellency—” + </p> + <p> + At the first words the Governor started, and his eyes flashed searchingly, + curiously at the paper that walled the face, and at the iron-grey hair. + The voice rose distinct and clear, with modulated emphasis. It had a + peculiarly penetrating quality. A few in the room—and particularly + Vic—were struck by something in the voice: that it resembled another + voice. She soon found the trail. Her eyes also fastened on the paper. Then + she moved and went to another door. Here she could see behind the paper at + an angle. Her eyes ran from the screened face to that of the Governor. His + Excellency had dropped the lower part of his face in his hand, and he was + listening intently. Vic noticed that his eyes were painfully grave and + concerned. She also noticed other things. + </p> + <p> + The address was strange. It had been submitted to the Committee, and + though it struck them as out-of the-wayish, it had been approved. It + seemed different when read as Old Roses was reading it. The words sounded + inclement as they were chiselled out by the speaker’s voice. Dicky Merritt + afterwards declared that many phrases were interpolated by Old Roses at + the moment. + </p> + <p> + The speaker referred intimately and with peculiar knowledge to the family + history of Lord Malice, to certain more or less private matters which did + not concern the public, to the antiquity of the name, and the high duty + devolving upon one who bore the Earldom of Malice. He dwelt upon the + personal character of His Excellency’s antecedents, and praised their + honourable services to the country. He referred to the death of Lord + Malice’s eldest brother in Burmah, but he did it strangely. Then, with + acute incisiveness, he drew a picture of what a person in so exalted a + position as a Governor should be and should not be. His voice assuredly at + this point had a touch of scorn. The aides-de-camp were nervous, the + Chairman apprehensive, the Committee ill at ease. But the Governor now was + perfectly still, though, as Vic Lindley thought, rather pinched and + old-looking. His fingers toyed with a wine-glass, but his eyes never + wavered from that paper and the grey hair. + </p> + <p> + Presently the voice of the speaker changed. + </p> + <p> + “But,” said he, “in Lord Malice we have—the perfect Governor; a man + of blameless and enviable life, and possessed abundantly of discreetness, + judgment, administrative ability and power; the absolute type of English + nobility and British character.” + </p> + <p> + He dropped the paper from before his face, and his eyes met those of the + Governor, and stayed. Lord Malice let go a long choking breath, which + sounded like immeasurable relief. During the rest of the speech—delivered + in a fine-tempered voice—he sat as in a dream, his eyes intently + upon the other, who now seemed to recite rather than read. He thrilled all + by the pleasant resonance of his tones, and sent the blood aching + delightfully through Victoria Lindley’s veins. + </p> + <p> + When he sat down there was immense applause. The Governor rose in reply. + He spoke in a low voice, but any one listening outside would have said + that Old Roses was still speaking. By this resemblance the girl, Vic, had + trailed to others. It was now apparent to many, but Dicky said afterwards + that it was simply a case of birth and breeding—men used to walking + red carpet grew alike, just as stud-owners and rabbit-catchers did. + </p> + <p> + The last words of the Governor’s reply were delivered in a convincing tone + as his eyes hung on Old Roses’ face. + </p> + <p> + “And, as I am indebted to you, gentlemen, for the feelings of loyalty to + the Throne which prompted this reception and the address just delivered, + so I am indebted to Mr.—Adam Sherwood for his admirable words and + the unusual sincerity and eloquence of his speech; and to both you and him + for most notable kindness.” + </p> + <p> + Immediately after the Governor’s speech Old Roses stole out; but as he + passed through the door where Vic stood, his hand brushed against hers. + Feeling its touch, he grasped it eagerly for an instant as though he were + glad of the friendliness in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + It was just before dawn of the morning that the Governor knocked at the + door of the house by Long Neck Billabong. The door opened at once, and he + entered without a word. + </p> + <p> + He and Old Roses stood face to face. His countenance was drawn and worn, + the other’s cold and calm. “Tom, Tom,” Lord Malice said, “we thought you + were dead—” + </p> + <p> + “That is, Edward, having left me to my fate in Burmah—you were only + half a mile away with a column of stout soldiers and hillmen—you + waited till my death was reported, and seemed assured, and then came on to + England: to take the title, just vacant by our father’s death, and to + marry my intended wife, who, God knows, appeared to have little care which + brother it was! You got both. I was long a prisoner. When I got free, I + learned all; I bided my time. I was waiting till you had a child. Twelve + years have gone: you have no child. But I shall spare you awhile longer. + If your wife should die, or you should yet have a child, I shall return.” + </p> + <p> + The Governor lifted his head wearily from the table where he now sat. + “Tom,” he said in a low, heavy voice, “I was always something of a + scoundrel, but I’ve repented of that thing every day of my life since. It + has been knives—knives all the way. I am glad—I can’t tell you + how glad—that you are alive.” + </p> + <p> + He stretched out his hand with a motion of great relief. “I was afraid you + were going to speak to-night—to tell all, even though I was your + brother. You spared me for the sake—” + </p> + <p> + “For the sake of the family name,” the other interjected stonily. + </p> + <p> + “For the sake of our name. But I would have taken my punishment, in + thankfulness, because you are alive.” + </p> + <p> + “Taken it like a man, your Excellency,” was the low rejoinder. He laughed + bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “You will not wipe the thing out, Tom? You will not wipe it out, and come + back, and take your own—now?” said the other anxiously. + </p> + <p> + The other dried the perspiration from his forehead. “I will come back in + my own time; and it can never be wiped out. For you shook all my faith in + my old world. That’s the worst thing that can happen a man. I only believe + in the very common people now—those who are not put upon their + honour. One doesn’t expect it of them, and, unlikely as it is, one isn’t + often deceived. I think we’d better talk no more about it.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean I had better go.” + </p> + <p> + “I think so. I am going to marry soon.” The other started nervously. + </p> + <p> + “You needn’t be so shocked. I will come back one day, but not till your + wife dies, or you have a child, as I said.” + </p> + <p> + The Governor rose to his feet, and went to the door. “Whom do you intend + marrying?” he asked in a voice far from vice-regal, only humbled and + disturbed. The reply was instant and keen: “A bar-maid.” + </p> + <p> + The other’s hand dropped from the door. But Old Roses, passing over, + opened it, and, waiting for the other to pass through, said: “I do not + doubt but there will be issue. Good-day, my lord!” + </p> + <p> + The Governor passed out from the pale light of the lamp into the grey and + moist morning. He turned at a point where the house would be lost to view, + and saw the other still standing there. The voice of Old Roses kept + ringing in his ears sardonically. He knew that his punishment must go on + and on; and it did. + </p> + <p> + Old Roses married Victoria Lindley from “out Tibbooburra way,” and there + was comely issue, and that issue is now at Eton; for Esau came into his + birthright, as he said he would, at his own time. But he and his wife have + a way of being indifferent to the gay, astonished world; and, uncommon as + it may seem, he has not tired of her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + MY WIFE’S LOVERS + </h2> + <p> + There were three of them in 1886, the big drought year: old Eversofar, + Billy Marshall, and Bingong. I never was very jealous of them, not even + when Billy gave undoubted ground for divorce by kissing her boldly in the + front garden, with Eversofar and Bingong looking on—to say nothing + of myself. So far as public opinion went it could not matter, because we + were all living at Tilbar Station in the Tibbooburra country, and the + nearest neighbour to us was Mulholland of Nimgi, a hundred miles away. + Billy was the son of my manager, John Marshall, and, like his father, had + an excellent reputation as a bushman, and, like his mother, was very + good-looking. He was very much indeed about my house, suggesting + improvements in household arrangements; making remarks on my wife’s + personal appearance—with corresponding disparagement of myself; + riding with my wife across the plains; shooting kangaroos with her by + night; and secretly instructing her in the mysteries of a rabbit-trap, + with which, he was sure, he could make “dead loads of metal” (he was + proficient in the argot of the back-blocks); and with this he would buy + her a beautiful diamond ring, and a horse that had won the Melbourne Cup, + and an air-gun! Once when she was taken ill, and I was away in the South, + he used to sit by her bedside, fanning her hour after hour, being scarcely + willing to sleep at night; and was always on hand, smoothing her pillow, + and issuing a bulletin to Eversofar and Bingong the first thing in the + morning. I have no doubt that Eversofar and Bingong cared for her just as + much as he did; but, from first to last, they never had his privileges, + and were always subordinate to him in showing her devotion. He was sound + and frank with them. He told Eversofar that, of course, she only was kind + to him, and let him have a hut all to himself, because he was old and had + had a bad time out on the farthest back-station (that was why he was + called Eversofar), and had once carried Bingong with a broken leg, on his + back, for twenty miles. As for Bingong, he was only a black fellow, aged + fifteen, and height inconsiderable. So, of the three, Billy had his own + way, and even shamelessly attempted to lord it over me. + </p> + <p> + Most husbands would consider my position painful, particularly when I say + that my wife accepted the attention of all three lovers with calm + pleasure, and that of Billy with a shocking indifference to my feelings. + She never tried to explain away any circumstance, no matter how awkward it + might look if put down in black and white. Billy never quailed before my + look; he faced me down with his ingenuous smile; he patted me on the arms + approvingly; or, with apparent malice, asked me questions difficult to + answer, when I came back from a journey to Brisbane—for a man + naturally finds it hard to lay bare how he spent all his time in town. + Because he did it so suavely and naively, one could not be resentful. It + might seem that matters had reached a climax, when, one day, Mulholland + came over, and, seeing my wife and her lovers together watering the garden + and teaching cockatoos, said to me that Billy had the advantage of me on + my own ground. It may not be to my credit that I only grinned, and forbore + even looking foolish. Yet I was very fond of my wife all the time. We + stood pretty high on the Charwon Downs, and though it was terribly hot at + times, it was healthy enough; and she never lost her prettiness, though, + maybe, she lacked bloom. + </p> + <p> + I think I never saw her look better than she did that day when Mulholland + was with me. She had on the lightest, softest kind of stuff, with sleeves + reaching only a little below her elbow—her hands and arms never got + sunburnt in the hottest weather—her face smiled out from under the + coolest-looking hat imaginable, and her hair, though gathered, had a happy + trick of always lying very loose and free about the head, saving her from + any primness otherwise possible, she was so neat. Mulholland and I were + sitting in the veranda. I glanced up at the thermometer, and it registered + a hundred in the shade! Mechanically I pushed the lime-juice towards + Mulholland, and pointed to the water-bag. There was nothing else to do + except grumble at the drought. Yet there my wife was, a picture of + coolness and delight; the intense heat seemed only to make her the more + refreshing to the eye. Water was not abundant, but we still felt justified + in trying to keep her bushes and flowers alive; and she stood there + holding the hose and throwing the water in the cheerfulest shower upon the + beds. Billy stood with his hands on his hips watching her, very hot, very + self-contained. He was shining with perspiration; and he looked the better + of it. Eversofar was camped beneath a sandal-tree teaching a cockatoo, + also hot and panting, but laughing low through his white beard; and + Bingong, black, hatless—less everything but a pair of trousers which + only reached to his knees—was dividing his time between the cockatoo + and my wife. + </p> + <p> + Presently Bingong sighted an iguana and caught it, and the three gathered + about it in the shade of the sandal. After a time the interest in the + iguana seemed to have shifted to something else; and they were all + speaking very earnestly. At last I saw Billy and my wife only talking. + Billy was excited, and apparently indignant. I could not hear what they + were saying, but I saw he was pale, and his compatriots in worship rather + frightened; for he suddenly got into a lofty rage. It was undoubtedly a + quarrel. Mulholland saw, too, and said to me: “This looks as if there + would be a chance for you yet.” He laughed. So did I. + </p> + <p> + Soon I saw by my wife’s face that she was saying something sarcastical. + Then Billy drew himself up very proudly, and waving his hand in a grand + way, said loudly, so that we could hear: “It’s as true as gospel; and + you’ll be sorry for this-like anything and anything!” Then he stalked away + from her, raising his hat proudly, but immediately turned, and beckoning + to Eversofar and Bingong added: “Come on with me to barracks, you two.” + </p> + <p> + They started away towards him, looking sheepishly at my wife as they did + so; but Billy finding occasion to give counter-orders, said: “But you + needn’t come until you put the cockatoos away, and stuck the iguana in a + barrel, and put the hose up for—for her.” + </p> + <p> + He watched them obey his orders, his head in the air the while, and when + they had finished, and were come towards him, he again took off his hat, + and they all left her standing alone in the garden. + </p> + <p> + Then she laughed a little oddly to herself, and stood picking to pieces + the wet leaves of a geranium, looking after the three. After a little she + came slowly over to us. “Well,” said I, feigning great irony, “all loves + must have their day, both old and new. You see how they’ve deserted you. + Yet you smile at it!” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, my lord and master,” she said, “it is not a thing to laugh at. + It’s very serious.” + </p> + <p> + “And what has broken the charm of your companionship?” I asked. + </p> + <p> + “The mere matter of the fabled Bunyip. He claimed that he had seen it, and + I doubted his word. Had it been you it would not have mattered. You would + have turned the other cheek, you are so tame. But he has fire and soul, + and so we quarrelled.” + </p> + <p> + “And your other lovers turned tail,” I maliciously, said. + </p> + <p> + “Which only shows how superior he is,” was her reply. “If you had been in + the case they would never have left me.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, oh!” blurted Mulholland, “I am better out of this; for I little care + to be called as a witness in divorce.” He rose from his chair, but I + pushed him back, and he did not leave till “the cool of the evening.” + </p> + <p> + The next morning, at breakfast-time, a rouseabout brought us a piece of + paper which had been nailed to the sandal-tree. On it was written: + </p> + <p> + “We have gone for the Bunyip. We travel on foot! Farewell and Farewell!” + </p> + <p> + We had scarcely read it, when John Marshall and his wife came in + agitation, and said that Billy’s bed had not been slept in during the + night. From the rouseabout we found that Eversofar and Bingong were also + gone. They had not taken horses, doubtless because Billy thought it would + hardly be valiant and adventurous enough, and because neither Bingong nor + Eversofar owned one, and it might look criminal to go off with mine. We + suspected that they had headed for the great Debil-devil Waterhole, where, + it was said, the Bunyip appeared: that mysterious animal, or devil, or + thing, which nobody has ever seen, but many have pretended to see. Now, + this must be said of Billy, that he never had the feeling of fear—he + was never even afraid of me. He had often said he had seen a Bunyip, and + that he’d bring one home some day, but no one took him seriously. It + showed what great influence he had over his companions, that he could + induce them to go with him; for Bingong, being a native, must naturally + have a constitutional fear of the Debil-debil, as the Bunyip is often + called. The Debil-debil Waterhole was a long way off, and through a + terrible country—quartz plains, ragged scrub, and little or no water + all the way. Then, had they taken plenty of food with them? So far as we + could see, they had taken some, but we could not tell how much. + </p> + <p> + My wife smiled at the business at first; then became worried as the day + wore on, and she could see the danger and hardship of wandering about this + forsaken country without a horse and with uncertain water. The day passed. + They did not return. We determined on a search the next morning. At + daybreak, Marshall and I and the rouseabout started on good horses, each + going at different angles, but agreeing to meet at the Debil debil + Waterhole, and to wait there for each other. If any one of us did not come + after a certain time, we were to conclude that he had found the + adventurers and was making his way back with them. After a day of painful + travel and little water, Marshall and I arrived, almost within an hour of + each other. We could see no sign of anybody having been at the lagoon. We + waited twelve hours, and were about to go, leaving a mark behind us to + show we had been there, when we saw the rouseabout and his exhausted horse + coming slowly through the bluebush to us. He had suffered much for want of + water. + </p> + <p> + We all started back again at different angles, our final rendezvous being + arranged for the station homestead, the rouseabout taking a direct line, + and making for the Little Black Billabong on the way. I saw no sign of the + adventurers. I sickened with the heat, and my eyes became inflamed. I was + glad enough when, at last, I drew rein in the home paddock. I couldn’t see + any distance, though I was not far from the house. But when I got into the + garden I saw that others had just arrived. It was the rouseabout with my + wife’s lovers. He had found Billy nursing Eversofar in the shade of a + stunted brigalow, while Bingong was away hunting for water. Billy himself + had pushed his cause as bravely as possible, and had in fact visited the + Little Black Billabong, where—he always maintains—he had seen + the great Bunyip. But after watching one night, they tried to push on to + the Debil-debil Waterhole. Old Eversofar, being weak and old, gave in, and + Billy became a little delirious—he has denied it, but Bingong says + it is so; yet he pulled himself together as became the leader of an + expedition, and did what he could for Eversofar until the rouseabout came + with food and water. Then he broke down and cried—he denies this + also. They tied the sick man on the horse and trudged back to the station + in a bad plight. + </p> + <p> + As I came near the group I heard my wife say to Billy, who looked sadly + haggard and ill, that she was sure he would have got the Bunyip if it + hadn’t been for the terrible drought; and at that, regardless of my + presence, he took her by the arms and kissed her, and then she kissed him + several times. + </p> + <p> + Perhaps I ought to have mentioned before that Billy was just nine years + old. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE STRANGERS’ HUT + </h2> + <p> + I had come a long journey across country with Glenn, the squatter, and now + we were entering the homestead paddock of his sheep-station, Winnanbar. + Afar to the left was a stone building, solitary in a waste of saltbush and + dead-finish scrub. I asked Glenn what it was. + </p> + <p> + He answered, smilingly: “The Strangers’ Hut. Sundowners and that lot sleep + there; there’s always some flour and tea in a hammock, under the roof, and + there they are with a pub of their own. It’s a fashion we have in + Australia.” + </p> + <p> + “It seems all right, Glenn,” I said with admiration. “It’s surer than + Elijah’s ravens.” + </p> + <p> + “It saves us from their prowling about the barracks, and camping on the + front veranda.” + </p> + <p> + “How many do you have of a week?” + </p> + <p> + “That depends. Sundowners are as uncertain as they are unknown quantities. + After shearing-time they’re thickest; in the dead of summer fewest. This + is the dead of summer,” and, for the hundredth time in our travel, Glenn + shook his head sadly. + </p> + <p> + Sadness was ill-suited to his burly form and bronzed face, but it was + there. He had some trouble, I thought, deeper than drought. It was too + introspective to have its origin solely in the fact that sheep were dying + by thousands, that the stock-routes were as dry of water as the hard sky + above us, and that it was a toss-up whether many families in the West + should not presently abandon their stations, driven out by a water-famine—and + worse. + </p> + <p> + After a short silence Glenn stood up in the trap, and, following the + circle of the horizon with his hand, said: “There’s not an honest blade of + grass in all this wretched West. This whole business is gambling with + God.” + </p> + <p> + “It is hard on women and children that they must live here,” I remarked, + with my eyes on the Strangers’ Hut. + </p> + <p> + “It’s harder for men without them,” he mournfully replied; and at that + moment I began to doubt whether Glenn, whom I had heard to be a bachelor, + was not tired of that calm but chilly state. He followed up this speech + immediately by this: “Look at that drinking-tank!” + </p> + <p> + The thing was not pleasant in the eye. Sheep were dying and dead by + thousands round it, and the crows were feasting horribly. We became silent + again. + </p> + <p> + The Strangers’ Hut, and its unique and, to me, awesome hospitality, was + still in my mind. It remained with me until, impelled by curiosity, I + wandered away towards it in the glow and silence of the evening. The walk + was no brief matter, but at length I stood near the lonely public, where + no name of guest is ever asked, and no bill ever paid. And then I fell to + musing on how many life-histories these grey walls had sheltered for a + fitful hour, how many stumbling wayfarers had eaten and drunken in this + Hotel of Refuge. I dropped my glances on the ground; a bird, newly dead, + lay at my feet, killed by the heat. + </p> + <p> + At that moment I heard a child’s crying. I started forward, then faltered. + Why, I could not tell, save that the crying seemed so a part of the + landscape that it might have come out of the sickly sunset, out of the + yellow sky, out of the aching earth about me. To follow it might be like + pursuing dreams. The crying ceased. + </p> + <p> + Thus for a moment, and then I walked round to the door of the hut. At the + sound of slight moaning I paused again. Then I crossed the threshold + resolutely. + </p> + <p> + A woman with a child in her arms sat on a rude couch. Her lips were + clinging to the infant’s forehead. At the sound of my footsteps she raised + her head. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” she said, and, trembling, rose to her feet. She was fair-haired and + strong, if sad, of face. Perhaps she never had been beautiful, but in + health her face must have been persistent in its charm. Even now it was + something noble. + </p> + <p> + With that patronage of compassion which we use towards those who are + unfortunate and humble, I was about to say to her, “My poor woman!” but + there was something in her manner so above her rude surroundings that I + was impelled to this instead: “Madam, you are ill. Can I be of service to + you?” + </p> + <p> + Then I doffed my hat. I had not done so before, and I blushed now as I did + it, for I saw that she had compelled me. She sank back upon the couch + again as though the effort to achieve my courtesy had unnerved her, and + she murmured simply and painfully: “Thank you very much: I have travelled + far.” + </p> + <p> + “May I ask how far?” + </p> + <p> + “From Mount o’ Eden, two hundred miles and more, I think”; and her eyes + sought the child’s face, while her cheek grew paler. She had lighted a + tiny fire on the hearthstone and had put the kettle on the wood. Her eyes + were upon it now with the covetousness of thirst and hunger. I kneeled, + and put in the tin of water left behind by some other pilgrim, a handful + of tea from the same source—the outcast and suffering giving to + their kind. I poured out for her soon a little of the tea. Then I asked + for her burden. She gave it to my arms—a wan, wise-faced child. + </p> + <p> + “Madam,” I said, “I am only a visitor here, but, if you feel able, and + will come with me to the homestead, you shall, I know, find welcome and + kindness, or, if you will wait, there are horses, and you shall be brought—yes, + indeed,” I added, as she shook her head in sad negation, “you will be + welcome.” + </p> + <p> + I was sure that, whatever ill chances had befallen the mother of this + child, she was one of those who are found in the sight of the Perfect + Justice sworn for by the angels. I knew also that Glenn would see that she + should be cordially sheltered and brought back to health; for men like + Glenn, I said to myself, are kinder in their thought of suffering women + than women themselves-are kinder, juster, and less prone to think evil. + </p> + <p> + She raised her head, and answered: “I think that I could walk; but this, + you see, is the only hospitality that I can accept, save, it may be, some + bread and a little meat, that the child suffer no more, until I reach + Winnanbar, which, I fear, is still far away.” + </p> + <p> + “This,” I replied, “is Winnanbar; the homestead is over there, beyond the + hill.” + </p> + <p> + “This is—Winnanbar?” she whisperingly said, “this—is—Winnanbar! + I did not think—I was-so near.”... A thankful look came to her face. + She rose, and took the child again and pressed it to her breast, and her + eyes brooded upon it. “Now she is beautiful,” I thought, and waited for + her to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Sir—” she said at last, and paused. In the silence a footstep + sounded without, and then a form appeared in the doorway. It was Glenn. + </p> + <p> + “I followed you,” he said to me; “and—!” He saw the woman, and a low + cry broke from her. + </p> + <p> + “Agnes! Agnes!” he cried, with something of sternness and a little shame. + </p> + <p> + “I have come—to you—again-Robert,” she brokenly, but not + abjectly, said. + </p> + <p> + He came close to her and looked into her face, then into the face of the + child, with a sharp questioning. She did not flinch, but answered his + scrutiny clearly and proudly. Then, after a moment, she turned a + disappointed look upon me, as though to say that I, a stranger, had read + her aright at once, while this man held her afar in the cold courts of his + judgment ere he gave her any welcome or said a word of pity. + </p> + <p> + She sank back on the bench, and drew a hand with sorrowful slowness across + her brow. He saw a ring upon her finger. He took her hand and said: “You + are married, Agnes?” + </p> + <p> + “My husband is dead, and the sister of this poor one also,” she replied; + and she fondled the child and raised her eyes to her brother’s. + </p> + <p> + His face now showed compassion. He stooped and kissed her cheek. And it + seemed to me at that moment that she could not be gladder than I. + </p> + <p> + “Agnes,” he said, “can you forgive me?” + </p> + <p> + “He was only a stock-rider,” she murmured, as if to herself, “but he was + well-born. I loved him. You were angry. I went away with him in the night + ... far away to the north. God was good—” Here she brushed her lips + tenderly across the curls of the child. “Then the drought came and + sickness fell and... death... and I was alone with my baby—” + </p> + <p> + His lips trembled and his hand was hurting my arm, though he knew it not. + </p> + <p> + “Where could I go?” she continued. + </p> + <p> + Glenn answered pleadingly now: “To your unworthy brother, God bless you + and forgive me, dear!—though even here at Winnanbar there is drought + and famine and the cattle die.” + </p> + <p> + “But my little one shall live!” she cried joyfully. That night Glenn of + Winnanbar was a happy man, for rain fell on the land, and he held his + sister’s child in his arms. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE PLANTER’S WIFE + </h2> + <p> + I + </p> + <p> + She was the daughter of a ruined squatter, whose family had been pursued + with bad luck; he was a planter, named Houghton. She was not an uncommon + woman; he was not an unusual man. They were not happy, they might never + be; he was almost sure they would not be; she had long ceased to think + they could be. She had told him when she married him that she did not love + him. He had been willing to wait for her love, believing that by patience + and devotion he could win it. They were both sorry for each other now. + They accepted things as they were, but they knew there was danger in the + situation. She loved some one else, and he knew it, but he had never + spoken to her of it—he was of too good stuff for that. He was big + and burly, and something awkward in his ways. She was pretty, + clear-minded, kind, and very grave. There were days when they were both + bitter at heart. On one such day they sat at luncheon, eating little, and + looking much out of the door across the rice fields and banana plantations + to the Hebron Mountains. The wife’s eyes fixed on the hills and stayed. A + road ran down the hill towards a platform of rock which swept smooth and + straight to the sheer side of the mountain called White Bluff. At first + glance it seemed that the road ended at the cliff—a mighty slide to + destruction. Instead, however, of coming straight to the cliff it veered + suddenly, and ran round the mountain side, coming down at a steep but + fairly safe incline. The platform or cliff was fenced off by a low + barricade of fallen trees, scarcely noticeable from the valley below. The + wife’s eyes had often wandered to the spot with a strange fascination, as + now. Her husband looked at her meditatively. He nodded slightly, as though + to himself. She looked up. Their understanding of each other’s thoughts + was singular. + </p> + <p> + “Tom,” she said, “I will ride the chestnut, Bowline, to that fence some + day. It will be a big steeplechase.” He winced, but answered slowly. “You + have meant to say that for a long time past. I am glad it has been said at + last.” + </p> + <p> + She was struck by the perfect quietness of his tone. Her eyes sought his + face and rested for a moment, half bewildered, half pitying. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it has been in my mind often—often,” she said. “It’s a + horrible thought,” he gravely replied; “but it is better to be frank. + Still, you’ll never do it, Alice—you’ll never dare to do it.” + </p> + <p> + “Dare, dare,” she answered, springing to her feet, and a shuddering sigh + broke from her. “The thing itself is easy enough, Tom.” + </p> + <p> + “And why haven’t you done it?” he asked in a hard voice, but still calmly. + </p> + <p> + She leaned one hand upon the table, the other lay at her cheek, and her + head bent forward at him. “Because,” she answered, “because I have tried + to be thoughtful for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, as to that,” he said—“as to that!” and he shrugged his + shoulders slightly. + </p> + <p> + “You don’t care a straw,” she said sharply, “you never did.” + </p> + <p> + He looked up suddenly at her, a great bitterness in his face, and laughed + strangely, as he answered: “Care! Good God! Care!... What’s the use of + caring? It’s been all a mistake; all wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “That is no news,” she said wearily. “You discovered that long ago.” + </p> + <p> + He looked out of the door across the warm fields again; he lifted his eyes + to that mountain road; he looked down at her. “I haven’t any hope left + now, Alice. Let’s be plain with each other. We’ve always been plain, but + let us be plainer still. There are those rice fields out there, that + banana plantation, and the sugar-cane stretching back as far as the valley + goes—it’s all mine, all mine. I worked hard for it. I had only one + wish with it all, one hope through it all, and it was, that when I brought + you here as my wife, you would come to love me—some time. Well, I’ve + waited, and waited. It hasn’t come. We’re as far apart to-day as we were + the day I married you. Farther, for I had hope then, but I’ve no hope now, + none at all.” + </p> + <p> + They both turned towards the intemperate sunlight and the great hill. The + hollowness of life as they lived it came home to them with an aching + force. Yet she lifted her fan from the table and fanned herself gently + with it, and he mechanically lit a cigar. Servants passed in and out + removing the things from the table. Presently they were left alone. The + heavy breath of the palm trees floated in upon them; the fruit of the + passion-flower hung temptingly at the window; they could hear the sound of + a torrent just behind the house. The day was droning luxuriously, yet the + eyes of both, as by some weird influence, were fastened upon the hill; and + presently they saw, at the highest point where the road was visible, a + horseman. He came slowly down until he reached the spot where the road was + barricaded from the platform of the cliff. Here he paused. He sat long, + looking, as it appeared, down into the valley. The husband rose and took + down a field-glass from a shelf; he levelled it at the figure. + </p> + <p> + “Strange, strange,” he said to himself; “he seems familiar, and yet—” + </p> + <p> + She rose and reached out her hand for the glass. He gave it to her. She + raised it to her eyes, but, at that moment, the horseman swerved into the + road again, and was lost to view. Suddenly Houghton started; an + enigmatical smile passed across his face. + </p> + <p> + “Alice,” said he, “did you mean what you said about the steeplechase—I + mean about the ride down the White Bluff road?” + </p> + <p> + “I meant all I said,” was her bitter reply. + </p> + <p> + “You think life is a mistake?” he rejoined. + </p> + <p> + “I think we have made a mistake,” was her answer; “a deadly mistake, and + it lasts all our lives.” + </p> + <p> + He walked to the door, trained the glass again on the hill, then + afterwards turned round, and said: + </p> + <p> + “If ever you think of riding the White Bluff road—straight for the + cliff itself and over—tell me, and I’ll ride it with you. If it’s + all wrong as it is, it’s all wrong for both, and, maybe, the worst of what + comes after is better than the worst of what is here.” + </p> + <p> + They had been frank with each other in the past, but never so frank as + this. He was determined that they should be still more frank; and so was + she. “Alice,” he said— + </p> + <p> + “Wait a minute,” she interjected. “I have something to say, Tom. I never + told you—indeed, I thought I never should tell you; but now I think + it’s best to do so. I loved a man once—with all my soul.” + </p> + <p> + “You love him still,” was the reply; and he screwed and unscrewed the + field-glass in his hand, looking bluntly at her the while. She nodded, + returning his gaze most earnestly and choking back a sob. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it’s a pity, it’s a pity,” he replied. “We oughtn’t to live + together as it is. It’s all wrong; it’s wicked—I can see that now.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not angry with me?” she answered in surprise. + </p> + <p> + “You can’t help it, I suppose,” he answered drearily. + </p> + <p> + “Do you really mean,” she breathlessly said, “that we might as well die + together, since we can’t live together and be happy?” + </p> + <p> + “There’s nothing in life that gives me a pleasant taste in the mouth, so + what’s the good? Mind you, my girl, I think it a terrible pity that you + should have the thought to die; and if you could be happy living, I’d die + myself to save you. But can you? That’s the question—can you be + happy, even if I went and you stayed?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think so,” she said thoughtfully, and without excitement. + </p> + <p> + “No, I don’t think so.” + </p> + <p> + “The man’s name was Cayley—Cayley,” he said to her bluntly. + </p> + <p> + “How did you know?” she asked, astonished. “You never saw him.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, I’ve seen him,” was the reply—“seen him often. I knew him + once.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not understand you,” she rejoined. + </p> + <p> + “I knew it all along,” he continued, “and I’ve waited for you to tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “How did you know?” + </p> + <p> + “Cayley told me.” + </p> + <p> + “When did he tell you?” + </p> + <p> + “The morning that I married you.” His voice was thick with misery. + </p> + <p> + She became white and dazed. “Before—or after?” she asked. He paused + a moment, looking steadily at her, and answered, “Before.” + </p> + <p> + She drew back as though she had been struck. “Good God!” she cried. “Why + did he not—” she paused. + </p> + <p> + “Why did he not marry you himself?” he rejoined. + </p> + <p> + “You must ask him that yourself, if you do not know.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet you married me, knowing all—that he loved me,” she gasped. + </p> + <p> + “I would have married you then, knowing a thousand times that.” + </p> + <p> + She cowered, but presently advanced to him. “You have sinned as much as + I,” she said. “Do you dare pay the penalty?” + </p> + <p> + “Do I dare ride with you to the cliff—and beyond?” Her lips framed a + reply, but no sound came. + </p> + <p> + “But we will wait till to-morrow,” he said absently. + </p> + <p> + “Why not to-day?” she painfully asked. + </p> + <p> + “We will wait till to-morrow,” he urged, and his eyes followed the trail + of a horseman on the hill. + </p> + <p> + “Why not while we have courage?” she persisted, as though the suspense + hurt her. + </p> + <p> + “But we will wait till to-morrow, Alice,” he again repeated. + </p> + <p> + “Very well,” she answered, with the indifference of despair. + </p> + <p> + He stood in the doorway and watched a horseman descending into valley. + </p> + <p> + “Strange things may chance before to-morrow,” he said to himself, and he + mechanically lighted another cigar. She idled with her fan. + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + He did not leave the house that afternoon. He kept his post on the + veranda, watching the valley. With an iron kind of calmness he was facing + a strange event. It was full of the element of chance, and he had been + taking chances all his life. With the chances of fortune he had won; with + the chances of love and happiness he had lost. He knew that the horseman + on the mountain-side was Cayley; he knew that Cayley would not be near his + home without a purpose. Besides, Cayley had said he would come—he + had said it in half banter, half threat. Houghton had had too many + experiences backward and forward in the world, to be afflicted with + littleness of mind. He had never looked to get an immense amount of + happiness out of life, but he thought that love and marriage would give + him a possible approach to content. He had chanced it, and he had lost. At + first he had taken it with a dreadful bitterness; now he regarded it with + a quiet, unimpassioned despair. He regarded his wife, himself, and Cayley, + as an impartial judge would view the extraordinary claims of three + desperate litigants. He thought it all over as he sat there smoking. When + the servants came to him to ask him questions or his men ventured upon + matters of business, he answered them directly, decisively, and went on + thinking. His wife had come to take coffee with him at the usual hour of + the afternoon. There was no special strain of manner or of speech. The + voices were a little lower, the tones a little more decided, their eyes + did not meet; that was all. When coffee-drinking was over the wife retired + to her room. Still Houghton smoked on. At length he saw the horseman + entering into the grove of palms before the door. He rose deliberately + from his seat and walked down the pathway. + </p> + <p> + “Good day to you, Houghton,” the horseman said; “we meet again, you see.” + </p> + <p> + “I see.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not overjoyed.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s no reason why I should be glad. Why have you come?” + </p> + <p> + “You remember our last meeting five years ago. You were on your way to be + married. Marriage is a beautiful thing, Houghton, when everything is right + and square, and there’s love both sides. Well, everything was right and + square with you and the woman you were going to marry; but there was not + love both sides.” + </p> + <p> + While they had been talking thus, Houghton had, of purpose, led his + companion far into the shade of the palms. He now wheeled upon Cayley, and + said sternly: “I warn you to speak with less insolence; we had better talk + simply.” + </p> + <p> + Cayley was perfectly cool. “We will talk simply. As I said, you had + marriage without love. The woman loved another man. That other man loved + the woman—that good woman. In youthful days at college he had + married, neither wisely nor well, a beggar-maid without those virtues + usually credited to beggar-maidens who marry gentlemen. Well, Houghton, + the beggar-maid was supposed to have died. She hadn’t died; she had + shammed. Meanwhile, between her death and her resurrection, the man came + to love that good woman. And so, lines got crossed; things went wrong. + Houghton, I loved Alice before she was your wife. I should have married + her but for the beggar-maid.” + </p> + <p> + “You left her without telling her why.” + </p> + <p> + “I told her that things must end, and I went away.” + </p> + <p> + “Like a coward,” rejoined Houghton. “You should have told her all.” + </p> + <p> + “What difference has it made?” asked Cayley gloomily. + </p> + <p> + “My happiness and hers. If you had told her all, there had been an end of + mystery. Mystery is dear to a woman’s heart. She was not different in that + respect from others. You took the surest way to be remembered.” + </p> + <p> + Cayley’s fingers played with his horse’s mane; his eyes ran over the + ground debatingly; then he lifted them suddenly, and said: “Houghton, you + are remarkably frank with me; what do you mean by it?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you if you will answer me this question: Why have you come + here?” + </p> + <p> + The eyes of both men crossed like swords, played with each other for a + moment, and then fixed to absolute determination. Cayley answered + doggedly: “I came to see your wife, because I’m not likely ever to see her + or you again. I wanted one look of her before I went away. There, I’m open + with you.” + </p> + <p> + “It is well to be open with me,” Houghton replied. He drew Cayley aside to + an opening in the trees, where the mountain and the White Bluff road could + be seen, and pointed. “That would make a wonderful leap,” he said, “from + the top of the hill down to the cliff edge—and over!” + </p> + <p> + “A dreadful steeplechase,” said Cayley. + </p> + <p> + Houghton lowered his voice. “Two people have agreed to take that fence.” + </p> + <p> + Cayley frowned. “What two people?” + </p> + <p> + “My wife and I.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because there has been a mistake, and to live is misery.” + </p> + <p> + “Has it come to that?” Cayley asked huskily. “Is there no way—no + better way? Are you sure that Death mends things?” Presently he put his + hand upon Houghton’s arm, as if with a sudden, keen resolve. “Houghton,” + he said, “you are a man—I have become a villain. A woman sent me + once on the high road to the devil; then an angel came in and made a man + of me again; but I lost the angel, and another man found her, and I took + the highway with the devil again. I was born a gentleman—that you + know. Now I am...” He hesitated. A sardonic smile crept across his face. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you are—?” interposed Houghton. + </p> + <p> + “I am—a man who will give you your wife’s love.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not understand,” Houghton responded. Cayley drew Houghton back from + where they stood and away from the horse. + </p> + <p> + “Look at that horse,” he said. “Did you ever see a better?” + </p> + <p> + “Never,” answered Houghton, running him over with his eye, “never.” + </p> + <p> + “You notice the two white feet and the star on the forehead. Now, listen. + Firefoot, here!” + </p> + <p> + “My God!” said Houghton, turning upon him with staring eyes, “you are—” + </p> + <p> + “Whose horse is that?” interjected Cayley. Firefoot laid his head upon + Cayley’s shoulder. + </p> + <p> + Houghton looked at them both for a moment. “It is the horse of Hyland the + bushranger,” he said. “All Queensland knows Firefoot.” Then he dazedly + added: “Are you Hyland?” + </p> + <p> + “A price is set on my head,” the bushranger answered with a grim smile. + </p> + <p> + Houghton stood silent for a moment, breathing hard. Then he rejoined: “You + are bold to come here openly.” + </p> + <p> + “If I couldn’t come here openly I would not come at all,” answered the + other. “After what I have told you,” he added, “will you take me in and + let me speak with your wife?” + </p> + <p> + Houghton’s face turned black, and he was about to answer angrily, but + Cayley said: “On my honour—I will play a fair game,” he said. + </p> + <p> + For an instant their eyes were fixed on each other; then, with a gesture + for Cayley to follow, Houghton went towards the house. + </p> + <p> + Five, minutes later Houghton said to his wife: “Alice, a stranger has + come.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is it?” she asked breathlessly, for she read importance in his tone. + </p> + <p> + “It is the horseman we saw on the hillside.” His eyes passed over her face + pityingly. “I will go and bring him.” + </p> + <p> + She caught his arm. “Who is it? Is it any one I know?” + </p> + <p> + “It is some one you know,” he answered, and left the room. Bewildered, + anticipating, yet dreading to recognise her thoughts, she sat down and + waited in a painful stillness. + </p> + <p> + Presently the door opened, and Cayley entered. She started to her feet + with a stifled, bitter cry: “Oh, Harry!” + </p> + <p> + He hurried to her with arms outstretched, for she swayed; but she + straightway recovered herself, and, leaning against a chair, steadied to + his look. + </p> + <p> + “Why have you come here?” she whispered. “To say good-bye for always,” was + his reply. + </p> + <p> + “And why—for always?” She was very white and quiet. + </p> + <p> + “Because we are not likely ever to meet again.” + </p> + <p> + “Where are you going?” she anxiously asked. “God knows!” + </p> + <p> + Strange sensations were working in her. What would be the end of this? Her + husband, knowing all, had permitted this man to come to her alone. She had + loved him for years; though he had deserted her years ago, she loved him + still—did she love him still? + </p> + <p> + “Will you not sit down?” she said with mechanical courtesy. + </p> + <p> + A stranger would not have thought from their manner that there were lives + at stake. They both sat, he playing with the leaves of an orchid, she + opening and shutting her fan absently. But she was so cold she could + hardly speak. Her heart seemed to stand still. + </p> + <p> + “How has the world used you since we met last?” she tried to say + neutrally. + </p> + <p> + “Better, I fear, than I have used it,” he answered quietly. + </p> + <p> + “I do not quite see. How could you ill-use the world?” There was faint + irony in her voice now. A change seemed to have come upon her. + </p> + <p> + “By ill-using any one person we ill-use society—the world”—he + meaningly replied. + </p> + <p> + “Whom have you ill-used?” She did not look at him. + </p> + <p> + “Many—you chiefly.” + </p> + <p> + “How have you—most-ill-used me?” + </p> + <p> + “By letting you think well of me—you have done so, have you not?” + </p> + <p> + She did not speak, but lowered her head, and caught her breath slightly. + There was a silence. Then she said: “There was no reason why I should—But + you must not say these things to me. My husband—” + </p> + <p> + “Your husband knows all.” + </p> + <p> + “But that does not alter it,” she urged firmly. “Though he may be willing + you should speak of these things, I am not.” + </p> + <p> + “Your husband is a good fellow,” he rejoined. “I am not.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not?” she asked wearily. + </p> + <p> + “No. What do you think was the reason that, years ago, I said we could + never be married, and that we must forget each other?” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot tell. I supposed it was some duty of which I could not know. + There are secret and sacred duties which we sometimes do not tell, even to + our nearest and dearest... but I said we should not speak of these things, + and we must not.” She rose to her feet. “My husband is somewhere near. I + will call him. There are so many things that men can talk of-pleasant and + agreeable things—” + </p> + <p> + He had risen with her, and as her hand was stretched out to ring, stayed + it. “No, never mind your husband just now. I think he knows what I am + going to say to you.” + </p> + <p> + “But, oh, you must not—must not!” she urged. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me, but I must,” was his reply. + </p> + <p> + “As I said, you thought I was a good fellow. Well, I am not; not at all. I + will tell you why I left you. I was—already married.” + </p> + <p> + He let the bare unrelieved fact face her, and shock her. + </p> + <p> + “You were—already married—when—you loved me,” she said, + her face showing misery and shame. + </p> + <p> + He smiled a little bitterly when he saw the effect of his words, but said + clearly: “Yes. You see I was a villain.” + </p> + <p> + She shuddered a little, and then said simply: “Your face was not the face + of a bad man. Are you telling me the truth?” + </p> + <p> + He nodded. + </p> + <p> + “Then you were wicked with me,” she said at last, with a great sigh, + looking him straight in the eyes. “But you—you loved me?” she said + with injured pride and a piteous appeal in her voice. “Ah, I know you + loved me!” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you when you know all,” he answered evenly. + </p> + <p> + “Is there more to tell?” she asked heavily, and shrinking from him now. + </p> + <p> + “Much more. Please, come here.” He went towards the open window of the + room, and she followed. He pointed out to where his horse stood in the + palms. + </p> + <p> + “That is my horse,” he said. He whistled to the horse, which pricked up + its ears and trotted over to the window. “The name of my horse,” he said, + “maybe familiar to you. He is called Firefoot.” + </p> + <p> + “Firefoot!” she answered dazedly, “that is the name of Hyland’s horse—Hyland + the bushranger.” + </p> + <p> + “This is Hyland’s horse,” he said, and he patted the animal’s neck gently + as it thrust its head within the window. + </p> + <p> + “But you said it was your horse,” she rejoined slowly, as though the thing + perplexed her sorely. + </p> + <p> + “It is Hyland’s horse; it is my horse,” he urged without looking at her. + His courage well-nigh failed him. Villain as he was, he loved her, and he + saw the foundations of her love for him crumbling away before him. In all + his criminal adventures he had cherished this one thing. + </p> + <p> + She suddenly gave a cry of shame and agony, a low trembling cry, as though + her heart-strings were being dragged out. She drew back from him—back + to the middle of the room. + </p> + <p> + He came towards her, reaching out his arms. “Forgive me,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, never!” she cried with horror. + </p> + <p> + The cry had been heard outside, and Houghton entered the room, to find his + wife, all her strength gone, turning a face of horror upon Cayley. She + stretched out her arms to her husband with a pitiful cry. “Tom,” she said, + “Tom, take me away.” + </p> + <p> + He took her gently in his arms. + </p> + <p> + Cayley stood with his hand upon his horse’s neck. “Houghton,” he said in a + low voice, “I have been telling your wife what I was, and who I am. She is + shocked. I had better go.” + </p> + <p> + The woman’s head had dropped on her husband’s shoulder. Houghton waited to + see if she would look up. But she did not. + </p> + <p> + “Well, good-bye to you both,” Cayley said, stepped through the window, and + vaulted on his horse’s back. “I’m going to see if the devil’s as black as + he’s painted.” Then, setting spurs to his horse, he galloped away through + the palms to the gate. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ...................... +</pre> + <p> + A year later Hyland the bushranger was shot in a struggle with the mounted + police sent to capture him. + </p> + <p> + The planter’s wife read of it in England, whither she had gone on a visit. + </p> + <p> + “It is better so,” she said to herself, calmly. “And he wished it, I am + sure.” + </p> + <p> + For now she knew the whole truth, and she did not love her husband less—but + more. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + BARBARA GOLDING + </h2> + <p> + The last time John Osgood saw Barbara Golding was on a certain summer + afternoon at the lonely Post, Telegraph, and Customs Station known as + Rahway, on the Queensland coast. It was at Rahway also that he first and + last saw Mr. Louis Bachelor. He had had excellent opportunities for + knowing Barbara Golding; for many years she had been governess (and + something more) to his sisters Janet, Agnes and Lorna. She had been + engaged in Sydney as governess simply, but Wandenong cattle station was + far up country, and she gradually came to perform the functions of + milliner and dressmaker, encouraged thereto by the family for her unerring + taste and skill. Her salary, however, had been proportionately increased, + and it did not decline when her office as governess became practically a + sinecure as her pupils passed beyond the sphere of the schoolroom. Perhaps + George Osgood, father of John Osgood, and owner of Wandenong, did not make + an allowance to Barbara Golding for her services as counsellor and + confidant of his family; but neither did he subtract anything from her + earnings in those infrequent years when she journeyed alone to Sydney on + those mysterious visits which so mightily puzzled the good people of + Wandenong. The boldest and most off-hand of them, however, could never + discover what Barbara Golding did not choose to tell. She was slight, + almost frail in form, and very gentle of manner; but she also possessed + that rare species of courtesy which, never declining to fastidiousness nor + lapsing into familiarity, checked all curious intrusion, was it ever so + insinuating; and the milliner and dressmaker was not less self-poised and + compelling of respect than the governess and confidant. + </p> + <p> + In some particulars the case of Louis Bachelor was similar. Besides being + the Post, Telegraph, and Customs Officer, and Justice of the Peace at + Rahway, he was available and valuable to the Government as a + meteorologist. The Administration recognised this after a few years of + voluntary and earnest labour on Louis Bachelor’s part. It was not, + however, his predictions concerning floods or droughts that roused this + official appreciation, but the fulfilment of those predictions. At length + a yearly honorarium was sent to him, and then again, after a dignified + delay, there was forwarded to him a suggestion from the Cabinet that he + should come to Brisbane and take a more important position. It was when + this patronage was declined that the Premier (dropping for a moment into + that bushman’s jargon which came naturally to him) said, irritably, that + Louis Bachelor was a “old fossil who didn’t know when he’d got his dover + in the dough,” which, being interpreted into the slang of the old world, + means, his knife into the official loaf. But the fossil went on as before, + known by name to the merest handful of people in the colony, though they + all profited, directly or indirectly, by his scientific services. He was + as unknown to the dwellers at Wandenong as they were to him, or he again + to the citizens of the moon. + </p> + <p> + It was the custom for Janet and Agnes Osgood to say that Barbara Golding + had a history. On every occasion the sentiment was uttered with that fresh + conviction in tone which made it appear to be born again. It seemed to + have especially pregnant force one evening after Janet had been consulting + Barbara on the mysteries of the garment in which she was to be married to + Druce Stephens, part owner of Booldal Station. “Aggie,” remarked the + coming bride, “Barbara’s face flushed up ever so pink when I said to her + that she seemed to know exactly what a trousseau ought to be. I wonder! + She is well-bred enough to have been anybody; and the Bishop of Adelaide + recommended her, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Soon after this Druce Stephens arrived at Wandenong and occupied the + attention of Janet until suppertime, when he startled the company by the + tale of his adventures on the previous evening with Roadmaster, the + mysterious bushranger, whose name was now in every man’s mouth; who + apparently worked with no confederates—a perilous proceeding, though + it reduced the chances of betrayal. Druce was about to camp on the plains + for the night, in preference to riding on to a miserable bush-tavern a few + miles away, when he was suddenly accosted in the scrub by a + gallant-looking fellow on horseback, who, from behind his mask, asked him + to give up what money he had about him, together with his watch and ring. + The request was emphasised by the presence of a revolver held at an easy + but suggestive angle. The disadvantage to the squatter was obvious. He + merely asked that he should be permitted to keep the ring, as it had many + associations, remarking at the same time that he would be pleased to give + an equivalent for it if the bushranger would come to Wandenong. At the + mention of Wandenong the highwayman asked his name. On being told, he + handed back the money, the watch, and the ring, and politely requested a + cigar, saying that the Osgoods merited consideration at his hands, and + that their friends were safe from molestation. Then he added, with some + grim humour, that if Druce had no objection to spending an hour with + Roadmaster over a fire and a billy of tea, he would be glad of his + company; for bushranging, according to his system, was but dull work. The + young squatter consented, and together they sat for two hours, the + highwayman, however, never removing his mask. They talked of many things, + and at last Druce ventured to ask his companion about the death of Blood + Finchley, the owner of Tarawan sheep-run. At this Roadmaster became weary, + and rose to leave; but as if on second thought, he said that Finchley’s + companion, whom he allowed to go unrobbed and untouched, was both a coward + and a liar; that the slain man had fired thrice needlessly, and had + wounded him in the neck (the scar of which he showed) before he drew + trigger. Druce then told him that besides a posse of police, a number of + squatters and bushmen had banded to hunt him down, and advised him to make + for the coast if he could, and leave the country. At this Roadmaster + laughed, and said that his fancy was not sea-ward yet, though that might + come; and then, with a courteous wave of his hand, he jumped on his horse + and rode away. + </p> + <p> + The Osgoods speculated curiously and futilely on Roadmaster’s identity, as + indeed the whole colony had done. And here it may be said that people of + any observation (though, of necessity, they were few, since Rahway + attracted only busy sugar-planters and their workmen) were used to speak + of Louis Bachelor as one who must certainly have a history. The person + most likely to have the power of inquisition into his affairs was his + faithful aboriginal servant, Gongi. But records and history were only + understood by Gongi when they were restricted to the number of heads taken + in tribal battle. At the same time he was a devoted slave to the man who, + at the risk of his own life, had rescued him from the murderous spears of + his aboriginal foes. That was a kind of record within Gongi’s + comprehension, from the contemplation of which he turned to speak of Louis + Bachelor as “That fellow budgery marmi b’longin’ to me,” which, in + civilised language, means “my good master.” Gongi often dilated on this + rescue, and he would, for purposes of illustration, take down from his + master’s wall an artillery officer’s sabre and show how his assailants had + been dispersed. + </p> + <p> + From the presence of this sword it was not unreasonably assumed that Louis + Bachelor had at some time been in the army. He was not, however, + communicative on this point, though he shrewdly commented on European wars + and rumours of wars when they occurred. He also held strenuous opinions of + the conduct of Government and the suppression of public evils, based + obviously upon military views of things.. For bushrangers he would have a + modern Tyburn, but this and other tragic suggestions lacked conviction + when confronted with his verdicts given as Justice of the Peace. He + pronounced judgments in a grand and airy fashion, but as if he were + speaking by a card, the Don Quixote whose mercy would be vaster than his + wrath. This was the impression he gave, to, John Osgood on the day when + the young squatter introduced himself to Rahway, where he had come on a + mission to its one official. The young man’s father had a taste for many + things; astronomy was his latest, and he had bought from the Government a + telescope which, excellent in its day, had been superseded by others of + later official purchase. He had brought it to Wandenong, had built a home + for it, and had got it into trouble. He had then sent to Brisbane for + assistance, and the astronomer of the Government had referred him to the + postmaster at Rahway, “Prognosticator” of the meteorological column in The + Courier, who would be instructed to give Mr. Osgood every help, especially + as the occultation of Venus was near. Men do not send letters by post in a + new country when personal communication is possible, and John Osgood was + asked by his father to go to Rahway. When John wished for the name of this + rare official, the astronomer’s letter was handed over with a sarcastic + request that the name might be deciphered; but the son was not more of an + antiquary than his father, and he had to leave without it. He rode to the + coast, and there took a passing steamer to Rahway. From the sea Rahway + looked a tropical paradise. The bright green palisades of mangrove on the + right crowded down to the water’s edge; on the left was the luxuriance of + a tropical jungle; in the centre was an are of opal shore fringed with + cocoa-palms, and beyond the sea a handful of white dwellings. Behind was a + sweeping monotony of verdure stretching back into the great valley of the + Popri, and over all the heavy languor of the South. + </p> + <p> + But the beauty was a delusion. When John Osgood’s small boat swept up the + sands on the white crest of a league-long roller, how different was the + scene! He saw a group of dilapidated huts, a tavern called The Angel’s + Rest, a blackfellow’s hut, and the bareness of three Government offices, + all built on piles, that the white ants should not humble them suddenly to + the dust; a fever-making mangrove swamp, black at the base as the + filthiest moat, and tenanted by reptiles; feeble palms, and a sickly + breath creeping from the jungle to mingle with the heavy scent of the last + consignment of augar from the Popri valley. It brought him to a melancholy + standstill, disturbed at last by Gongi touching him on the arm and + pointing towards the post-office. His language to Gongi was strong; he + called the place by names that were not polite; and even on the threshold + of the official domain said that the Devil would have his last big muster + there. But from that instant his glibness declined. The squatters are the + aristocracy of Australia, and rural postmasters are not always considered + eligible for a dinner-party at Government House; but when Louis Bachelor + came forward to meet his visitor the young fellow’s fingers quickly caught + his hat from his head, and an off-hand greeting became a respectful + salute. + </p> + <p> + At first the young man was awed by the presence of the grizzled gentleman, + and he struggled with his language to bring it up to the classic level of + the old meteorologist’s speech. Before they had spoken a dozen words John + Osgood said to himself: “What a quaint team he and the Maid of Honour + would make! It’s the same kind of thing in both, with the difference of + sex and circumstance.” The nature of his visitor’s business pleased the + old man, and infused his courtesy with warmth. Yes, he would go to + Wandenong with pleasure; the Government had communicated with him about + it; a substitute had been offered; he was quite willing to take his first + leave in four years; astronomy was a great subject, he had a very good and + obedient telescope of his own, though not nearly so large as that at + Wandenong; he would telegraph at once to Brisbane for the substitute to be + sent on the following day, and would be ready to start in twenty-four + hours. After visiting Wandenong he would go to Brisbane for some + scientific necessaries—and so on through smooth parentheses of talk. + Under all the bluntness of the Bush young Osgood had a refinement which + now found expression in an attempt to make himself agreeable—not a + difficult task, since, thanks to his father’s tastes and a year or two at + college, he had a smattering of physical science. He soon won his way to + the old man’s heart, and to his laboratory, which had been developed + through years of patience and ingenious toil in this desolate spot. + </p> + <p> + Left alone that evening in Louis Bachelor’s sitting-room, John Osgood’s + eyes were caught by a portrait on the wall, the likeness of a beautiful + girl. Something about the face puzzled him. Where had he seen it? More + than a little of an artist, he began to reproduce the head on paper. He + put it in different poses; he added to it; he took away from it; he gave + it a child’s face, preserving the one striking expression; he made it that + of a woman—of an elderly, grave woman. Why, what was this? Barbara + Golding! He would not spoil the development of the drama, of which he now + held the fluttering prologue, by any blunt treatment; he would touch this + and that nerve gently to see what past connection there was between: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “These dim blown birds beneath an alien sky.” + </pre> + <p> + He mooned along in this fashion, a fashion in which his bushmen friends + would not have known him, until his host entered. Then, in that auspicious + moment when his own pipe and his companion’s cigarette were being lighted, + he said: “I’ve been amusing myself with drawing since you left, sir, and + I’ve produced this,” handing over the paper. + </p> + <p> + Louis Bachelor took the sketch, and, walking to the window for better + light, said: “Believe me, I have a profound respect for the artistic + talent. I myself once had—ah!” He sharply paused as he saw the + pencilled head, and stood looking fixedly at it. Presently he turned + slowly, came to the portrait on the wall, and compared it with that in his + hand. Then, with a troubled face, he said: “You have much talent, but it + is—it is too old—much too old—and very sorrowful.” + </p> + <p> + “I intended the face to show age and sorrow, Mr. Bachelor. Would not the + original of that have both?” + </p> + <p> + “She had sorrow—she had sorrow, but,” and he looked sadly at the + sketch again, “it is too old for her. Her face was very young—always + very young.” + </p> + <p> + “But has she not sorrow now, sir?” the other persisted gently. + </p> + <p> + The grey head was shaken sadly, and the unsteady voice meditatively + murmured: “Such beauty, such presence! I was but five-and-thirty then.” + There was a slight pause, and then, with his hand touching the young man’s + shoulder, Louis Bachelor continued: “You are young; you have a good heart; + I know men. You have the sympathy of the artist—why should I not + speak to you? I have been silent about it so long. You have brought the + past back, I know not how, so vividly! I dream here, I work here; men come + with merchandise and go again; they only bind my tongue; I am not of them: + but you are different, as it seems to me, and young. God gave me a happy + youth. My eyes were bright as yours, my heart as fond. You love—is + it not so? Ah, you smile and blush like an honest man. Well, so much the + more I can speak now. God gave me then strength and honour and love—blessed + be His name! And then He visited me with sorrow, and, if I still mourn, I + have peace, too, and a busy life.” Here he looked at the sketch again. + </p> + <p> + “Then I was a soldier. She was my world. Ah, true, love is a great thing—a + great thing! She had a brother. They two with their mother were alone in + the world, and we were to be married. One day at Gibraltar I received a + letter from her saying that our marriage could not be; that she was going + away from England; that those lines were her farewell; and that she + commended me to the love of Heaven. Such a letter it was—so saintly, + so unhappy, so mysterious! When I could get leave I went to England. She—they—had + gone, and none knew whither; or, if any of her friends knew, none would + speak. I searched for her everywhere. At last I came to Australia, and I + am here, no longer searching, but waiting, for there is that above us!” + His lips moved as if in prayer. “And this is all I have left of her, + except memory,” he said, tenderly touching the portrait. + </p> + <p> + Warmly, yet with discreet sympathy, the young man rejoined: “Sir, I + respect, and I hope I understand, your confidence.” Then, a little + nervously: “Might I ask her name?” + </p> + <p> + The reply was spoken to the portrait: “Barbara—Barbara Golding.” + </p> + <p> + With Louis Bachelor the young squatter approached Wandenong homestead in + some excitement. He had said no word to his companion about that Barbara + Golding who played such a gracious part in the home of the Osgoods. He had + arranged the movement of the story to his fancy, but would it occur in all + as he hoped? With an amiability that was almost malicious in its adroit + suggestiveness, though, to be sure, it was honest, he had induced the + soldier to talk of his past. His words naturally, and always, radiated to + the sun, whose image was now hidden, but for whose memory no + superscription on monument or cenotaph was needed. Now it was a scrap of + song, then a tale, and again a verse, by which the old soldier was + delicately worked upon, until at last, as they entered the paddocks of + Wandenong, stars and telescopes and even Governments had been forgotten in + the personal literature of sentiment. + </p> + <p> + Yet John Osgood was not quite at his ease. Now that it was at hand, he + rather shrank from the meeting of these ancient loves. Apart from all + else, he knew that no woman’s nerves are to be trusted. He hoped fortune + would so favour him that he could arrange for the meeting of the two + alone, or, at least, in his presence only. He had so far fostered this + possibility by arriving at the station at nightfall. What next? He turned + and looked at the soldier, a figure out of Hogarth, which even dust and + travel left unspoiled. It was certain that the two should meet where John + Osgood, squatter and romancer, should be prompter, orchestra, and + audience, and he alone. Vain lad! + </p> + <p> + When they drew rein the young man took his companion at once to his own + detached quarters known as the Barracks, and then proceeded to the house. + After greetings with his family he sought Barbara Golding, who was in the + schoolroom, piously employed, Agnes said, in putting the final touches to + Janet’s trousseau. He went across the square to the schoolroom, and, + looking through the window, saw that she was quite alone. A few moments + later he stood at the schoolroom door with Louis Bachelor. With his hand + on the latch he hesitated. Was it not fairer to give some warning to + either? Too late! He opened the door and they entered. She was sewing, and + a book lay open beside her, a faded, but stately little figure whose very + garments had an air. She rose, seeing at first only John Osgood, who + greeted her and then said: “Miss Golding, I have brought you an old + friend.” + </p> + <p> + Then he stepped back and the two were face to face. Barbara Golding’s + cheeks became pale, but she did not stir; the soldier, with an exclamation + of surprise half joyful, half pathetic, took a step forward, and then + became motionless also. Their eyes met and stayed intent. This was not + quite what the young man had expected. At length the soldier bowed low, + and the woman responded gravely. At this point Osgood withdrew to stand + guard at the door. + </p> + <p> + Barbara Golding’s eyes were dim with tears. The soldier gently said, “I + received—” and then paused. She raised her eyes to his. “I received + a letter from you five-and-twenty years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, five-and-twenty years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you cannot guess what pain it gave me.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she answered faintly, “I can conceive it, from the pain it gave to + me.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause, and then he stepped forward and, holding out his hand, + said: “Will you permit me?” He kissed her fingers courteously, and she + blushed. “I have waited,” he added, “for God to bring this to pass.” She + shook her head sadly, and her eyes sought his beseechingly, as though he + should spare her; but perhaps he could not see that. + </p> + <p> + “You spoke of a great obstacle then; has it been removed?” + </p> + <p> + “It is still between us,” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + “Is it likely ever to vanish?” + </p> + <p> + “I—I do not know.” + </p> + <p> + “You can not tell me what it is?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you will not ask me,” she pleaded. + </p> + <p> + He was silent a moment, then spoke. “Might I dare to hope, Barbara, that + you still regard me with—” he hesitated. + </p> + <p> + The fires of a modest valour fluttered in her cheeks, and she pieced out + his sentence: “With all my life’s esteem.” But she was a woman, and she + added: “But I am not young now, and I am very poor.” + </p> + <p> + “Barbara,” he said; “I am not rich and I am old; but you, you have not + changed; you are beautiful, as you always were.” + </p> + <p> + The moment was crucial. He stepped towards her, but her eyes held him + back. He hoped that she would speak, but she only smiled sadly. He waited, + but, in the waiting, hope faded, and he only said, at last, in a voice of + new resolve grown out of dead expectancy: “Your brother—is he well?” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so,” she somewhat painfully replied. “Is he in Australia?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I have not seen him for years, but he is here.” As if a thought had + suddenly come to him, he stepped nearer, and made as if he would speak; + but the words halted on his lips, and he turned away again. She glided to + his side and touched his arm. “I am glad that you trust me,” she faltered. + </p> + <p> + “There is no more that need be said,” he answered. And now, woman-like, + denying, she pitied, too. “If I ever can, shall—shall I send for you + to tell you all?” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + “You remember I told you that the world had but one place for me, and that + was by your side; that where you are, Barbara—” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, oh hush!” she interrupted gently. “Yes, I remember everything.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no power can alter what is come of Heaven,” he said, smiling + faintly. + </p> + <p> + She looked with limpid eyes upon him as he bowed over her hand, and she + spoke with a sweet calm: “God be with you, Louis.” + </p> + <p> + Strange as it may seem, John Osgood did not tell his sisters and his + family of this romance which he had brought to the vivid close of a first + act. He felt the more so because Louis Bachelor had said no word about it, + but had only pressed his hand again and again—that he was somehow + put upon his honour, and he thought it a fine thing to stand on a platform + of unspoken compact with this gentleman of a social school unfamiliar to + him; from which it may be seen that cattle-breeding and bullock-driving + need not make a man a boor. What his sisters guessed when they found that + Barbara Golding and the visitor were old friends is another matter; but + they could not pierce their brother’s reserve on the point. + </p> + <p> + No one at Wandenong saw the parting between the two when Louis Bachelor, + his task with the telescope ended, left again for the coast; but indeed it + might have been seen by all men, so outwardly formal was it, even as their + brief conversations had been since they met again. But is it not known by + those who look closely upon the world that there is nothing so tragic as + the formal? + </p> + <p> + John Osgood accompanied his friend to the sea, but the name of Barbara + Golding was not mentioned, nor was any reference made to her until the + moment of parting. Then the elder man said: “Sir, your consideration and + delicacy of feeling have moved me, and touched her. We have not been blind + to your singular kindness of heart and courtesy, and—God bless you, + my friend!” + </p> + <p> + On his way back to Wandenong, Osgood heard exciting news of Roadmaster. + The word had been passed among the squatters who had united to avenge + Finchley’s death that the bushranger was to be shot on sight, that he + should not be left to the uncertainty of the law. The latest exploit of + the daring freebooter had been to stop on the plains two members of a + Royal Commission of Inquiry. He had relieved them of such money as was in + their pockets, and then had caused them to write sumptuous cheques on + their banks, payable to bearer. These he had cashed in the very teeth of + the law, and actually paused in the street to read a description of + himself posted on a telegraph-pole. “Inaccurate, quite inaccurate,” he + said to a by-stander as he drew his riding-whip slowly along it, and then, + mounting his horse, rode leisurely away into the plains. Had he been + followed it would have been seen that he directed his course to that point + in the horizon where Wandenong lay, and held to it. + </p> + <p> + It would not perhaps have been pleasant to Agnes Osgood had she known + that, as she hummed a song under a she-oak, a mile away from the + homestead, a man was watching her from a clump of scrub near by; a man + who, however gentlemanly his bearing, had a face where the devil of + despair had set his foot, and who carried in his pocket more than one + weapon of inhospitable suggestion. But the man intended no harm to her, + for, while she sang, something seemed to smooth away the active evil of + his countenance, and to dispel a threatening alertness that marked the + whole personality. + </p> + <p> + Three hours later this same man crouched by the drawing-room window of the + Wandenong homestead and looked in, listening to the same voice, until + Barbara Golding entered the room and took a seat near the piano, with her + face turned full towards him. Then he forgot the music and looked long at + the face, and at last rose, and stole silently to where his horse was tied + in the scrub. He mounted, and turning towards the house muttered: “A + little more of this, and good-bye to my nerves! But it’s pleasant to have + the taste of it in my mouth for a minute. How would it look in + Roadmaster’s biography, that a girl just out of school brought the rain to + his eyes?” He laughed a little bitterly, and then went on: “Poor Barbara! + She mustn’t know while I’m alive. Stretch out, my nag; we’ve a long road + to travel to-night.” + </p> + <p> + This was Edward Golding, the brother whom Barbara thought was still in + prison at Sydney under another name, serving a term of ten years for + manslaughter. If she had read the papers more carefully she would have + known that he had been released two years before his time was up. It was + eight years since she had seen him. Twice since then she had gone to visit + him, but he would not see her. Bad as he had been, his desire was still + strong that the family name should not be publicly reviled. At his trial + his real name had not been made known; and at his request his sister sent + him no letters. Going into gaol a reckless man he came out a + constitutional criminal; with the natural instinct for crime greater than + the instinct for morality. He turned bushranger for one day, to get money + to take him out of the country; but having once entered the lists he left + them no more, and, playing at deadly joust with the law, soon became known + as Roadmaster, the most noted bushranger since the days of Captain + Starlight. + </p> + <p> + It was forgery on the name of his father’s oldest friend that had driven + him from England. He had the choice of leaving his native land for ever or + going to prison, and he chose the former. The sorrow of the crime killed + his mother. From Adelaide, where he and Barbara had made their new home, + he wandered to the far interior and afterwards to Sydney; then came his + imprisonment on a charge of manslaughter, and now he was free-but what a + freedom! + </p> + <p> + With the name of Roadmaster often heard at Wandenong, Barbara Golding’s + heart had no warning instinct of who the bushranger was. She thought only + and continuously of the day when her brother should be released, to begin + the race of life again with her. She had yet to learn in what manner they + come to the finish who make a false start. + </p> + <p> + Louis Bachelor, again in his place Rahway, tried to drive away his guesses + at the truth by his beloved science. When sleep would not come at night he + rose and worked in his laboratory; and the sailors of many a passing + vessel saw the light of his lamp in the dim hours before dawn, and spoke + of fever in the port of Rahway. Nor did they speak without reason; fever + was preparing a victim for the sacrifice at Rahway, and Louis Bachelor was + fed with its poison till he grew haggard and weak. + </p> + <p> + One night he was sending his weather prognostications to Brisbane, when a + stranger entered from the shore. The old man did not at first look up, and + the other leisurely studied him as the sounder clicked its message. When + the key was closed the new-comer said: “Can you send a message to Brisbane + for me?” + </p> + <p> + “It is after hours; I cannot,” was the reply. “But you were just sending + one.” + </p> + <p> + “That was official,” and the elder man passed his hand wearily along his + forehead. He was very pale. The other drew the telegraph-forms towards him + and wrote on one, saying as he did so: “My business is important;” then + handing over what he had written, and, smiling ironically, added: “Perhaps + you will consider that official.” + </p> + <p> + Louis Bachelor took the paper and read as follows: “To the Colonial + Secretary, Brisbane. I am here tonight; to-morrow find me. Roadmaster.” He + read it twice before he fully comprehended it. Then he said, as if + awakening from a dream: “You are—” + </p> + <p> + “I am Roadmaster,” said the other. + </p> + <p> + But now the soldier and official in the other were awake. He drew himself + up, and appeared to measure his visitor as a swordsman would his enemy. + “What is your object in coming here?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “For you to send that message if you choose. That you may arrest me + peaceably if you wish; or there are men at The Angel’s Rest and a Chinaman + or two here who might care for active service against Roadmaster.” He + laughed carelessly. + </p> + <p> + “Am I to understand that you give yourself up to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, to you, Louis Bachelor, Justice of the Peace, to do what you will + with for this night,” was the reply. The soldier’s hands trembled, but it + was from imminent illness, not from fear or excitement. He came slowly + towards the bushranger who, smiling, said as he advanced: “Yes, arrest + me!” + </p> + <p> + Louis Bachelor raised his hand, as though to lay it on the shoulder of the + other; but something in the eyes of the highwayman stayed his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Proceed, Captain Louis Bachelor,” said Roadmaster in a changed tone. + </p> + <p> + The hand fell to the old man’s side. “Who are you?” he faintly exclaimed. + “I know you yet I cannot quite remember.” + </p> + <p> + More and more the voice and manner of the outlaw altered as he replied + with mocking bitterness: “I was Edward Golding, gentleman; I became Edward + Golding, forger; I am Roadmaster, convicted of manslaughter, and + bushranger.” + </p> + <p> + The old man’s state was painful to see. “You—you—that, + Edward!” he uttered brokenly. + </p> + <p> + “All that. Will you arrest me now?” + </p> + <p> + “I—cannot.” + </p> + <p> + The bushranger threw aside all bravado and irony, and said: “I knew you + could not. Why did I come? Listen—but first, will you shelter me + here to-night?” + </p> + <p> + The soldier’s honourable soul rose up against this thing, but he said + slowly at last: “If it is to save you from peril, yes.” + </p> + <p> + Roadmaster laughed a little and rejoined: “By God, sir, you’re a man! But + it isn’t likely that I’d accept it of you, is it? You’ve had it rough + enough, without my putting a rock in your swag that would spoil you for + the rest of the tramp. You see, I’ve even forgotten how to talk like a + gentleman. And now, sir, I want to show you, for Barbara’s sake, my dirty + logbook.” + </p> + <p> + Here he told the tale of his early sin and all that came of it. When he + had finished the story he spoke of Barbara again. “She didn’t want to + disgrace you, you understand,” he said. “You were at Wandenong; I know + that, never mind how. She’d marry you if I were out of the way. Well, I’m + going to be out of the way. I’m going to leave this country, and she’s to + think I’m dead, you see.” + </p> + <p> + At this point Louis Bachelor swayed, and would have fallen, but that the + bushranger’s arms were thrown round him and helped him to a chair. “I’m + afraid that I am ill,” he said; “call Gongi. Ah!” He had fainted. + </p> + <p> + The bushranger carried him to a bed, and summoned Gongi and the woman from + the tavern, and in another hour was riding away through the valley of the + Popri. Before thirty-six hours had passed a note was delivered to a + station-hand at Wandenong addressed to Barbara Golding, and signed by the + woman from The Angel’s Rest. Within another two days Barbara Golding was + at the bedside of Captain Louis Bachelor, battling with an enemy that is + so often stronger than love and always kinder than shame. + </p> + <p> + In his wanderings the sick man was ever with his youth and early manhood, + and again and again he uttered Barbara’s name in caressing or entreaty; + though it was the Barbara of far-off days that he invoked; the present one + he did not know. But the night in which the crisis, the fortunate crisis, + of the fever occurred, he talked of a great flood coming from the North, + and in his half-delirium bade them send to headquarters, and mournfully + muttered of drowned plantations and human peril. Was this instinct and + knowledge working through the disordered fancies of fever? Or was it mere + coincidence that the next day a great storm and flood did sweep through + the valley of the Popri, putting life in danger and submerging + plantations? + </p> + <p> + It was on this day that Roadmaster found himself at bay in the mangrove + swamp not far from the port of Rahway, where he had expected to find a + schooner to take him to the New Hebrides. It had been arranged for by a + well-paid colleague in crime; but the storm had delayed the schooner, and + the avenging squatters and bushmen were closing in on him at last. There + was flood behind him in the valley, a foodless swamp on the left of him, + open shore and jungle on the right, the swollen sea before him; and the + only avenue of escape closed by Blood Finchley’s friends. He had been + eluding his pursuers for days with little food and worse than no sleep. He + knew that he had played his last card and lost; but he had one thing yet + to do, that which even the vilest do, if they can, before they pay the + final penalty—to creep back for a moment into their honest past, + however dim and far away. With incredible skill he had passed under the + very rifles of his hunters, and now stood almost within the stream of + light which came from the window of the sick man’s room, where his sister + was. There was to be no more hiding, no more strategy. He told Gongi and + another that he was Roadmaster, and bade them say to his pursuers, should + they appear, that he would come to them upon the shore when his visit to + Louis Bachelor, whom he had known in other days, was over, indicating the + place at some distance from the house where they would find him. + </p> + <p> + He entered the house. The noise of the opening door brought his sister to + the room. + </p> + <p> + At last she said: “Oh, Edward, you are free at last!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I am free at last,” he quietly replied. + </p> + <p> + “I have always prayed for you, Edward, and for this.” + </p> + <p> + “I know that, Barbara; but prayer cannot do anything, can it? You see, + though I was born a gentleman, I had a bad strain in me. I wonder if, + somewhere, generations back, there was a pirate or a gipsy in our family.” + He had been going to say highwayman, but paused in time. “I always + intended to be good and always ended by being bad. I wanted to be of the + angels and play with the devils also. I liked saints—you are a + saint, Barbara—but I loved all sinners too. I hope when—when I + die, that the little bit of good that’s in me will go where you are. For + the rest of me, it must be as it may.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t speak like that, Edward, please, dear. Yes, you have been wicked, + but you have been punished, oh, those long, long years!” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve lost a great slice of life by both the stolen waters and the rod, + but I’m going to reform now, Barbara.” + </p> + <p> + “You are going to reform? Oh, I knew you would! God has answered my + prayer.” Her eyes lighted. + </p> + <p> + He did not speak at once, for his ears, keener than hers, were listening + to a confused sound of voices coming from the shore. At length he spoke + firmly: “Yes, I’m going to reform, but it’s on one condition.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes mutely asked a question, and he replied: “That you marry him,” + pointing to the inner room, “if he lives.” + </p> + <p> + “He will live, but I—I cannot tell him, Edward,” she sadly said. + </p> + <p> + “He knows.” + </p> + <p> + “He knows! Did you dare to tell him?” It was the lover, not the sister, + who spoke then. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And he knows also that I’m going to reform—that I’m going + away.” + </p> + <p> + Her face was hid in her hand. “And I kept it from him five-and-twenty + years!... Where are you going, Edward?” + </p> + <p> + “To the Farewell Islands,” he slowly replied. + </p> + <p> + And she, thinking he meant some island group in the Pacific, tearfully + inquired: “Are they far away?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, very far away, my girl.” + </p> + <p> + “But you will write to me or come to see me again—you will come to + see me again, sometimes, Edward?” + </p> + <p> + He paused. He knew not at first what to reply, but at length he said, with + a strangely determined flash of his dark eyes: “Yes, Barbara, I will come + to see you again—if I can.” He stooped and kissed her. “Goodbye, + Barbara.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Edward, must you go to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I must go now. They are waiting for me. Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + She would have stayed him but he put her gently back, and she said + plaintively: “God keep you, Edward. Remember you said that you would come + again to me.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall remember,” he said quietly, and he was gone. Standing in the + light from the window of the sick man’s room he wrote a line in Latin on a + slip of paper, begging of Louis Bachelor the mercy of silence, and gave it + to Gongi, who whispered that he was surrounded. This he knew; he had not + studied sounds in prison through the best years of his life for nothing. + He asked Gongi to give the note to his master when he was better, and when + it could be done unseen of any one. Then he turned and walked coolly + towards the shore. + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later he lay upon a heap of magnolia branches breathing his + life away. At the same moment of time that a rough but kindly hand closed + the eyes of the bushranger, the woman from The Angel’s Rest and Louis + Bachelor saw the pale face of Roadmaster peer through the bedroom window + at Barbara Golding sitting in a chair asleep; and she started and said + through her half-wakefulness, looking at the window: “Where are you going, + Edward?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE LONE CORVETTE + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “And God shall turn upon them violently, and toss them like a ball + into a large country.”—ISAIH. +</pre> + <p> + “Poor Ted, poor Ted! I’d give my commission to see him once again.” + </p> + <p> + “I believe you would, Debney.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew him to the last button of his nature, and any one who knew him + well could never think hardly of him. There were five of us brothers, and + we all worshipped him. He could run rings round us in everything, at + school, with sports, in the business of life, in love.” + </p> + <p> + Debney’s voice fell with the last few words, and there was a sorrowful + sort of smile on his face. His look was fastened on the Farilone Islands, + which lay like a black, half-closed eyelid across the disc of the huge + yellow sun, as it sank in the sky straight out from the Golden Gate. The + long wash of the Pacific was in their ears at their left, behind them was + the Presidio, from which they had come after a visit to the officers, and + before them was the warm, inviting distance of waters, which lead, as all + men know, to the Lotos Isles. + </p> + <p> + Debney sighed and shook his head. “He was, by nature, the ablest man I + ever knew. Everything in the world interested him.” + </p> + <p> + “There lay the trouble, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “Nowhere else. All his will was with the wholesome thing, but his brain, + his imagination were always hunting. He was the true adventurer at the + start. That was it, Mostyn.” + </p> + <p> + “He found the forbidden thing more interesting than—the other?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite so. Unless a thing was really interesting, stood out, as it were, + he had no use for it—nor for man nor woman.” + </p> + <p> + “Lady Folingsby, for instance.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know, Mostyn, that even to-day, whenever she meets me, I can see + one question in her eyes: ‘Where is he?’ Always, always that. He found + life and people so interesting that he couldn’t help but be interesting + himself. Whatever he was, I never knew a woman speak ill of him.... Once a + year there comes to me a letter from an artist girl in Paris, written in + language that gets into my eyes. There is always the one refrain: ‘He will + return some day. Say to him that I do not forget.’” + </p> + <p> + “Whatever his faults, he was too big to be anything but kind to a woman, + was Ted.” + </p> + <p> + “I remember the day when his resignation was so promptly accepted by the + Admiralty. He walked up to the Admiral—Farquhar it was, on the + Bolingbroke—and said: ‘Admiral, if I’d been in your place I’d have + done the same. I ought to resign, and I have. Yet if I had to do it over + again, I’d be the same. I don’t repent. I’m out of the Navy now, and it + doesn’t make any difference what I say, so I’ll have my preachment out. If + I were Admiral Farquhar, and you were Edward Debney, ex-commander, I’d + say: “Debney, you’re a damned good fellow and a damned bad officer.”’ + </p> + <p> + “The Admiral liked Edward, in spite of all, better than any man in the + Squadron, for Ted’s brains were worth those of any half-dozen officers he + had. He simply choked, and then, before the whole ship, dropped both hands + on his shoulders, and said: ‘Debney, you’re a damned good fellow and a + damned bad officer, and I wish to God you were a damned bad fellow and a + damned good officer—for then there were no need to part.’ At that + they parted. But as Edward was leaving, the Admiral came forward again, + and said: ‘Where are you going, Debney?’ ‘I’m going nowhere, sir,’ Ted + answered. ‘I’m being tossed into strange waters—a lone corvette of + no squadron.’ He stopped, smiled, and then said—it was so like him, + for, with all his wildness, he had the tastes of a student: ‘You remember + that passage in Isaiah, sir, “And God shall turn upon them violently, and + toss them like a ball into a large country”?’ + </p> + <p> + “There wasn’t a man but had a kind thought for him as he left, and there + was rain in the eyes of more than one A.B. Well, from that day he + disappeared, and no one has seen him since. God knows where he is; but I + was thinking, as I looked out there to the setting sun, that his wild + spirit would naturally turn to the South, for civilised places had no + charm for him.” + </p> + <p> + “I never knew quite why he had to leave the Navy.” + </p> + <p> + “He opened fire on a French frigate off Tahiti which was boring holes in + an opium smuggler.” + </p> + <p> + Mostyn laughed. “Of course; and how like Ted it was—an instinct to + side with the weakest.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, coupled with the fact that the Frenchman’s act was mere brutality, + and had not sufficient motive or justification. So Ted pitched into him.” + </p> + <p> + “Did the smuggler fly the British flag?” + </p> + <p> + “No, the American; and it was only the intervention of the United States + which prevented serious international trouble. Out of the affair came Ted + a shipwreck.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you never got on his track?” + </p> + <p> + “Once I thought I had at Singapore, but nothing came of it. No doubt he + changed his name. He never asked for, never got, the legacy my poor father + left him.” + </p> + <p> + “What was it made you think you had come across him at Singapore?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, certain significant things.” + </p> + <p> + “What was he doing?” + </p> + <p> + Debney looked at his old friend for a moment debatingly, then said + quietly: “Slave-dealing, and doing it successfully, under the noses of + men-of-war of all nations.” + </p> + <p> + “But you decided it was not he after all?” + </p> + <p> + “I doubted. If Ted came to that, he would do it in a very big way. It + would appeal to him on some grand scale, with real danger and, say, a few + scores of thousands of pounds at stake—not unless.” + </p> + <p> + Mostyn lit a cigar, and, thrusting his hands into his pockets, regarded + the scene before him with genial meditation—the creamy wash of the + sea at their feet, the surface of the water like corrugated silver + stretching to the farther sky, with that long lane of golden light + crossing it to the sun, Alcatras, Angel Island, Saucilito, the rocky + fortresses, and the men-of-war in the harbour, on one of which flew the + British ensign—the Cormorant, commanded by Debney. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Ted!” said Mostyn at last; “he might have been anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Let us get back to the Cormorant,” responded Debney sadly. “And see, old + chap, when you get back to England, I wish you’d visit my mother for me, + for I shall not see her for another year, and she’s always anxious—always + since Ted left.” + </p> + <p> + Mostyn grasped the other’s hand, and said: “It’s the second thing I’ll do + on landing, my boy.” + </p> + <p> + Then they talked of other things, but as they turned at the Presidio for a + last look at the Golden Gate, Mostyn said musingly: “I wonder how many + millions’ worth of smuggled opium have come in that open door?” + </p> + <p> + Debney shrugged a shoulder. “Try Nob Hill, Fifth Avenue, and the Champs + Elysees. What does a poor man-o’-war’s-man know of such things?” + </p> + <p> + An hour later they were aboard the Cormorant dining with a number of men + asked to come and say good-bye to Mostyn, who was starting for England the + second day following, after a pleasant cruise with Debney. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, from far beyond that yellow lane of light running out from + Golden Gate, there came a vessel, sailing straight for harbour. She was an + old-fashioned cruiser, carrying guns, and when she passed another vessel + she hoisted the British flag. She looked like a half-obsolete corvette, + spruced up, made modern by every possible device, and all her appointments + were shapely and in order. She was clearly a British man-of-war, as shown + in her trim-dressed sailors, her good handful of marines; but her second + and third lieutenants seemed little like Englishmen. There was gun-drill + and cutlass-drill every day, and, what was also singular, there was + boat-drill twice a day, so that the crew of this man-of-war, as they saw + Golden Gate ahead of them, were perhaps more expert at boat-drill than any + that sailed. They could lower and raise a boat with a wonderful expertness + in a bad sea, and they rowed with clock-like precision and machine-like + force. + </p> + <p> + Their general discipline did credit to the British Navy. But they were not + given to understand that by their Commander, Captain Shewell, who had an + eye like a spot of steel and a tongue like aloes or honey as the mood was + on him. It was clear that he took his position seriously, for he was as + rigid and exact in etiquette as an admiral of the old school, and his eye + was as keen for his officers as for his men; and that might have seemed + strange too, if one had seen him two years before commanding a schooner + with a roving commission in the South Seas. Then he was more genial of eye + and less professional of face. Here he could never be mistaken for + anything else than the commander of a man-of-war—it was in his legs, + in the shoulder he set to the wind, in the tone of his orders, in his + austere urbanity to his officers. Yet there was something else in his eye, + in his face, which all this professionalism could not hide, even when he + was most professional—some elusive, subterranean force or purpose. + </p> + <p> + This was most noticeable when he was shut away from the others in his + cabin. Then his whole body seemed to change. The eye became softer, and + yet full of a sort of genial devilry, the body had a careless alertness + and elasticity, the whole man had the athletic grace of a wild animal, and + his face had a hearty sort of humour, which the slightly-lifting lip, in + its insolent disdain, could not greatly modify. He certainly seemed well + pleased with himself, and more than once, as he sat alone, he laughed + outright, and once he said aloud, as his fingers ran up and down a + schedule—not a man-o’-war’s schedule—laughing softly: + </p> + <p> + “Poor old Farquhar, if he could see me now!” Then, to himself: “Well, as I + told him, I was violently tossed like a ball into the large country; and + I’ve had a lot of adventure and sport. But here’s something more the + biggest game ever played between nations by a private person—with + fifty thousand pounds as the end thereof, if all goes well with my lone + corvette.” + </p> + <p> + The next evening, just before dusk, after having idled about out of sight + of the signal station nearly all day, Captain Shewell entered Golden Gate + with the Hornet-of no squadron. But the officers at the signal station did + not know that, and simply telegraphed to the harbour, in reply to the + signals from the corvette, that a British man-of-war was coming. She came + leisurely up the bay, with Captain Shewell on the bridge. He gave a low + whistle as he saw the Cormorant in the distance. He knew the harbour well, + and saw that the Cormorant had gone to a new anchorage, not the same as + British men-of-war took formerly. He drew away to the old anchorage—he + need not be supposed to know that a change was expected; besides—and + this was important to Captain Shewell—the old anchorage was near the + docks; and it was clear, save for one little life-boat and a schooner + which was making out as he came up. + </p> + <p> + As the Hornet came to anchor the Cormorant saluted her, and she replied + instantly. Customs officers who were watching the craft from the shore or + from their boats put down their marine glasses contentedly when they saw + and heard the salutes. But two went out to the Hornet, were received + graciously by Captain Shewell, who, over a glass of wine in his + cabin-appropriately hung with pictures of Nelson and Collingwood—said + that he was proceeding to Alaska to rescue a crew shipwrecked which had + taken refuge on a barren island, and that he was leaving the next day as + soon as he could get some coal; though he feared it would be difficult + coaling up that night. He did not need a great deal, he said—which + was, indeed, the case—but he did need some, and for the Hornet’s + safety he must have it. After this, with cheerful compliments, and the + perfunctory declaration on his part that there was nothing dutiable on + board, the officers left him, greatly pleased with his courtesy, saluted + by the sailors standing at the gangway as they left the ship’s side. The + officers did not notice that one of these sailors winked an eye at + another, and that both then grinned, and were promptly ordered aft by the + second lieutenant. + </p> + <p> + As soon as it was very dark two or three boats pushed out from the Hornet, + and rowed swiftly to shore, passing a Customs boat as they went, which was + saluted by the officers in command. After this, boats kept passing + backward and forward for a long time between the Hornet and the shore, + which was natural, seeing that a first night in port is a sort of holiday + for officers and men. If these sailors had been watched closely, however, + it would have been seen that they visited but few saloons on shore, and + drank little, and then evidently as a blind. Close watching would also + have discovered the fact that there were a few people on shore who were + glad to see the safe arrival of the Hornet, and who, about one o’clock in + the morning, almost fell on the neck of Captain Shewell as they bade him + good bye. Then, for the rest of the night, coal was carried out to the + Hornet in boats and barges. + </p> + <p> + By daybreak her coal was aboard, then came cleaning up, and preparations + to depart. Captain Shewell’s eye was now much on the Cormorant. He had + escaped one danger, he had landed half a million dollars’ worth of opium + in the night, under the very nose of the law, and while Customs boats were + patrolling the bay; there was another danger—the inquisitiveness of + the Cormorant. It was etiquette for him to call upon the captain of the + Cormorant, and he ought to have done so the evening before, but he had not + dared to run the risk, nor could he venture this morning. And yet if the + Cormorant discovered that the Hornet was not a British man-of-war, but a + bold and splendid imposture, made possible by a daring ex-officer of the + British Navy, she might open fire, and he could make but a sorry fight, + for he was equipped for show rather than for deadly action. He had got + this ex-British man-of-war two years before, purchased in Brazil by two + adventurous spirits in San Francisco, had selected his crew carefully, + many of them deserters from the British Navy, drilled them, and at last + made this bold venture under the teeth of a fortress, and at the mouth of + a warship’s guns. + </p> + <p> + Just as he was lifting anchor to get away, he saw a boat shoot out from + the side of the Cormorant. Captain Debney, indignant at the lack of + etiquette, and a little suspicious also now—for there was no Hornet + in the Pacific Squadron, though there was a Hornet, he knew, in the China + Squadron—was coming to visit the discourteous commander. + </p> + <p> + He was received with the usual formalities, and was greeted at once by + Captain Shewell. As the eyes of the two men met both started, but Captain + Debney was most shaken. He turned white, and put out his hand to the + bulwark to steady himself. But Captain Shewell held the hand that had been + put out; shook it, pressed it. He tried to urge Captain Debney forward, + but the other drew back to the gangway. + </p> + <p> + “Pull yourself together, Dick, or there’ll be a mess,” said Shewell + softly. + </p> + <p> + “My God, how could you do it?” replied his brother aghast. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile the anchor had been raised, and the Hornet was moving towards + the harbour mouth. “You have ruined us both,” said Richard Debney. + “Neither, Dick! I’ll save your bacon.” He made a sign, the gangway was + closed, he gave the word for full steam ahead, and the Hornet began to + race through the water before Captain Debney guessed his purpose. + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean to do?” he asked sternly, as he saw his own gig falling + astern. + </p> + <p> + “To make it hard for you to blow me to pieces. You’ve got to do it, of + course, if you can, but I must get a start.” + </p> + <p> + “How far do you intend carrying me?” + </p> + <p> + “To the Farilones, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + Richard Debney’s face had a sick look. “Take me to your cabin,” he + whispered. + </p> + <p> + What was said behind the closed door no man in this world knows, and it is + well not to listen too closely to those who part, knowing that they will + never meet again. They had been children in the one mother’s arms; there + was nothing in common between them now except that ancient love. + </p> + <p> + Nearing the Farilones, Captain Debney was put off in an open boat. + Standing there alone, he was once more a naval officer, and he called out + sternly: “Sir, I hope to sink you and your smuggling craft within + four-and-twenty hours!” + </p> + <p> + Captain Shewell spoke no word, but saluted deliberately, and watched his + brother’s boat recede, till it was a speck upon the sea, as it moved + towards Golden Gate. + </p> + <p> + “Good old Dick!” he said at last, as he turned away toward the bridge. + “And he’ll do it, if he can!” + </p> + <p> + But he never did, for as the Cormorant cleared the harbour that evening + there came an accident to her machinery, and with two days’ start the + Hornet was on her way to be sold again to a South American Republic. + </p> + <p> + And Edward Debney, once her captain? What does it matter? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A SABLE SPARTAN + </h2> + <p> + Lady Tynemouth was interested; his Excellency was amused. The interest was + real, the amusement was not ironical. Blithelygo, seeing that he had at + least excited the attention of the luncheon party, said + half-apologetically: “Of course my experience is small, but in many parts + of the world I have been surprised to see how uniform revolutionises the + savage. Put him into Convention, that is clothes, give him Responsibility, + that is a chance to exercise vanity and power, and you make him a + Britisher—a good citizen to all intents and purposes.” + </p> + <p> + Blithelygo was a clever fellow in his way. He had a decided instinct for + military matters, and for good cigars and pretty women. Yet he would + rather give up both than an idea which had got firmly fixed in his mind. + He was very deferential in his remarks, but at the same time he was quite + willing to go into a minority which might not include pretty Miss Angel + who sat beside him, if he was not met by conclusive good arguments. + </p> + <p> + In the slight pause which followed his rather long speech, his Excellency + passed the champagne cup, and Lady Tynemouth said: “But I suppose it + depends somewhat on the race, doesn’t it, Mr. Travers? I am afraid mere + uniforming would scarcely work successfully—among the Bengalese, for + instance.” + </p> + <p> + “A wretched crew,” said Major Warham; “awful liars, awful scoundrels, need + kicking every morning.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” said Blithelygo, “there must be some consideration of race. + But look at the Indian Mutiny. Though there was revolt, look at those who + ‘fought with us faithful and few’; look at the fidelity of the majority of + the native servants. Look at the native mounted police in Australia; at + the Sikhs in the Settlements and the Native States; at the Indian scouts + of the United States and Canada; and look at these very Indian troops at + your door, your Excellency! I think my principle holds good; give uniform, + give responsibility—under European surveillance of course—get + British civilisation.” + </p> + <p> + His Excellency’s eyes had been wandering out of the window, over the white + wall and into the town where Arabia, India, Africa, the Islands of the + South and Palestine were blended in a quivering, radiant panorama. Then + they rose until they fell upon Jebel Shamsan, in its intoxicating red and + opal far away, and upon the frowning and mighty rampart that makes Aden + one of the most impregnable stations of the Empire. The amusement in his + eyes had died away; and as he dipped his fingers in the water at his side + and motioned for a quickening of the punkahs, he said: “There is force in + what you say. It would be an unpleasant look-out for us here and in many + parts of the world if we could not place reliance on the effect of + uniform; but”—and the amused look came again to his eyes—“we + somehow get dulled to the virtues of Indian troops and Somauli policemen. + We can’t get perspective, you see.” + </p> + <p> + Blithelygo good-naturedly joined in the laugh that went round the table; + for nearly all there had personal experience of “uniformed savages.” As + the ladies rose Miss Angel said naively to Blithelygo: “You ought to spend + a month in Aden, Mr. Blithelygo. Don’t go by the next boat, then you can + study uniforms here.” + </p> + <p> + We settled down to our cigars. Major Warham was an officer from Bombay. He + had lived in India for twenty years: long enough to be cynical of justice + at the Horse Guards or at the India Office: to become in fact bitter + against London, S.W., altogether. It was he that proposed a walk through + the town. + </p> + <p> + The city lay sleepy and listless beneath a proud and distant sky of + changeless blue. Idly sat the Arabs on the benches outside the low-roofed + coffee-houses; lazily worked the makers of ornaments in the bazaars; + yawningly pounded the tinkers; greedily ate the children; the city was + cloyed with ease. Warham, Blithelygo and myself sat in the evening sun + surrounded by gold-and-scarlet bedizened gentry of the desert, and drank + strong coffee and smoked until we too were satisfied, if not surfeited; + animals like the rest. Silence fell on us. This was a new life to two of + us; to Warham it was familiar, therefore comfortable and soporific. I + leaned back and languidly scanned the scene; eyes halfshut, senses + half-awake. An Arab sheikh passed swiftly with his curtained harem; and + then went filing by in orderly and bright array a number of Mahommedans, + the first of them bearing on a cushion of red velvet, and covered with a + cloth of scarlet and gold, a dead child to burial. Down from the colossal + tanks built in the mountain gorges that were old when Mahomet was young, + there came donkeys bearing great leathern bottles such as the Israelites + carried in their forty years’ sojourning. A long line of swaying camels + passed dustily to the desert that burns even into this city of Aden, built + on a volcano; groups of Somaulis, lithe and brawny, moved chattering here + and there; and a handful of wandering horsemen, with spears and snowy + garments, were being swallowed up in the mountain defiles. + </p> + <p> + The day had been long, the coffee and cigarettes had been heavy, and we + dozed away in the sensuous atmosphere. Then there came, as if in a dream, + a harsh and far-off murmur of voices. It grew from a murmur to a sharp + cry, and from a sharp cry to a roar of rage. In a moment we were on our + feet, and dashing away toward the sound. + </p> + <p> + The sight that greeted us was a strange one, and horribly picturesque. In + front of a low-roofed house of stone was a crowd of Mahommedans fierce + with anger and loud in imprecation. Knives were flashing; murder was + afoot. There stood, with his back to the door of the house, a Somauli + policeman, defending himself against this raging little mob. Not defending + himself alone. Within the house he had thrust a wretched Jew, who had + defiled a Mahommedan mosque; and he was here protecting him against these + nervous champions of the faith. + </p> + <p> + Once, twice, thrice, they reached him; but he fought on with his unwounded + arm. We were unarmed and helpless; no Somaulis were near. Death glittered + in these white blades. But must this Spartan die? + </p> + <p> + Now there was another cry, a British cheer, a gleam of blue and red, a + glint of steel rounding the corner at our left, and the Mahommedans broke + away, with a parting lunge at the Somauli. British soldiers took the place + of the bloodthirsty mob. + </p> + <p> + Danger over, the Somauli sank down on the threshold, fainting from loss of + blood. As we looked at him gashed all over, but not mortally wounded, + Blithelygo said with glowing triumph: “British, British, you see!” + </p> + <p> + At that moment the door of the house opened, and out crawled to the feet + of the officer in command the miserable Israelite with his red hemmed + skirt and greasy face. For this cowardly creature the Somauli policeman + had perilled his life. Sublime! How could we help thinking of the talk at + his Excellency’s table? + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the Somauli started up and looked round anxiously. His eyes fell + on the Jew. His countenance grew peaceful. He sank back again into the + arms of the surgeon and said, pointing to the son of Abraham: “He owe me + for a donkey.” + </p> + <p> + Major Warham looking at Blithelygo said with a chilled kind of lustre to + his voice: “British, so British, don’t you know!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A VULGAR FRACTION + </h2> + <p> + Sometimes when, like Mirza, I retire to my little Hill of Bagdad for + meditation, there comes before me the bright picture of Hawaii with its + coral-bulwarked islands and the memory of an idle sojourn on their shores. + I remember the rainbow-coloured harbour of Honolulu Hilo, the simply + joyous Arcadie at the foot of Mauna Loa, and Mauna Kea which lifted violet + shoulders to the morning, the groves of cocoa-palms and tamarinds, the + waterfalls dropping over sheer precipices a thousand feet into the ocean, + the green embrasures where the mango, the guava, and the lovi lovi grow, + and where the hibiscus lifts red hands to the light. I call to mind the + luau where Kalakua, the King, presided over the dispensation of stewed + puppy, lifted to one’s lips by brown but fair fingers, of live shrimps, of + poi and taro and balls of boiled sea-weed stuffed with Heaven knows what; + and to crown all, or to drown all, the insinuating liquor kava, followed + when the festival was done by the sensuous but fascinating hula hula, + danced by maidens of varying loveliness. Of these Van Blaricom, the + American, said, “they’d capture Chicago in a week with that racket,” and + he showed Blithelygo his calculations as to profits. + </p> + <p> + The moments that we enjoyed the most, however, were those that came when + feast and serenade were over, when Hawaii Ponoi, the National Anthem, was + sung, and we lay upon the sands and watched the long white coverlet of + foam folding towards the shore, and saw visions and dreamed dreams. But at + times we also breathed a prayer—a prayer that somebody or something + would come and carry off Van Blaricom, whose satire, born and nurtured in + Chicago, was ever turned against Hawaii and all that therein was. + </p> + <p> + There are times when I think I had a taste of Paradise in Hawaii—but + a Paradise not without a Satanic intruder in the shape of that person from + Illinois. Nothing escaped his scorn. One day we saw from Diamond Head + three water-spouts careering to the south, a splendid procession of the + powers of the air. He straightway said to Kalakua, that “a Michigan + cyclone had more git-up-and-git about it than them three black cats with + their tails in the water.” He spent hours in thinking out rudely caustic + things to repeat about this little kingdom. He said that the Government + was a Corliss-engine running a sewing machine. He used to ask the + Commander of the Forces when the Household Cavalry were going into summer + camp—they were twelve. The only thing that appeared to impress him + seriously was Molokai, the desolate island where the lepers made their + cheerless prison-home. But the reason for his gravity appeared when he + said to Blithelygo and myself: “There’d be a fortune in that menagerie if + it was anchored in Lake Michigan.” On that occasion he was answered in + strong terms. It was the only time I ever heard Blithelygo use profanity. + But the American merely dusted his patent leather shoes with a gay silk + kerchief, adjusted his clothes on his five-foot frame as he stood up; and + said: “Say you ought to hear my partner in Chicago when he lets out. He’s + an artist!” + </p> + <p> + This Man from the West was evidently foreordained to play a part in the + destinies of Blithelygo and myself, for during two years of travel he + continuously crossed our path. His only becoming quality was his ample + extravagance. Perhaps it was the bountiful impetus he gave to the commerce + of Honolulu, and the fact that he talked of buying up a portion of one of + the Islands for sugar-planting, that induced the King to be gracious to + him. However that might be, when Blithelygo and I joined his Majesty at + Hilo to visit the extinct volcano of Kilauea, there was the American + coolly puffing his cigar and quizzically feeling the limbs and prodding + the ribs of the one individual soldier who composed the King’s body-guard. + He was not interested in our arrival further than to give us a nod. In a + pause that followed our greetings, he said to his Majesty, while jerking + his thumb towards the soldier: “King, how many of ‘em have you got in your + army?” + </p> + <p> + His Majesty blandly but with dignity turned to his aide-de-camp and raised + his eyebrows inquiringly. The aide-de-camp answered: “Sixty.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we’ve got 1/60th of the standing army with us, eh?” drawled Van + Blaricom. + </p> + <p> + The aide-de-camp bowed affirmatively. The King was scanning Mauna Loa. The + American winked at us. The King did not see the wink, but he had caught a + tone in the voice of the invader, which brought, as I thought, a slight + flush to his swarthy cheek. The soldier-his name was Lilikalu—looked + from his King to the critic of his King’s kingdom and standing army, and + there was a glow beneath his long eyelashes which suggested that + three-quarters of a century of civilisation had not quite drawn the old + savage spirit from the descendants of Lailai, the Hawaiian Eve. + </p> + <p> + During the journey up the Forty-Mile Track to Kilauea, the American + enveloped 1/60th of his Majesty’s standing army with his Michigan Avenue + and peanut-stand wit, and not always, it was observed, out of the hearing + of the King, who nevertheless preserved a marked unconsciousness. Majesty + was at a premium with two of us on that journey. Only once was the + Chicagonian’s wit not stupid as well as offensive. It chanced thus. The + afternoon in which we reached the volcano was suffocatingly hot, and the + King’s bodyguard had discarded all clothing—brief when complete—save + what would not count in any handicap. He was therefore at peace, while the + rest of us, Royalty included, were inwardly thinking that after this the + orthodox future of the wicked would have no terrors. At a moment when the + body-guard appeared to be most ostentatious in his freedom from clothing + the American said to his Majesty: “King, do you know what 1/60th of your + standing army is?” The reply was a low and frigid: “No.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a vulgar fraction.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + ..................... +</pre> + <p> + There were seven of us walking on the crater of the volcano: great banks + of sulphur on the right, dark glaciers of lava on the left, high walls of + scoria and volcanic crust enveloping us all about. We were four thousand + feet above the level of the sea. We were standing at the door of the House + of Pele, the Goddess of Fire. We knocked, but she would not open. The + flames were gone from her hearthstone, her smoke was gorging the throat of + the suffering earth. + </p> + <p> + “Say, she was awful sick while she was about it,” said the American as he + stumbled over the belched masses of lava. + </p> + <p> + That was one day. But two days after we stood at Pele threshold again. Now + red scoria and pumice and sulphur boiled and rolled where the hard lava + had frayed our boots. Within thirty-six hours Kilauea has sprung from its + flameless sleep into sulphurous life and red roaring grandeur. Though Pele + came but slowly, she came; and a lake of fire beat at the lofty sides of + the volcanic cup. The ruby spray flashed up to the sky, and geysers of + flame hurled long lances at the moon. + </p> + <p> + “King,” said the American, “why don’t you turn it into an axe-factory?” + </p> + <p> + At last the time came when we must leave this scene of marvel and terror, + and we retired reluctantly. There were two ways by which we might return + to the bridle path that led down the mountain. The American desired to + take the one by which we had not come; the rest of us, tired out, + preferred to go as we came—the shortest way. A compromise was made + by his Majesty sending 1/60th of the standing army with the American, who + gaily said he would join us, “horse, foot and cavalry,” in the + bridle-path. We reached the meeting-point first, but as we looked back we + saw with horror that two streams of fire were flowing down the mountain + side. We were to the left of them both, and safe; but between them, and + approaching us, were Van Blaricom and the native soldier. The two men saw + their danger, and pushed swiftly down the mountainside and towards us, but + more swiftly still these narrow snake-like streams came on. + </p> + <p> + Presently the streams veered towards each other and joined. The two men + were on an island with a shore of fire. There was one hope—the shore + was narrow yet. But in running the American fell, spraining his ankle + badly. We were speechless, but the King’s lips parted with a moan, as he + said: “Lilikalu can jump the stream, but the other—!” + </p> + <p> + They were now at the margin of that gleaming shore, the American wringing + his hands. It was clear to him that unless a miracle happened he would see + his beloved Chicago no more; for the stream behind them was rapidly + widening. + </p> + <p> + I think I see that 1/60th of his Majesty’s infantry as he looked down upon + the slight and cowering form of the American. His moment of vengeance had + come. A second passed, marked by the splashing roar of the waves in the + hill above us, and then the soldier-naked, all save the boots he + wore-seized the other in his arms, stepped back a few paces, and then ran + forward and leaped across the barrier of flame. Not quite across! One foot + and ankle sank into the molten masses, with a shiver of agony, he let the + American fall on the safe ground. An instant later and he lay at our feet, + helpless and maimed for many a day; and the standing army of the King was + deprived of 1/60th of its strength. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + HOW PANGO WANGO WAS ANNEXED + </h2> + <p> + Blithelygo and I were at Levuka, Fiji, languidly waiting for some “trader” + or mail-steamer to carry us away anywhere. Just when we were bored beyond + endurance and when cigars were running low, a Fijian came to us and said: + “That fellow, white fellow, all a-same a-you, long a-shore. Pleni sail. + Pleni Melican flag.” + </p> + <p> + We went to the beach, and there was Jude Van Blaricom, our American. We + had left him in New Zealand at the Pink Terraces, bidding him an eternal + farewell. We wished it so. But we had met him afterwards at Norfolk + Island, and again at Sydney, and we knew now that we should never cease to + meet him during our sojourn on this earth. + </p> + <p> + An hour later we were on board his yacht, Wilderness, being introduced to + MacGregor, the captain, to Mr. Dagmar Caramel, C.M.G., his guest, and to + some freshly made American cocktails. Then we were shown over the + Wilderness. She looked as if she had been in the hands of a Universal + Provider. Evidently the American had no intention of roughing it. His + toilet requisites were a dream. From the dazzling completeness of the snug + saloon we were taken aft to see two coops filled with fowls. “Say,” said + the American, “how’s that for fresh meat?” Though a little ashamed of it, + we then and there accepted the Chicagonian’s invitation to take a cruise + with him in the South Pacific. For days the cruise was pleasant enough, + and then things began to drag. Fortunately there came a new interest in + the daily routine. One day Van Blaricom was seen standing with the cook + before the fowl coops deeply interested; and soon after he had + triumphantly arranged what he called “The Coliseum.” This was an enclosure + of canvas chiefly, where we had cock-fights daily. The gladiators were + always ready for the arena. One was called U. S., after General U. S. + Grant, and the other Bob Lee, after General Robert Lee. + </p> + <p> + “Go it, U. S. Lift your skewers, you bobtail. Give it to him, you’ve got + him in Andersonville, U. S.” Thus, day by day, were the warriors + encouraged by Van Blaricom. + </p> + <p> + There is nothing very elegant or interesting in the record so far, but it + all has to do with the annexation of Pango Wango, and, as Blithelygo long + afterwards remarked, it shows how nations sometimes acquire territory. + Yes, this Coliseum of ours had as much to do with the annexation as had + the American’s toilet requisites his hair-oil and perfume bottles. In the + South Pacific, a thousand miles from land, Van Blaricom was redolent of + new-mown hay and heliotrope. + </p> + <p> + It was tropically hot. We were in the very middle of the hurricane season. + The air had no nerve. Even the gladiators were relaxing their ardour; and + soon the arena was cleared altogether, for we were in the midst of a + hurricane. It was a desperate time, but just when it seemed most desperate + the wheel of doom turned backward and we were saved. The hurricane found + us fretful with life by reason of the heat, it left us thankful for being + let to live at all; though the Wilderness appeared little better than a + drifting wreck. Our commissariat was gone, or almost gone, we hadn’t any + masts or sails to speak of, and the cook informed us that we had but a few + gallons of fresh water left; yet, strange to say, the gladiators remained + to us. When the peril was over it surprised me to remember that Van + Blaricom had been comparatively cool through it all; for I had still + before me a certain scene at the volcano of Kilauea. I was to be still + more surprised. + </p> + <p> + We were by no means out of danger. MacGregor did not know where we were; + the fresh water was vanishing rapidly, and our patch of sail was hardly + enough to warrant a breeze taking any interest in it. We had been saved + from immediate destruction, but it certainly seemed like exchanging Tophet + for a slow fire. When the heat was greatest and the spiritual gloom + thickest the American threw out the sand-bags, as it were, and hope + mounted again. + </p> + <p> + “Say, MacGregor,” he said, “run up the American flag. There’s luck in the + old bandana.” + </p> + <p> + This being done, he added: “Bring along the cigars; we’ll have out U. S. + and Bob Lee in the saloon.” + </p> + <p> + Our Coliseum was again open to the public at two shillings a head. That + had been the price from the beginning. The American was very business-like + in the matter, but this admission fee was our only contribution to the + expenses of that cruise. Sport could only allay, it could not banish our + sufferings. We became as haggard and woe-begone a lot as ever ate + provisions impregnated with salt; we turned wistfully from claret to a + teaspoonful of water, and had tongues like pieces of blotting-paper. One + morning we were sitting at breakfast when we heard a cock-crow, then + another and another. MacGregor sprang to his feet crying: “Land!” In a + moment we were on deck. There was no land to be seen, but MacGregor + maintained that a cock was a better look-out than a human being any time, + and in this case he was right. In a few hours we did sight land. + </p> + <p> + Slowly we came nearer to the island. MacGregor was not at all sure where + it was, but guessed it might be one of the Solomon Islands. When within a + few miles of it Blithelygo unfeelingly remarked that its population might + be cannibalistic. MacGregor said it was very likely; but we’d have to be + fattened first, and that would give us time to turn round. The American + said that the Stars and Stripes and the Coliseum had brought us luck so + far, and he’d take the risk if we would. + </p> + <p> + The shore was crowded with natives, and as we entered the bay we saw + hundreds take to the water in what seemed fearfully like war-canoes. We + were all armed with revolvers, and we had half a dozen rifles handy. As + the islanders approached we could see that they also were armed; and a + brawny race they looked, and particularly bloodthirsty. In the largest + canoe stood a splendid-looking fellow, evidently a chief. On the shore + near a large palm-thatched house a great group was gathered, and the + American, levelling his glass, said: “Say, it’s a she-queen or something + over there.” + </p> + <p> + At that moment the canoes drew alongside, and while MacGregor adjured us + to show no fear, he beckoned the chief to come aboard. An instant, and a + score of savages, armed with spears and nulla-nullas were on deck. + MacGregor made signs that we were hungry, Blithelygo that we were thirsty, + and the American, smoking all the while, offered the chief a cigar. The + cigar was refused, but the headman ordered a couple of natives ashore, and + in five minutes we had wild bananas and fish to eat, and water to drink. + But that five minutes of waiting were filled with awkward incidents. + Blithelygo, meaning to be hospitable, had brought up a tumbler of claret + for the headman. With violent language, MacGregor stopped its + presentation; upon which the poison of suspicion evidently entered the + mind of the savage, and he grasped his spear threateningly. Van Blaricom, + who wore a long gold watch-chain, now took it off and offered it to the + chief, motioning him to put it round his neck. The hand was loosened on + the spear, and the Chicagonian stepped forward and put the chain over the + head of the native. As he did so the chief suddenly thrust his nose + forward and sniffed violently at the American. + </p> + <p> + What little things decide the fate of nations and men! This was a race + whose salutation was not nose-rubbing, but smelling, and the American had + not in our worst straits failed to keep his hair sleek with hair-oil, + verbena scented, and to perfume himself daily with new-mown hay or + heliotrope. Thus was he of goodly savour to the chief, and the eyes of the + savage grew bright. At that moment the food and drink came. During the + repast the chief chuckled in his own strange way, and, when we slackened + in our eating, he still motioned to us to go on. + </p> + <p> + Van Blaricom, who had been smiling, suddenly looked grave. “By the great + horn-spoons,” he said, “they have begun already! They’re fattening us!” + </p> + <p> + MacGregor nodded affirmatively, and then Van Blaricom’s eyes wandered + wildly from the chief to that group on the shore where he thought he had + seen the “she-queen.” At that moment the headman came forward again, again + sniffed at him, and again chuckled, and all the natives as they looked on + us chuckled also. It was most unpleasant. Suddenly I saw the American + start. He got up, turned to us, and said: “I’ve got an idea. MacGregor, + get U. S. and Bob Lee.” Then he quietly disappeared, the eyes of the + savages suspiciously following him. In a moment he came back, bearing in + his arms a mirror, a bottle of hair-oil, a couple of bottles of perfume, a + comb and brush, some variegated bath towels, and an American flag. First + he let the chief sniff at the bottles, and then, pointing to the group on + the shore, motioned to be taken over. In a few moments he and MacGregor + were being conveyed towards the shore in the gathering dusk. + </p> + <p> + Four hours passed. It was midnight. There was noise of drums and shouting + on the shore, which did not relieve our suspense. Suddenly there was a + commotion in the canoes that still remained near the Wilderness. The + headman appeared before us, and beckoned to Blithelygo and myself to come. + The beckoning was friendly, and we hoped that affairs had taken a more + promising turn. + </p> + <p> + In a space surrounded with palms and ti-trees a great fire was burning. + There was a monotonous roll of the savage tom-tom and a noise of shouting + and laughter. Yes, we were safe, and the American had done it. The + Coliseum was open, MacGregor was ring-master, and U. S. and Bob Lee were + at work. This show, with other influences, had conquered Pango Wango. The + American flag was hoisted on a staff, and on a mighty stump there sat Van + Blaricom, almost innocent of garments, I grieve to say, with one whom we + came to know as Totimalu, Queen of Pango Wango, a half circle of savages + behind them. Van Blaricom and MacGregor had been naturalised by having + their shoulders lanced with a spear-point, and then rubbed against the + lanced shoulders of the chiefs. The taking of Pango Wango had not been, I + fear, a moral victory. Van Blaricom was smoking a cigar, and was writing + on a piece of paper, using the back of a Pango Wango man as a desk. The + Queen’s garments were chiefly variegated bath-towels, and she was rubbing + her beaming countenance and ample bosom with hair-oil and essence of + new-mown hay. + </p> + <p> + Van Blaricom nodded to us nonchalantly, saying: “It’s all right—she’s + Totimalu, the Queen. Sign here, Queen,” and he motioned for the obese + beauty to hold the pencil. She did so, and then he stood up, and, while + the cock-fight still went on, he read, with a fine Chicago fluency, what + proved to be a proclamation. As will be seen, it was full of ellipses and + was fragmentary in its character, though completely effective in fact: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Know all men by these Presents, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera. + Seeing that all men are born free and equal (vide United States + Constitution), et cetera. We, Jude Van Blaricom, of the city of + Chicago, with and by the consent of Queen Totimalu, do, in the name + of George Washington, Abe Lincoln, Grover Cleveland, and the State + of Illinois, and by the Grace of Heaven, et cetera, et cetera, et + cetera, hereby annex the Kingdom of Pango Wango to be of the + territory of the American Union, to have and to hold from this day + forth (vide Constitution of the United States), et cetera. + + Signed, JUDE VAN BLARICOM, TOTIMALU X (her mark). +</pre> + <p> + “Beat the drums, you niggers!” he cried, and patted Totimalu’s shoulder. + “Come and join the royal party, gentlemen, and pay your respects. Shake! + That’s right.” + </p> + <p> + Thus was Pango Wango annexed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + AN AMIABLE REVENGE + </h2> + <p> + Whenever any one says to me that civilisation is a failure, I refer him to + certain records of Tonga, and tell him the story of an amiable revenge. He + is invariably convinced that savages can learn easily the forms of + convention and the arts of government—and other things. The Tongans + once had a rough and coarsely effective means for preserving order and + morality, but the whole scheme was too absurdly simple. Now, with a + Constitution and a Sacred Majesty, and two Houses of Parliament, and a + native Magistracy, they show that they are capable of becoming European in + its most pregnant meaning. As the machinery has increased the grist for + the mill has grown. There was a time when a breach of the Seventh + Commandment was punished in Tonga with death, and it was therefore rarely + committed. It is no rarity now—so does law and civilisation provide + opportunities for proving their existence. + </p> + <p> + On landing at Nukalofa, the capital of Tonga, some years ago, I naturally + directed my steps towards the residence of the British consul. The route + lay along an arc of emerald and opal shore, the swaying cocoa-palms + overhead, and native huts and missionary conventicles hidden away in + coverts of ti-trees, hibiscus bushes, and limes; the sensuous, + perfume-ladened air pervading all. I had seen the British flag from the + coral-bulwarked harbour, but could not find it now. Leaving the indolent + village behind, I passed the Palace, where I beheld the sacred majesty of + Tonga on the veranda sleepily flapping the flies from his aged calves, and + I could not find that flag. Had I passed it? Was it yet to come? I leaned + against a bread-fruit tree and thought upon it. The shore was deserted. + Nobody had taken any notice of me; even the German steamer Lubeck had not + brought a handful of the population to the Quay. + </p> + <p> + I was about to make up my mind to go back to the Lubeck and sulk, when a + native issued from the grove at my left and blandly gazed upon me as he + passed. He wore a flesh-coloured vala about the loins, a red pandanus + flower in his ear, and a lia-lia of hibiscus blossoms about his neck. That + was all. Evidently he was not interested in me, for he walked on. I choked + back my feelings of hurt pride, and asked him in an off-hand kind of way, + and in a sort of pigeon English, if he could tell me where the British + consul lived. The stalwart subject of King George Tabou looked at me + gravely for an instant, then turned and motioned down the road. I walked + on beside him, improperly offended by his dignified airs, his coolness of + body and manner, and what I considered the insolent plumpness and form of + his chest and limbs. + </p> + <p> + He was a harmony in brown and red. Even his hair was brown. I had to admit + to myself that in point of comeliness I could not stand the same scrutiny + in the same amount of costume. Perhaps that made me a little imperious, a + little superior in manner. Reducing my English to his comprehension as I + measured it—he bowed when I asked him if he understood—I + explained to him many things necessary for the good of his country. + Remembering where I was, I expressed myself in terms that were gentle + though austere regarding the King, and reproved the supineness and + stupidity of the Crown Prince. Lamenting the departed puissance of the + sons of Tongatabu, I warmed to my subject, telling this savage who looked + at me with so neutral a countenance how much I deplored the decadence of + his race. I bade him think of the time when the Tongans, in token of + magnanimous amity, rubbed noses with the white man, and of where those + noses were now—between the fingers of the Caucasian. He appeared + becomingly attentive, and did me the honour before I began my peroration + to change the pandanus flower from the ear next to me to the other. + </p> + <p> + I had just rounded off my last sentence when he pointed to a house, + half-native, half-European, in front of which was a staff bearing the + British flag. With the generosity which marks the Englishman away from + home I felt in my pockets and found a sixpence. I handed it to my + companion; and with a “Talofa” the only Tongan I knew—I passed into + the garden of the consulate. The consul himself came to the door when I + knocked on the lintel. After glancing at my card he shook me by the hand, + and then paused. His eyes were intently directed along the road by which I + had come. I looked back, and there stood the stalwart Tongan where I had + left him, gazing at the sixpence I had placed in his hand. There was a + kind of stupefaction in his attitude. Presently the consul said somewhat + tartly: “Ah, you’ve been to the Palace—the Crown Prince has brought + you over!” + </p> + <p> + It was not without a thrill of nervousness that I saw my royal guide flip + the sixpence into his mouth—he had no pocket—and walk back + towards the royal abode. + </p> + <p> + I told the consul just how it was. In turn he told his daughter, the + daughter told the native servants, and in three minutes the place was + echoing with languid but appreciative laughter. Natives came to the door + to look at me, and after wide-eyed smiling at me for a minute gave place + to others. Though I too smiled, my thoughts were gloomy; for now it seemed + impossible to go to the Palace and present myself to King George and the + Heir-Apparent. But the consul, and, still more, the consul’s daughter, + insisted; pooh-poohing my hesitation. At this distance from the scene and + after years of meditation I am convinced that their efforts to induce me + to go were merely an unnatural craving for sensation. + </p> + <p> + I went—we three went. Even a bare-legged King has in his own house + an advantage over the European stranger. I was heated, partly from + self-repression, partly from Scotch tweed. King George was quite, quite + cool, and unencumbered, save for a trifling calico jacket, a pink + lava-lava, and the august fly-flapper. But what heated me most, I think, + was the presence of the Crown Prince, who, on my presentation, looked at + me as though he had never seen me before. He was courteous, however, + directing a tappa cloth to be spread for me. The things I intended to say + to King George for the good of himself and his kingdom, which I had + thought out on the steamer Lubeck and rehearsed to my guide a few hours + before, would not be tempted forth. There was silence; for the consul did + not seem “to be on in the scene,” and presently the King of Holy Tonga + nodded and fell asleep. Then the Crown Prince came forward, and beckoned + me to go with him. He led me to a room which was composed of mats and + bamboo pillars chiefly. At first I thought there were about ten pillars to + support the roof, but my impression before I left was that there were + about ten thousand. For which multiplication there were good reasons. + </p> + <p> + Again a beautiful tappa cloth was spread for me, and then ten maidens + entered, and, sitting in a semi-circle, began to chew a root called kava, + which, when sufficiently masticated, they returned into a calabash, water + being poured on the result. Meanwhile, the Prince, dreamily and ever so + gently, was rolling some kind of weed between his fingers. About the time + the maidens had finished, the Crown Prince’s cigarette was ready. A small + calabash of the Result was handed to me, and the cigarette accompanied it. + The Crown Prince sat directly opposite me, lit his own cigarette, and + handed the matches. I distinctly remember the first half-dozen puffs of + that cigarette, the first taste of kava it had the flavour of soft soap + and Dover’s powder. I have smoked French-Canadian tobacco, I have puffed + Mexican hair-lifters, but Heaven had preserved me till that hour from the + cigarettes of a Crown Prince of Tonga. As I said, the pillars multiplied; + the mats seemed rising from the floor; the maidens grew into a leering + army of Amazons; but through it all the face of the Crown Prince never + ceased to smile upon me gently. + </p> + <p> + There were some incidents of that festival which I may have forgotten, for + the consul said afterwards that I was with his Royal Highness about an + hour and a half. The last thing I remember about the visit was the voice + of the successor to the throne of Holy Tonga asking me blandly in perfect + English: “Will you permit me to show you the way to the consul’s house?” + </p> + <p> + To my own credit I respectfully declined. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + THE BLIND BEGGAR AND THE LITTLE RED PEG + </h2> + <p> + As Sherry and I left the theatre in Mexico City one night, we met a blind + beggar tapping his way home. Sherry stopped him. “Good evening,” he said + over the blind man’s shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Good evening, senor,” was the reply. “You are late.” + </p> + <p> + “Si, senor,” and the blind man pushed a hand down in his coat pocket. + </p> + <p> + “He’s got his fist on the rhino,” said Sherry to me in English. “He’s not + quite sure whether we’re footpads or not—poor devil.” + </p> + <p> + “How much has he got?” asked I. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps four or five dollars. Good business, eh? Got it in big money + mostly, too—had it changed at some cafe.” + </p> + <p> + The blind man was nervous, seemed not to understand us. He made as if to + move on. Sherry and I, to reassure him, put a few reals into his hand—not + without an object, for I asked Sherry to make him talk on. A policeman + sauntered near with his large lantern—a superior sort of Dogberry, + but very young, as are most of the policemen in Mexico, save the Rurales, + that splendid company of highwaymen whom Diaz bought over from being + bandits to be the guardians of the peace. This one eyed us meaningly, but + Sherry gave him a reassuring nod, and our talk went on, while the blind + man was fingering the money we had just given him. Presently Sherry said + to him: “I’m Bingham Sherry,” adding some other particulars—“and + you’re all right. I’ve a friend here who wants to talk with you. Come + along; we’ll take you home—confound the garlic, what a breath he’s + got!” + </p> + <p> + For a moment the blind man seemed to hesitate, then he raised his head + quickly, as if looking into Sherry’s face; a light came over it, and he + said, repeating Sherry’s name: “Si, senor; si, si, senor. I know you now. + You sit in the right-hand corner of the little back-room at the Cafe + Manrique, where you come to drink chocolate. Is it not?” + </p> + <p> + “That’s where I sit,” said Sherry. “And now, be gad, I believe I remember + you. Are you Becodar?” + </p> + <p> + “Si, senor.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m damned!” Then, turning tome: “Lots of these fellows look so + much alike that I didn’t recognise this one. He’s a character. Had a queer + history. I’ll get him to tell it.” + </p> + <p> + We walked on, one on either side, Sherry using his hat to wave away the + smell of garlic. Presently he said “Where’ve you been to-night, Becodar?” + </p> + <p> + “I have paid my respects to the Maison Dore, to the Cafe de la Concordia, + to the Cafe Iturbide, senor.” + </p> + <p> + “And how did paying your respects pay you, Becodar?” + </p> + <p> + “The noble courtesy of these cafes, and the great consideration of the + hidalgos there assembled rendered to me five pesos and a trifle, senor.” + </p> + <p> + “The poor ye have always with you. He that giveth to the poor lendeth to + the Lord. Becodar has large transactions with Providence, mio amigo,” said + Sherry. + </p> + <p> + The beggar turned his sightless eyes to us, as though he would understand + these English words. Sherry, seeing, said: “We were saying, Becodar, that + the blessed saints know how to take care of a blind man, lest, having no + boot, he stub his toe against a stone.” + </p> + <p> + Off came Becodar’s hat. He tapped the wall. “Where am I, senor?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + Sherry told him. “Ah!” he said, “the church of Saint Joseph is near.” Then + he crossed himself and seemed to hurry his steps. Presently he stood + still. We were beside the church. Against the door, in a niche, was a + figure of the Virgin in stone. He got to his knees and prayed fast. And + yet as he prayed I saw his hand go to his pocket, and it fumbled and felt + the money there. + </p> + <p> + “Begad, he’s counting it all,” said Sherry, “and now he’s giving thanks + for the exact amount, adding his distinguished consideration that the sum + is by three reals greater than any day since Lent began. He promises to + bring some flowers to-morrow for the shrine, and he also swears to go a + pilgrimage to a church of Mary at Guadaloupe, and to be a kind compadre—By + Jove, there you are! He’s a compadre—a blind compadre!” + </p> + <p> + A little while afterwards we were in Becodar’s house—a low adobe but + of two rooms with a red light burning over the door, to guard against the + plague. It had a table hanging like a lid from the wall, a stone for + making tortillas, a mortar for grinding red peppers, a crucifix on the + wall, a short sword, a huge pistol, a pair of rusty stirrups, and several + chairs. The chairs seemed to be systematically placed, and it was quite + wonderful to see how the beggar twisted in and out among them without + stumbling. I could not understand this, unless it was that he wished to + practise moving about deftly, that he might be at least disadvantage in + the cafes and public resorts. He never once stirred them, and I was + presently surprised to see that they were all fastened to the floor. + Sherry seemed as astonished as I. From this strangeness I came to another. + Looking up at the walls I saw set in the timber a number of holes cleanly + bored. And in one of the last of these holes was a peg. Again my eyes + shifted. From a nail in one corner of the room hung a red and white + zarape, a bridle, one of those graceless bits which would wrench the mouth + of the wildest horse to agony, and a sombrero. Something in these things + fascinated me. I got up and examined them, while the blind man was in the + other room. Turning them over I saw that the zarape was pierced with + holes-bullet holes. I saw also that it was stained a deeper red than its + own. I turned away, questioning Sherry. He came and looked, but said + nothing, lifting a hand in deprecation. As we stood so, Becodar appeared + again in the doorway, bearing an olla of pulque and some tortilla + sandwiches, made of salad and shreds of meat, flavoured with garlic. He + paused, his face turned towards us, with an understanding look. His + instinct was remarkable. He did not speak, but came and placed the things + he carried near the chairs where we had sat. + </p> + <p> + Presently I saw some writing on the adobe wall. The look of it showed the + hand of youth, its bold carelessness, a boy. Some of it I set down soon + afterwards, and it ran in this fashion: “The most good old compadre! But + I’d like another real.” Again: “One media for a banderilla, two reals for + the bull-fight, five centavos for the sweet oranges, and nothing for + dulces. I threw a cigar at the toreador. It was no good, but the toreador + was a king. Good-night, compadre the blind, who begs.” Again: “If I knew + where it was I’d take a real. Carambo! No, I wouldn’t. I’ll ask him. I’ll + give him the new sword-stick that my cousin the Rurales gave me. He + doesn’t need it now he’s not a bandit. I’m stuffed, and my head swims. + It’s the pulque. Sabe Dios!” Again: “Compadre, the most miraculous, that + goes tapping your stick along the wall, and jingles the silver in your + pocket, whither do you wander? Have you forgotten that I am going to the + cock-fight, and want a real? What is a cock-fight without a real? Compadre + the brave, who stumbles along and never falls, I am sitting on your + doorstep, and I am writing on your wall—if I had as much money as + you I’d go to every bull-fight. I’d keep a fighting-cock myself.” And once + again: “If I was blind I’d have money out of the cafes, but I couldn’t see + my bulls toss the horses. I’ll be a bandit, and when I’m old, and if Diaz + doesn’t put me against the wall and prod holes in me like Gonzales, + they’ll take me in the Rurales, same as Gerado.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is it writes on the wall, Becodar?” asked Sherry of our host, as, on + his knees, he poured out pulque for us. + </p> + <p> + The old man turned musingly, and made motions of writing, a pleased look + in his face. “Ah, senor, he who so writes is Bernal—I am his + compadre. He has his mother now, but no father, no father.” He smiled. + “You have never seen so bold and enterprising, never so handsome a boy. He + can throw the lasso and use the lariat, and ride—sabe Dios, he can + ride! His cousin Gerado the Rurales taught him. I do well by him as I may, + who have other things to think on. But I do well by him.” + </p> + <p> + “What became of his father, Becodar? Dead?” asked Sherry. + </p> + <p> + The beggar crossed himself. “Altogether, senor. And such a funeral had he, + with the car all draped, and even the mutes with the gold braid on their + black. I will tell you how it was. We were great friends, Bernal’s father + and me, and when the boy was born, I said, I will be compadre to him. + (‘Godfather, or co-father,’ interposed Sherry to me.) I had my sight then, + senors, out of the exalted mercy of the Saints. Ah, those were great + times, when I had my eyes, and no grey hairs, and could wear my sword, and + ride my horses. There was work to do then, with sword and horses. It was + revolution here and rebellion there, and bandits everywhere. Ah, well, it + is no matter; I was speaking of the boy and his father and myself, the + compadre. We were all great friends. But you know the way of men. One day + he and I—Santiago, Bernal’s father—had been drinking mescal. + We quarrelled—I know not why. It is not well nor right for a padre + and a compadre to fight—there is trouble in Heaven over that. But + there is a way; and we did it as others have done. We took off our + sombreros, and put our compadreship on the ground under them. That was all + right—it was hid there under the hat. Then we stood up and fought—such + a fight—for half an hour. Then he cut me in the thigh—a great + gash—and I caught him in the neck the same. We both came to the + ground then, the fight was over, and we were, of course, good friends + again. I dragged myself over to him as he lay there, and lifted his head + and sopped the blood at his neck with my scarf. I did not think that he + was hurt so bad. But he said: ‘I am gone, my Becodar. I haven’t got five + minutes in me. Put on your compadreship quick.’ I snatched up the sombrero + and put it on, and his I tucked under his head. So that we were compadres + again. Ah, senor, senor! Soon he drew my cheek down to his and said: + ‘Adios, compadre: Bernal is thine now. While your eyes see, and your foot + travels, let him not want a friend. Adios!’ That was the end of him. They + had me in Balim for a year, and then I came out to the boy; and since then + for twelve years he has not suffered.” + </p> + <p> + At this point he offered us the pulque and the sandwiches, and I took + both, eating and enjoying as well as I could. Sherry groaned, but took the + pulque, refusing the sandwiches almost violently. + </p> + <p> + “How did you lose your sight, Becodar?” asked Sherry presently. + </p> + <p> + Becodar sat perfectly still for a moment, and then said in a low voice: “I + will tell you. I will make the story short. Gentle God, what a thing it + was! I was for Gonzales then—a loyal gentleman, he called me—I, + a gentleman! But that was his way. I was more of a spy for him. Well, I + found out that a revolution was to happen, so I gave the word to Gonzales, + and with the soldiers came to Puebla. The leaders were captured in a + house, brought out, and without trial were set against a wall. I can + remember it so well—so well! The light was streaming from an open + door upon the wall. They were brought out, taken across the road and stood + against a wall. I was standing a distance away, for at the moment I was + sorry, though, to be sure, senor, it was for the cause of the country + then, I thought. As I stood there looking, the light that streamed from + the doorway fell straight upon a man standing against that wall. It was my + brother—Alphonso, my brother. I shrieked and ran forward, but the + rifles spat out at the moment, and the five men fell. Alphonso—ah, I + thank the Virgin every day! he did not know. His zarape hangs there on the + wall, his sombrero, his sword, and his stirrups.” + </p> + <p> + Sherry shifted nervously in his seat. “There’s stuff for you, amigo,” he + said to me. “Makes you chilly, doesn’t it? Shot his own brother—amounts + to same thing, doesn’t it? All right, Becodar, we’re both sorry, and will + pray for his departed spirit; go ahead, Becodar.” + </p> + <p> + The beggar kept pulling at a piece of black ribbon which was tied to the + arm of the chair in which he now sat. “Senors, after that I became a + revolutionist—that was the only way to make it up to my brother, + except by masses—I gave candles for every day in the year. One day + they were all in my house here, sitting just where you sit in those + chairs. Our leader was Castodilian, the bandit with the long yellow hair. + We had a keg of powder which we were going to distribute. All at once + Gonzales’s soldiers burst in. There was a fight, we were overpowered, and + Castodilian dropped his cigar—he had kept it in his mouth all the + time—in the powder-keg. It killed most of us. I lost my eyes. + Gonzales forgave me, if I would promise to be a revolutionist no more. + What was there to do? I took the solemn oath at the grave of my mother; + and so—and so, senors.” + </p> + <p> + Sherry had listened with a quizzical intentness, now and again cocking his + head at some dramatic bit, and when Becodar paused he suddenly leaned over + and thrust a dollar into the ever-waiting hand. Becodar gave a great sign + of pleasure, and fumbled again with the money in his pocket. Then, after a + moment, it shifted to the bit of ribbon that hung from the chair: “See, + senors,” he said. “I tied this ribbon to the chair all those years ago.” + </p> + <p> + My eyes were on the peg and the holes in the wall. Sherry questioned him. + “Why do you spike the wall with the little red peg, Becodar?” + </p> + <p> + “The Little Red Peg, senor? Ah! It is not wonderful you notice that. There + are eight bullet-holes in that zarape”—he pointed to the wall—“there + are eight holes in the wall for the Little Red Peg. Well, of the eight men + who fired on my brother, two are left, as you may see. The others are all + gone, this way or that.” Sherry shrugged a shoulder. “There are two left, + eh, Becodar? How will they die, and when?” Becodar was motionless as a + stone for a moment. Then he said softly: “I do not know quite how or when. + But one drinks much mescal, and the other has a taste for quarrel. He will + get in trouble with the Rurales, and then good-bye to him! Four others on + furlough got in trouble with the Rurales, and that was the end. They were + taken at different times for some fault—by Gerado’s company—Gerado, + my cousin. Camping at night, they tried to escape. There is the Law of + Fire, senors, as you know. If a man thinks his guard sleeps, and makes a + run for it, they do not chase—they fire; and if he escapes unhurt, + good; he is not troubled. But the Rurales are fine shots!” + </p> + <p> + “You mean,” said Sherry, “that the Rurales—your Gerado, for one—pretended + to sleep—to be careless. The fellows made a rush for it and were + dropped? Eh, Becodar, of the Little Red Peg?” + </p> + <p> + Becodar shrugged a shoulder gently. “Ah, senor, who can tell? My Gerado is + a sure shot.” + </p> + <p> + “Egad,” said Sherry, “who’d have thought it? It looks like a sweet little + vendetta, doesn’t it? A blind beggar, too, with his Gerado to help the + thing along. + </p> + <p> + “‘With his Gerado!’ Sounds like a Gatling, or a bomb, or a diabolical + machine, doesn’t it? And yet they talk of this country being Americanised! + You can’t Americanise a country with a real history. Well, Becodar, that’s + four. What of the other two that left for Kingdom Come?” + </p> + <p> + Becodar smiled pensively. He seemed to be enduring a kind of joy, or else + making light of a kind of sorrow. “Ah, those two! They were camping in a + valley; they were escorting a small party of people who had come to look + at ruins—Diaz was President then. Well, a party of Aztecs on the + other side of the river began firing across, not as if doing or meaning + any harm. By-and-bye the shot came rattling through the tent of the two. + One got up, and yelled across to them to stop, but a chance bullet brought + him down, and then by some great mistake a lot of bullets came through the + tent, and the other soldier was killed. It was all a mistake, of course.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” cynically said Sherry. “The Aztecs got rattled, and then the + bullets rattled. And what was done to the Aztecs?” + </p> + <p> + “Senor, what could be done? They meant no harm, as you can see.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course, of course; but you put the Little Red Peg down two holes just + the same, eh, my Becodar—with your Gerado. I smell a great man in + your Gerado, Becodar. Your bandit turned soldier is a notable gentleman—gentlemen + all his tribe.... You see,” Sherry added to me, “the country was infested + with bandits—some big names in this land had bandit for their titles + one time or another. Well, along came Diaz, a great man. He said to the + bandits: ‘How much do you make a year at your trade?’ They told him. + </p> + <p> + “‘Then,’ said he, ‘I’ll give you as much a month and clothe you. You’ll + furnish your own horses and keep them, and hold the country in order. Put + down the banditti, be my boundary-riders, my gentlemen guards, and we will + all love you and cherish you.’ And ‘it was so,’ as Scripture says. And + this Gerado can serve our good compadre here, and the Little Red Peg in + the wall keeps tally.” + </p> + <p> + “What shall you do with Bernal the boy when he grows up?” added Sherry + presently. + </p> + <p> + “There is the question for my mind, senor,” he answered. “He would be a + toreador—already has he served the matador in the ring, though I did + not know it, foolish boy! But I would have him in the Rurales.” Here he + fetched out and handed us a bottle of mescal. Sherry lifted his glass. + </p> + <p> + “To the day when the Little Red Peg goes no farther!” he said. We drank. + </p> + <p> + “To the blind compadre and the boy!” I added, and we drank again. + </p> + <p> + A moment afterwards in the silent street I looked back. The door was shut, + and the wee scarlet light was burning over it. I fell to thinking of the + Little Red Peg in the wall. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A FRIEND OF THE COMMUNE + </h2> + <p> + “See, madame—there, on the Hill of Pains, the long finger of the + Semaphore! One more prisoner has escaped—one more.” + </p> + <p> + “One more, Marie. It is the life here that on the Hill, this here below; + and yet the sun is bright, the cockatoos are laughing in the palms, and + you hear my linnet singing.” + </p> + <p> + “It turns so slowly. Now it points across the Winter Valley. Ah!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, across the Winter Valley, where the deep woods are, and beyond to + the Pascal River.” + </p> + <p> + “Towards my home. How dim the light is now! I can only see It—like a + long dark finger yonder.” + </p> + <p> + “No, my dear, there is bright sunshine still; there is no cloud at all: + but It is like a finger; it is quivering now, as though it were not sure.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank God, if it be not sure! But the hill is cloudy, as I said.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Marie. How droll you are! The hill is not cloudy; even at this + distance one can see something glisten beside the grove of pines.” + </p> + <p> + “I know. It is the White Rock, where King Ovi died.” + </p> + <p> + “Marie, turn your face to me. Your eyes are full of tears. Your heart is + tender. Your tears are for the prisoner who has escaped—the hunted + in the chase.” + </p> + <p> + She shuddered a little and added, “Wherever he is, that long dark finger + on the Hill of Pains will find him out—the remorseless Semaphore.” + </p> + <p> + “No, madame, I am selfish; I weep for myself. Tell me truly, as—as + if I were your own child—was there no cloud, no sudden darkness, out + there, as we looked towards the Hill of Pains.” + </p> + <p> + “None, dear.” + </p> + <p> + “Then—then—madame, I suppose it was my tears that blinded me + for the moment.” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt it was your tears.” + </p> + <p> + But each said in her heart that it was not tears; each said: “Let not this + thing come, O God!” Presently, with a caress, the elder woman left the + room; but the girl remained to watch that gloomy thing upon the Hill of + Pains. + </p> + <p> + As she stood there, with her fingers clasped upon a letter she had drawn + from her pocket, a voice from among the palms outside floated towards her. + </p> + <p> + “He escaped last night; the Semaphore shows that they have got upon his + track. I suppose they’ll try to converge upon him before he gets to Pascal + River. Once there he might have a chance of escape; but he’ll need a lot + of luck, poor devil!” + </p> + <p> + Marie’s fingers tightened on the letter. + </p> + <p> + Then another voice replied, and it brought a flush to the cheek of the + girl, a hint of trouble to her eyes. It said: “Is Miss Wyndham here + still?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, still here. My wife will be distressed when she leaves us.” + </p> + <p> + “She will not care to go, I should think. The Hotel du Gouverneur spoils + us for all other places in New Caledonia.” + </p> + <p> + “You are too kind, monsieur; I fear that those who think as you are not + many. After all, I am little more here than a gaoler—merely a + gaoler, M. Tryon.” + </p> + <p> + “Yet, the Commandant of a military station and the Governor of a Colony.” + </p> + <p> + “The station is a penitentiary; the colony for liberes, ticket-of-leave + men, and outcast Paris; with a sprinkling of gentlemen and officers dying + of boredom. No, my friend, we French are not colonists. We emigrate, we do + not colonise. This is no colony. We do no good here.” + </p> + <p> + “You forget the nickel mines.” + </p> + <p> + “Quarries for the convicts and for political prisoners of the lowest + class.” + </p> + <p> + “The plantations?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, there I crave your pardon. You are a planter, but you are English. M. + Wyndham is a planter and an owner of mines, but he is English. The man who + has done best financially in New Caledonia is an Englishman. You, and a + few others like you, French and English, are the only colony I have. I do + not rule you; you help me to rule.” + </p> + <p> + “We?” + </p> + <p> + “By being on the side of justice and public morality; by dining with me, + though all too seldom; by giving me a quiet hour now and then beneath your + vines and fig-trees; and so making this uniform less burdensome to carry. + No, no, monsieur, I know you are about to say something very gracious: but + no, you shall pay your compliments to the ladies.” + </p> + <p> + As they journeyed to the morning-room Hugh Tryon said: “Does M. Laflamme + still come to paint Miss Wyndham?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; but it ends to-morrow, and then no more of that. Prisoners are + prisoners, and though Laflamme is agreeable that makes it the more + difficult.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should he be treated so well, as a first-class prisoner, and others + of the Commune be so degraded here—as Mayer, for instance?” + </p> + <p> + “It is but a question of degree. He was an artist and something of a + dramatist; he was not at the Place Vendome at a certain critical moment; + he was not at Montmartre at a particular terrible time; he was not a high + officer like Mayer; he was young, with the face of a patriot. Well, they + sent Mayer to the galleys at Toulon first; then, among the worst of the + prisoners here—he was too bold, too full of speech; he had not + Laflamme’s gift of silence, of pathos. Mayer works coarsely, severely + here; Laflamme grows his vegetables, idles about Ducos, swings in his + hammock, and appears at inspections the picture of docility. One day he + sent to me the picture of my wife framed in gold—here it is. Is it + not charming? The size of a franc-piece and so perfect! You know the soft + hearts of women.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean that Madame Solde—” + </p> + <p> + “She persuaded me to let him come here to paint my portrait. He has done + so, and now he paints Marie Wyndham. But—” + </p> + <p> + “But?—Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “But these things have their dangers.” + </p> + <p> + “Have their dangers,” Hugh Tryon musingly repeated, and then added under + his breath almost, “Escape or—” + </p> + <p> + “Or something else,” the Governor rather sharply interrupted; and then, as + they were entering the room, gaily continued: “Ah, here we come, + mademoiselle, to pay—” + </p> + <p> + “To pay your surplus of compliments, monsieur le Gouverneur. I could not + help but hear something of what you said,” responded Marie, and gave her + hand to Tryon. + </p> + <p> + “I leave you to mademoiselle’s tender mercies, monsieur,” said the + Governor. “Au revoir!” + </p> + <p> + When he had gone, Hugh said: “You are gay today.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, no, I am sad.” + </p> + <p> + “Wherefore sad? Is nickel proving a drug? Or sugar a failure? Don’t tell + me that your father says sugar is falling.” He glanced at the letter, + which she unconsciously held in her hand. + </p> + <p> + She saw his look, smoothed the letter a little nervously between her + palms, and put it into her pocket, saying: “No, my father has not said + that sugar is falling—but come here, will you?” and she motioned + towards the open window. When there, she said slowly, “That is what makes + me sad and sorry,” and she pointed to the Semaphore upon the Hill of + Pains. + </p> + <p> + “You are too tender-hearted,” he remarked. “A convict has escaped; he will + be caught perhaps—perhaps not; and things will go on as before.” + </p> + <p> + “Will go on as before. That is, the ‘martinet’ worse than the ‘knout de + Russe’; the ‘poucettes’, the ‘crapaudine’ on neck and ankles and wrists; + all, all as bad as the ‘Pater Noster’ of the Inquisition, as Mayer said + the other day in the face of Charpentier, the Commandant of the + penitentiary. How pleasant also to think of the Boulevard de Guillotine! I + tell you it is brutal, horrible. Think of what prisoners have to suffer + here, whose only crime is that they were of the Commune; that they were + just a little madder than other Frenchmen.” + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me if I say that as brutal things were done by the English in + Tasmania.” + </p> + <p> + “Think of two hundred and sixty strokes of the ‘cat.’” + </p> + <p> + “You concern yourself too much about these things, I fear.” + </p> + <p> + “I only think that death would be easier than the life of half of the + convicts here.” + </p> + <p> + “They themselves would prefer it, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, who is the convict that has escaped?” she feverishly asked. “Is + it a political prisoner?” + </p> + <p> + “You would not know him. He was one of the Commune who escaped shooting in + the Place de la Concorde. Carbourd, I think, was his name.” + </p> + <p> + “Carbourd, Carbourd,” she repeated, and turned her head away towards the + Semaphore. + </p> + <p> + Her earnestness aroused in Tryon a sudden flame of sympathy which had its + origin, as he well knew, in three years of growing love. This love leaped + up now determinedly—perhaps unwisely; but what should a blunt soul + like Hugh Tryon know regarding the best or worst time to seek a woman’s + heart? He came close to her now and said: “If you are so kind in thought + for a convict, I dare hope that you would be more kind to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Be kind to you,” she repeated, as if not understanding what he said, nor + the look in his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “For I am a prisoner, too.” + </p> + <p> + “A prisoner?” she rejoined a little tremulously, and coldly. + </p> + <p> + “In your hands, Marie.” His eyes laid bare his heart. + </p> + <p> + “Oh!” she replied, in a half-troubled, half-indignant tone, for she was + out of touch with the occasion of his suit, and every woman has in her + mind the time when she should and when she should not be wooed. “Oh, why + aren’t you plain with me? I hate enigmas.” + </p> + <p> + “Why do I not speak plainly? Because, because, Marie, it is possible for a + man to be a coward in his speech”—he touched her fingers—“when + he loves.” She quickly drew her hand from his. “Oh, can’t we be friends + without that?” + </p> + <p> + There was a sound of footsteps at the window. Both turned, and saw the + political prisoner, Rive Laflamme, followed by a guard. + </p> + <p> + “He comes to finish my portrait,” she said. “This is the last sitting.” + </p> + <p> + “Marie, must I go like this? When may I see you again? When will you + answer me? You will not make all the hopes to end here?” + </p> + <p> + It was evident that some deep trouble was on the girl. She flushed hotly, + as if she were about to reply hotly also, but she changed quickly, and + said, not unkindly: “When M. Laflamme has gone.” And now, as if repenting + of her unreasonable words of a moment before, she added: “Oh, please don’t + think me hard. I am sorry that I grieve you. I’m afraid I am not + altogether well, not altogether happy.” + </p> + <p> + “I will wait till he has gone,” the planter replied. At the door he turned + as if to say something, but he only looked steadily, sadly at her, and + then was gone. + </p> + <p> + She stood where he had left her, gazing in melancholy abstraction at the + door through which he had passed. There were footsteps without in the + hall-way. The door was opened, and a servant announced M. Laflamme. The + painter-prisoner entered followed by the soldier. Immediately afterward + Mrs. Angers, Marie’s elderly companion, sidled in gently. + </p> + <p> + Laflamme bowed low, then turned and said coolly to the soldier: “You may + wait outside to-day, Roupet. This is my last morning’s work. It is + important, and you splutter and cough. You are too exhausting for a + studio.” + </p> + <p> + But Roupet answered: “Monsieur, I have my orders.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense. This is the Governor’s house. I am perfectly safe here. Give + your orders a change of scene. You would better enjoy the refreshing + coolness of the corridors this morning. You won’t? Oh, yes, you will. + Here’s a cigarette—there, take the whole bunch—I paid too much + for them, but no matter. Ah, pardon me, mademoiselle. I forgot that you + cannot smoke here, Roupet; but you shall have them all the same, there! + Parbleu! you are a handsome rascal, if you weren’t so wheezy! Come, come, + Roupet, make yourself invisible.” + </p> + <p> + The eyes of the girl were on the soldier. They did the work better; a + warrior has a soft place in his heart for a beautiful woman. He wheeled + suddenly, and disappeared from the room, motioning that he would remain at + the door. + </p> + <p> + The painting began, and for half an hour or more was continued without a + word. In the silence the placid Angers had fallen asleep. + </p> + <p> + Nodding slightly towards her, Rive Laflamme said in a low voice to Marie: + “Her hearing at its best is not remarkable?” + </p> + <p> + “Not remarkable.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke more softly. “That is good. Well, the portrait is done. It has + been the triumph of my life to paint it. Not that first joy I had when I + won the great prize in Paris equals it. I am glad: and yet—and yet + there was much chance that it would never be finished.” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “Carbourd is gone.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I know-well?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I should be gone also were it not for this portrait. The chance + came. I was tempted. I determined to finish this. I stayed.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think that he will be caught?” + </p> + <p> + “Not alive. Carbourd has suffered too much—the galleys, the corde, + the triangle, everything but the guillotine. Carbourd has a wife and + children—ah, yes, you know all about it. You remember that letter + she sent: I can recall every word; can you?” + </p> + <p> + The girl paused, and then with a rapt sympathy in her face repeated + slowly: “I am ill, and our children cry for food. The wife calls to her + husband, my darlings say, ‘Will father never come home?’” + </p> + <p> + Marie’s eyes were moist. + </p> + <p> + “Mademoiselle, he was no common criminal. He would have died for the cause + grandly. He loved France too wildly. That was his sin.” + </p> + <p> + “Carbourd is free,” she said, as though to herself. + </p> + <p> + “He has escaped.” His voice was the smallest whisper. “And now my time has + come.” + </p> + <p> + “When? And where do you go?” + </p> + <p> + “To-night, and to join Carbourd, if I can, at the Pascal River. At King + Ovi’s Cave, if possible.” + </p> + <p> + The girl was very pale. She turned and looked at Angers, who still slept. + “And then?” + </p> + <p> + “And then, as I have said to you before, to the coast, to board the + Parroquet, which will lie off the island Saint Jerome three days from now + to carry us away into freedom. It is all arranged by our ‘Underground + Railway.’” + </p> + <p> + “And you tell me all this—why?” the girl said falteringly. + </p> + <p> + “Because you said that you would not let a hunted fugitive starve; that + you would give us horses, with which we could travel the Brocken Path + across the hills. Here is the plan of the river that you drew; at this + point is the King’s Cave which you discovered, and is known only to + yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “I ought not to have given it to you; but—” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, you will not repent of a noble action, of a great good to me—Marie?” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, monsieur. Indeed, you may not speak to me so. You forget. I am + sorry for you; I think you do not deserve this—banishment; you are + unhappy here; and I told you of the King’s Cave-that was all.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah no, that is not all! To be free, that is good; but only that I may be + a man again; that I may love my art—and you; that I may once again + be proud of France.” + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur, I repeat, you must not speak so. Do not take advantage of my + willingness to serve you.” + </p> + <p> + “A thousand pardons! but that was in my heart, and I hoped, I hoped—” + </p> + <p> + “You must not hope. I can only know you as M. Laflamme, the—” + </p> + <p> + “The political convict; ah, yes, I know,” he said bitterly: “a convict + over whom the knout is held; who may at any moment be shot down like a + hare: who has but two prayers in all the world: to be free in France once + more, and to be loved by one—” + </p> + <p> + She interrupted him: “Your first prayer is natural.” + </p> + <p> + “Natural?—Do you know what song we sang in the cages of the ship + that carried us into this evil exile here? Do you know what brought tears + to the eyes of the guards?—What made the captain and the sailors + turn their heads away from us, lest we should see that their faces were + wet? What rendered the soldiers who had fought us in the Commune more + human for the moment? It was this: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “‘Adieu, patrie! + L’onde est en furie, + Adieu patrie, + Azur! + Adieu, maison, treille au fruit mer, + + Adieu les fruits d’or du vieux mur! + Adieu, patrie, + Ciel, foret, prairie; + Adieu patrie, + Azur.’” + </pre> + <p> + “Hush, monsieur!” the girl said with a swift gesture. He looked and saw + that Angers was waking. “If I live,” he hurriedly whispered, “I shall be + at the King’s Cave to-morrow night. And you—the horses?” + </p> + <p> + “You shall have my help and the horses.” Then, more loudly: “Au revoir, + monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + At that moment Madame Solde entered the room. She acknowledged Laflamme’s + presence gravely. + </p> + <p> + “It is all done, madame,” he said, pointing to the portrait. + </p> + <p> + Madame Solde bowed coldly, but said: “It is very well done, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “It is my masterpiece,” remarked the painter pensively. “Will you permit + me to say adieu, mesdames? I go to join my amiable and attentive + companion, Roupet the guard.” + </p> + <p> + He bowed himself out. + </p> + <p> + Madame Solde drew Marie aside. Angers discreetly left. + </p> + <p> + The Governor’s wife drew the girl’s head back on her shoulder. “Marie,” + she said, “M. Tryon does not seem happy; cannot you change that?” + </p> + <p> + With quivering lips the girl laid her head on the Frenchwoman’s breast, + and said: “Ah, do not ask me now. Madame, I am going home to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “To-day? But, so soon!—I wished—” + </p> + <p> + “I must go to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “But we had hoped you would stay while M. Tryon—” + </p> + <p> + “M. Tryon—will—go with me—perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, my dear Marie!” The woman kissed the girl, and wondered. + </p> + <p> + That afternoon Marie was riding across the Winter Valley to her father’s + plantation at the Pascal River. Angers was driving ahead. Beside Marie + rode Tryon silent and attentive. Arrived at the homestead, she said to him + in the shadow of the naoulis: “Hugh Tryon, what would you do to prove the + love you say you have for me?” + </p> + <p> + “All that a man could do I would do.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you see the Semaphore from here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there it is clear against the sky—look!” + </p> + <p> + But the girl did not look. She touched her eyelids with her finger-tips, + as though they were fevered, and then said: “Many have escaped. They are + searching for Carbourd and—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Marie?” + </p> + <p> + “And M. Laflamme—” + </p> + <p> + “Laflamme!” he said sharply. Then, noticing how at his brusqueness the + paleness of her face changed to a startled flush for an instant, his + generosity conquered, and he added gently: “Well, I fancied he would try, + but what do you know about that, Marie?” + </p> + <p> + “He and Carbourd were friends. They were chained together in the galleys, + they lived—at first—together here. They would risk life to + return to France.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me,” said he, “what do you know of this? What is it to you?” + </p> + <p> + “You wish to know all before you will do what I ask. + </p> + <p> + “I will do anything you ask, because you will not ask of me what is + unmanly.” + </p> + <p> + “M. Laflamme will escape to-night if possible, and join Carbourd on the + Pascal River, at a safe spot that I know.” She told him of the Cave. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, I understand. You would help him. And I?” + </p> + <p> + “You will help me. You will?” + </p> + <p> + There was a slight pause, and then he said: “Yes, I will. But think what + this is to an Englishman-to yourself, to be accomplice to the escape of a + French prisoner.” + </p> + <p> + “I gave a promise to a man whom I think deserves it. He believed he was a + patriot. If you were in that case, and I were a Frenchwoman, I would do + the same for you.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled rather grimly and said: “If it please you that this man escape, + I shall hope he may, and will help you.... Here comes your father.” + </p> + <p> + “I could not let my father know,” she said. “He has no sympathy for any + one like that, for any one at all, I think, but me.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be down-hearted. If you have set your heart on this, I will try to + bring it about, God knows! Now let us be less gloomy. Conspirators should + smile. That is the cue. Besides, the world is bright. Look at the glow + upon the hills.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose the Semaphore is glistening on the Hill of Pains; but I cannot + see it.” + </p> + <p> + He did not understand her. + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + A few hours after this conversation, Laflamme sought to accomplish his + escape. He had lately borne a letter from the Commandant, which permitted + him to go from point to point outside the peninsula of Ducos, where the + least punished of the political prisoners were kept. He depended somewhat + on this for his escape. Carbourd had been more heroic, but then Carbourd + was desperate. Laflamme believed more in ability than force. It was + ability and money that had won over the captain of the Parroquet, coupled + with the connivance of an old member of the Commune, who was now a guard. + This night there was increased alertness, owing to the escape of Carbourd; + and himself, if not more closely watched, was at least open to quick + suspicion owing to his known friendship for Carbourd. He strolled about + the fortified enclosure, chatting to fellow prisoners, and waiting for the + call which should summon them to the huts. Through years of studied + good-nature he had come to be regarded as a contented prisoner. He had no + enemies save one among the guards. This man Maillot he had offended by + thwarting his continued ill-treatment of a young lad who had been one of + the condemned of the Commune, and whose hammock, at last, by order of the + Commandant, was slung in Laflamme’s hut. For this kindness and + interposition the lad was grateful and devoted. He had been set to labour + in the nickel mines; but that came near to killing him, and again through + Laflamme’s pleading he had been made a prisoner of the first class, and so + relieved of all heavy tasks. Not even he suspected the immediate relations + of Laflamme and Carbourd; nor that Laflamme was preparing for escape. + </p> + <p> + As Laflamme waited for the summons to huts, a squad of prisoners went + clanking by him, manacled. They had come from road-making. These never + heard from wife nor child, nor held any commerce with the outside world, + nor had any speech with each other, save by a silent gesture—language + which eluded the vigilance of the guards. As the men passed, Laflamme + looked at them steadily. They knew him well. Some of them remembered his + speeches at the Place Vendome. They bore him no ill-will that he did not + suffer as they. He made a swift sign to a prisoner near the rear of the + column. The man smiled, but gave no answering token. This was part of the + unspoken vocabulary, and, in this instance, conveyed the two words: I + escape. + </p> + <p> + A couple of hours later Laflamme rose from a hammock in his hut, and leant + over the young lad, who was sleeping. He touched him gently. + </p> + <p> + The lad waked: “Yes, yes, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “I am going away, my friend.” + </p> + <p> + “To escape like Carbourd?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I hope, like Carbourd.” + </p> + <p> + “May I not go also, monsieur? I am not afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “No, lad. If there must be death one is enough. You must stay. Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + “You will see my mother? She is old, and she grieves.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I will see your mother. And more; you shall be free. I will see to + that. Be patient, little comrade. Nay, nay, hush!... No, thanks. Adieu!” + He put his hands on the lad’s shoulder and kissed his forehead. + </p> + <p> + “I wish I had died at the Barricades. But, yes, I will be brave—be + sure of that.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall not die—you shall live in France, which is better. Once + more, adieu!” Laflamme passed out. It was raining. He knew that if he + could satisfy the first sentinel he should stand a better chance of + escape, since he had had so much freedom of late; and to be passed by one + would help with others. He went softly, but he was soon challenged. + </p> + <p> + “Halt! Who goes there?” + </p> + <p> + “Condemned of the Commune—by order.” + </p> + <p> + “Whose order?” + </p> + <p> + “That of the Commandant.” + </p> + <p> + “Advance order.” + </p> + <p> + The sentinel knew him. “Ah, Laflamme,” he said, and raised the point of + his bayonet. The paper was produced. It did not entitle him to go about at + night, and certainly not beyond the enclosure without a guard—it was + insufficient. In unfolding the paper Laflamme purposely dropped it in the + mud. He hastily picked it up, and, in doing so, smeared it. He wiped it, + leaving the signature comparatively plain—nothing else. “Well,” said + the sentinel, “the signature is right. Where do you go?” + </p> + <p> + “To Government House.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know that I should let you pass. But—well, look out that + the next sentinel doesn’t bayonet you. You came on me suddenly.” + </p> + <p> + The next sentinel was a Kanaka. The previous formula was repeated. The + Kanaka examined the paper long, and then said: “You cannot pass.” + </p> + <p> + “But the other sentinel passed me. Would you get him into trouble?” + </p> + <p> + The Kanaka frowned, hesitated, then said: “That is another matter. Well, + pass.” + </p> + <p> + Twice more the same formula and arguments were used. At last he heard a + voice in challenge that he knew. It was that of Maillot. This was a more + difficult game. His order was taken with a malicious sneer by the + sentinel. At that instant Laflamme threw his arms swiftly round the other, + clapped a hand on his mouth, and, with a dexterous twist of leg, threw him + backward, till it seemed as if the spine of the soldier must break. It was + impossible to struggle against this trick of wrestling, which Laflamme had + learned from a famous Cornish wrestler, in a summer spent on the English + coast. + </p> + <p> + “If you shout or speak I will kill you!” he said to Maillot, and then + dropped him heavily on the ground, where he lay senseless. Laflamme + stooped down and felt his heart. “Alive!” he said, then seized the rifle + and plunged into the woods. The moon at that moment broke through the + clouds, and he saw the Semaphore like a ghost pointing towards Pascal + River. He waved his hand towards his old prison, and sped away. + </p> + <p> + But others were thinking of the Semaphore at this moment, others saw it + indistinct, yet melancholy, in the moonlight. The Governor and his wife + saw it, and Madame Solde said: “Alfred, I shall be glad when I shall see + that no more.” + </p> + <p> + “You have too much feeling.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose Marie makes me think more of it to-day. She wept this morning + over all this misery and punishment.” + </p> + <p> + “You think that. Well, perhaps something more—” + </p> + <p> + “What more?” + </p> + <p> + “Laflamme.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, it is impossible!” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed it is as I say. My wife, you are blind. I chanced to see him with + her yesterday. I should have prevented him coming to-day, but I knew it + was his last day with the portrait, and that all should end here.” + </p> + <p> + “We have done wrong in this—the poor child! Besides, she has, I + fear, another sorrow coming. It showed itself to me to-day for the first + time.” Then she whispered to him, and he started and sighed, and said at + last: + </p> + <p> + “But it must be saved. By—! it shall be saved!” And at that moment + Marie Wyndham was standing in the open window of the library of Pascal + House. She had been thinking of her recent visit to the King’s Cave, where + she had left food, and of the fact that Carbourd was not there. She raised + her face towards the moon and sighed. She was thinking of something else. + She was not merely sentimental, for she said, as if she had heard the + words of the Governor and Madame Solde: “Oh! if it could be saved!” + </p> + <p> + There was a rustle in the shrubbery near her. She turned towards the + sound. A man came quickly towards her. “I am Carbourd,” he said; “I could + not find the way to the Cave. They were after me. They have tracked me. + Tell me quick how to go.” + </p> + <p> + She swiftly gave him directions, and he darted away. Again there was a + rustle in the leaves, and a man stepped forth. Something glistened in his + hands—a rifle, though she could not see it plainly. It was levelled + at the flying figure of Carbourd. There was a report. Marie started + forward with her hands on her temples and a sharp cry. She started forward—into + absolute darkness. There was a man’s footsteps going swiftly by her. Why + was it so dark? She stretched out her hands with a moan. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! mother!—oh! mother! I am blind!” she cried. + </p> + <p> + But her mother was sleeping unresponsive beyond the dark-beyond all dark. + It was, perhaps, natural that she should cry to the dead and not to the + living. + </p> + <p> + Marie was blind. She had known it was coming, and it had tried her, as it + would have tried any of the race of women. She had, when she needed it + most, put love from her, and would not let her own heart speak, even to + herself. She had sought to help one who loved her, and to fully prove the + other—though the proving, she knew, was not necessary—before + the darkness came. But here it was suddenly sent upon her by the shock of + a rifle shot. It would have sent a shudder to a stronger heart than hers—that, + in reply to her call on her dead mother, there came from the trees the + shrill laugh of the mopoke—the sardonic bird of the South. + </p> + <p> + As she stood there, with this tragedy enveloping her, the dull boom of a + cannon came across the valley. “From Ducos,” she said. “M. Laflamme has + escaped. God help us all!” And she turned and groped her way into the room + she had left. + </p> + <p> + She felt for a chair and sat down. She must think of what she now was. She + wondered if Carbourd was killed. She listened and thought not, since there + was no sound without. But she knew that the house would be roused. She + bowed her head in her hands. Surely she might weep a little for herself—she + who had been so troubled for others. It is strange, but she thought of her + flowers and birds, and wondered how she should tend them; of her own room + which faced the north—the English north that she loved so well; of + her horse, and marvelled if he would know that she could not see him; and, + lastly, of a widening horizon of pain, spread before the eyes of her soul, + in which her father and another moved. + </p> + <p> + It seemed to her that she sat there for hours, it was in reality minutes + only. A firm step and the opening of a door roused her. She did not turn + her head—what need? She knew the step. There was almost a touch of + ironical smiling at her lips, as she thought how she must hear and feel + things only, in the future. A voice said: “Marie, are you here?” + </p> + <p> + “I am here.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll strike a match so that you can see I’m not a bushranger. There has + been shooting in the grounds. Did you hear it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. A soldier firing at Carbourd.” + </p> + <p> + “You saw him?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. He could not find the Cave. I directed him. Immediately after he was + fired upon.” + </p> + <p> + “He can’t have been hit. There are no signs of him. There, that’s lighter + and better, isn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know.” + </p> + <p> + She had risen, but she did not turn towards him. He came nearer to her. + The enigmatical tone struck him strangely, but he could find nothing less + commonplace to say than: “You don’t prefer the exaggerated gloaming, do + you?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I do not prefer the gloaming, but why should not one be patient?” + </p> + <p> + “Be patient!” he repeated, and came nearer still. “Are you hurt or angry?” + </p> + <p> + “I am hurt, but not angry.” + </p> + <p> + “What have I done?—or is it I?” + </p> + <p> + “It is not you. You are very good. It is nobody but God. I am hurt, + because He is angry, perhaps.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me what is the matter. Look at me.” He faced her now-faced her eyes, + looking blindly straight before her. + </p> + <p> + “Hugh,” she said, and she put her hand out slightly, not exactly to him, + but as if to protect him from the blow which she herself must deal: “I am + looking at you now.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, but so strangely, and not in my eyes.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot look into your eyes, because, Hugh, I am blind.” Her hand went + further out towards him. + </p> + <p> + He took it silently and pressed it to his bosom as he saw that she spoke + true; and the shadow of the thing fell on him. The hand held to his breast + felt how he was trembling from the shock. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, Hugh,” she said, “and I will tell you all; but do not hold my + hand so, or I cannot.” + </p> + <p> + Sitting there face to face, with deep furrows growing in his countenance, + and a quiet sorrow spreading upon her cheek and forehead, she told the + story how, since her childhood, her sight had played her false now and + then, and within the past month had grown steadily uncertain. “And now,” + she said at last, “I am blind. I think I should like to tell my father—if + you please. Then when I have seen him and poor Angers, if you will come + again! There is work to be done. I hoped it would be finished before this + came; but—there, good friend, go; I will sit here quietly.” + </p> + <p> + She could not see his face, but she heard him say: “My love, my love,” + very softly, as he rose to go; and she smiled sadly to herself. She folded + her hands in her lap, and thought, not bitterly, not listlessly, but + deeply. She wanted to consider all cheerfully now; she tried to do so. She + was musing among those flying perceptions, those nebulous facts of a new + life, experienced for the first time; she was now not herself as she had + been; another woman was born; and she was feeling carefully along the + unfamiliar paths which she must tread. She was not glad that these words + ran through her mind continuously at first: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “A land of darkness as darkness itself, and of the shadow of + death without any order, and where the light is darkness.” + </pre> + <p> + Her brave nature rose against the moody spirit which sought to take + possession of her, and she cried out in her heart valiantly: “But there is + order, there is order. I shall feel things as they ought to be. I think I + could tell now what was true and what was false in man or woman; it would + be in their presence not in their faces.” + </p> + <p> + She stopped speaking. She heard footsteps. Her father entered. Hugh Tryon + had done his task gently, but the old planter, selfish and hard as he was, + loved his daughter; and the meeting was bitter for him. The prop of his + pride seemed shaken beyond recovery. But the girl’s calm comforted them + all, and poignancy became dull pain. Before parting for the night Marie + said to Hugh: “This is what I wish you to do for me to bring over two of + your horses to Point Assumption on the river. There is a glen beyond that + as you know, and from it runs the steep and dangerous Brocken Path across + the hills. I wish you to wait there until M. Laflamme and Carbourd come by + the river—that is their only chance. If they get across the hills + they can easily reach the sea. I know that two of your horses have been + over the path; they are sure-footed; they would know it in the night. Is + it not so?” + </p> + <p> + “It is so. There are not a dozen horses in the colony that could be + trusted on it at night, but mine are safe. I shall do all you wish.” + </p> + <p> + She put out both her hands and felt for his shoulders, and let them rest + there for a moment, saying: “I ask much, and I can give no reward, except + the gratitude of one who would rather die than break a promise. It isn’t + much, but it is all that is worth your having. Good-night. Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night. Good-bye,” he gently replied; but he said something beneath + his breath that sounded worth the hearing. + </p> + <p> + The next morning while her father was gone to consult the chief + army-surgeon at Noumea, Marie strolled with Angers in the grounds. At + length she said: “Angers, take me to the river, and then on down, until we + come to the high banks.” With her hand on Angers’ arm, and in her face + that passive gentleness which grows so sweetly from sightless eyes till it + covers all the face, they passed slowly towards the river. When they came + to the higher banks covered with dense scrub, Angers paused, and told + Marie where they were. + </p> + <p> + “Find me the she-oak tree,” the girl said; “there is only one, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Here it is, my dear. There, your hand is on it now.” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you. Wait here, Angers, I shall be back presently.” + </p> + <p> + “But oh, my dear—” + </p> + <p> + “Please do as I say, Angers, and do not worry.” The girl pushed aside some + bushes, and was lost to view. She pressed along vigilantly by a descending + path, until her feet touched rocky ground. She nodded to herself, then + creeping between two bits of jutting rock at her right, immediately stood + at the entrance to a cave, hidden completely from the river and from the + banks above. At the entrance, for which she felt, she paused and said + aloud: “Is there any one here?” Something clicked far within the cave. It + sounded like a rifle. Then stealthy steps were heard, and a voice said: + </p> + <p> + “Ah, mademoiselle!” + </p> + <p> + “You are Carbourd?” + </p> + <p> + “As you see, mademoiselle.” + </p> + <p> + “You escaped safely then from the rifle-shot? Where is the soldier?” + </p> + <p> + “He fell into the river. He was drowned.” + </p> + <p> + “You are telling me truth?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, he stumbled in and sank—on my soul!” + </p> + <p> + “You did not try to save him?” + </p> + <p> + “He lied and got me six months in irons once; he called down on my back + one hundred and fifty lashes, a year ago; he had me kept on bread and + water, and degraded to the fourth class, where I could never hear from my + wife and children—never write to them. I lost one eye in the + quarries because he made me stand too near a lighted fuse—” + </p> + <p> + “Poor man, poor man!” she said. “You found the food I left here?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, God bless you! And my wife and children will bless you too, if I see + France again.” + </p> + <p> + “You know where the boat is?” + </p> + <p> + “I know, mademoiselle.” + </p> + <p> + “When you reach Point Assumption you will find horses there to take you + across the Brocken Path. M. Laflamme knows. I hope that you will both + escape; that you will be happy in France with your wife and children.” + </p> + <p> + “You will not come here again?” + </p> + <p> + “No. If M. Laflamme should not arrive, and you should go alone, leave one + pair of oars; then I shall know. Good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, mademoiselle. A thousand times I will pray for you. Ah, mon + Dieu! take care!—you are on the edge of the great tomb.” + </p> + <p> + She stood perfectly still. At her feet was a dark excavation where was the + skeleton of Ovi the King. This was the hidden burial-place of the modern + Hiawatha of these savage islands, unknown even to the natives themselves, + and kept secret with a half-superstitious reverence by this girl, who had + discovered it a few months before. + </p> + <p> + “I had forgotten,” she said. “Please take my hand and set me right at the + entrance.” + </p> + <p> + “Your hand, mademoiselle? Mine is so—! It is not dark.” + </p> + <p> + “I am blind now.” + </p> + <p> + “Blind—blind! Oh, the pitiful thing! Since when, mademoiselle?” + </p> + <p> + “Since the soldier fired on you-the shock....” + </p> + <p> + The convict knelt at her feet. “Ah, mademoiselle, you are a good angel. I + shall die of grief. To think—for such as me!” + </p> + <p> + “You will live to love your wife and children. This is the will of God + with me. Am I in the path now? Ah, thank you.” + </p> + <p> + “But, M. Laflamme—this will be a great sorrow to him.” + </p> + <p> + Twice she seemed about to speak, but nothing came save good-bye. Then she + crept cautiously away among the bushes and along the narrow path, the eyes + of the convict following her. She had done a deed which, she understood, + the world would blame her for if it knew, would call culpable or foolishly + heroic; but she smiled, because she understood also that she had done that + which her own conscience and heart approved, and she was content. + </p> + <p> + At this time Laflamme was stealing watchfully through the tropical scrub, + where hanging vines tore his hands, and the sickening perfume of jungle + flowers overcame him more than the hard journey which he had undergone + during the past twelve hours. + </p> + <p> + Several times he had been within voice of his pursuers, and once a Kanaka + scout passed close to him. He had had nothing to eat, he had had no sleep, + he suffered from a wound in his neck caused by the broken protruding + branch of a tree; but he had courage, and he was struggling for liberty—a + tolerably sweet thing when one has it not. He found the Cave at last, and + with far greater ease than Carbourd had done, because he knew the ground + better, and his instinct was keener. His greeting to Carbourd was + nonchalantly cordial: + </p> + <p> + “Well, you see, comrade, King Ovi’s Cave is a reality.” + </p> + <p> + “So.” + </p> + <p> + “I saw the boat. The horses? What do you know?” + </p> + <p> + “They will be at Point Assumption to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we go to-night. We shall have to run the chances of rifles along the + shore at a range something short, but we have done that before, at the + Barricades, eh, Carbourd?” + </p> + <p> + “At the Barricades. It is a pity that we cannot take Citizen Louise Michel + with us.” + </p> + <p> + “Her time will come.” + </p> + <p> + “She has no children crying and starving at home like—” + </p> + <p> + “Like yours, Carbourd, like yours. Well, I am starving here. Give me + something to eat.... Ah, that is good—excellent! What more can we + want but freedom! Till the darkness of tyranny be overpast—overpast, + eh?” + </p> + <p> + This speech brought another weighty matter to Carbourd’s mind. He said: + </p> + <p> + “I do not wish to distress you, but—” + </p> + <p> + “Now, Carbourd, what is the matter? Faugh! this place smells musty. What’s + that—a tomb? Speak out, Citizen Carbourd.” + </p> + <p> + “It is this: Mademoiselle Wyndham is blind.” Carbourd told the story with + a great anxiety in his words. + </p> + <p> + “The poor mademoiselle—is it so? A thousand pities! So kind, so + young, so beautiful. Ah, I am distressed, and I finished her portrait + yesterday! Yes, I remember her eyes looked too bright, and then again too + dull: but I thought that it was excitement, and so—that!” + </p> + <p> + Laflamme’s regret was real enough up to a certain point, but, in sincerity + and value, it was chasms below that of Hugh Tryon, who, even now, was + getting two horses ready to give the Frenchmen their chance. + </p> + <p> + After a pause Laflamme said: “She will not come here again, Carbourd? No? + Ah, well, perhaps it is better so; but I should have liked to speak my + thanks to her.” + </p> + <p> + That night Marie sat by the window of the sitting-room, with the light + burning, and Angers asleep in a chair beside her—sat till long after + midnight, in the thought that Laflamme, if he had reached the Cave, would, + perhaps, dare something to see her and bid her good-bye. She would of + course have told him not to come, but he was chivalrous, and then her + blindness would touch him. Yet as the hours went by the thought came: was + he, was he so chivalrous? was he altogether true?... He did not come. The + next morning Angers took her to where the boat had been, but it was gone, + and no oars were left behind. So, both had sought escape in it. + </p> + <p> + She went to the Cave. She took Angers with her now. Upon the wall a paper + was found. It was a note from M. Laflamme. She asked Angers to give it to + her without reading it. She put it in her pocket and kept it there until + she should see Hugh Tryon. He should read it to her. She said to herself + as she felt the letter in her pocket: “He loved me. It was the least that + I could do. I am so glad.” Yet she was not altogether glad either, and + disturbing thoughts crossed the parallels of her pleasure. + </p> + <p> + The Governor and Madame Solde first brought news of the complete escape of + the prisoners. The two had fled through the hills by the Brocken Path, and + though pursued after crossing, had reached the coast, and were taken + aboard the Parroquet, which sailed away towards Australia. It is probable + that Marie’s visitors had their suspicions regarding the escape, but they + said nothing, and did not make her uncomfortable. Just now they were most + concerned for her bitter misfortune. Madame Solde said to her: “My poor + Marie—does it feel so dreadful, so dark?” + </p> + <p> + “No, madame, it is not so bad. There are so many things which one does not + wish to see, and one is spared the pain.” + </p> + <p> + “But you will see again. When you go to England, to great physicians + there.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I should have three lives, madame: when I could see, when sight + died, and when sight was born again. How wise I should be!” + </p> + <p> + They left her sadly, and after a time she heard footsteps that she knew. + She came forward and greeted Tryon. + </p> + <p> + “Ah,” she said, “all’s well with them, I know; and you were so good.” + </p> + <p> + “They are safe upon the seas,” he gently replied, and he kissed her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Now you will read this letter for me. M. Laflamme left it behind in the + Cave.” + </p> + <p> + With a pang he took it, and read thus: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + DEAR FRIEND,—My grief for your misfortune is inexpressible. If it + were possible I should say so in person, but there is danger, and we + must fly at once. You shall hear from me in full gratitude when I + am in safety. I owe you so many thanks, as I give you so much of + devotion. But there is the future for all. Mademoiselle, I kiss + your hand. + + Always yours, + RIVE LAFLAMME. +</pre> + <p> + “Hugh!” she said sadly when he had finished, “I seem to have new knowledge + of things, now that I am blind. I think this letter is not altogether + real. You see, that was his way of saying-good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + What Hugh Tryon thought, he did not say. He had met the Governor on his + way to Pascal House, and had learned some things which were not for her to + know. + </p> + <p> + She continued: “I could not bear that one who was innocent of any real + crime, who was a great artist, and who believed himself a patriot, should + suffer so here. When he asked me I helped him. Yet I suppose I was + selfish, wasn’t I? It was because he loved me.” + </p> + <p> + Hugh spoke breathlessly: “And because—you loved him, Marie?” + </p> + <p> + Her head was lifted quickly, as though she saw, and was looking him in the + eyes. “Oh no, oh no,” she cried, “I never loved him. I was sorry for him—that + was all.” + </p> + <p> + “Marie, Marie,” he said gently, while she shook her head a little + pitifully, “did you, then, love any one else?” + </p> + <p> + She was silent for a space and then she said: “Yes—Oh, Hugh, I am so + sorry for your sake that I am blind, and cannot marry you.” + </p> + <p> + “But, my darling, you shall not always be blind, you shall see again. And + you shall marry me also. As though—life of my life! as though one’s + love could live but by the sight of the eyes!” + </p> + <p> + “My poor Hugh! But, blind, I could not marry you. It would not be just to + you.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled with a happy hopeful determination; “But if you should see + again?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, then....” + </p> + <p> + She married him, and in time her sight returned, though not completely. + Tryon never told her, as the Governor had told him, that Rive Laflamme, + when a prisoner in New Caledonia, had a wife in Paris: and he is man + enough to hope that she may never know. + </p> + <p> + But to this hour he has a profound regret that duels are not in vogue + among Englishmen. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + A PAGAN OF THE SOUTH + </h2> + <p> + When Blake Shorland stepped from the steamer Belle Sauvage upon the quay + at Noumea, he proceeded, with the alertness of the trained newspaper + correspondent, to take his bearings. So this was New Caledonia, the home + of outcast, criminal France, the recent refuge of Communist exiles, of + Rochefort, Louise Michel, Felix Rastoul, and the rest! Over there to the + left was Ile Nou, the convict prison; on the hill was the Governor’s + residence; below, the Government establishments with their red-tiled + roofs; and hidden away in a luxuriance of tropical vegetation lay the + houses of the citizens. He stroked his black moustache thoughtfully for a + moment, and put his hand to his pocket to see that his letters of + introduction from the French Consul at Sydney to Governor Rapont and his + journalistic credentials were there. Then he remembered the advice of the + captain of the Belle Sauvage as to the best hotel, and started towards it. + He had not been shown the way, but his instincts directed him. He knew + where it ought to be, according to the outlines of the place. + </p> + <p> + It proved to be where he thought, and, having engaged rooms, sent for his + luggage, and refreshed himself, he set out to explore the town. His + prudent mind told him that he ought to proceed at once to Governor Rapont + and present his letters of commendation, for he was in a country where + feeling was running high against English interference with the deportation + of French convicts to New Caledonia, and the intention of France to annex + the New Hebrides. But he knew also that so soon as these letters were + presented, his freedom of action would be restricted, either by a courtesy + which would be so constant as to become surveillance, or by an injunction + having no such gloss. He had come to study French government in New + Caledonia, to gauge the extent of the menace that the convict question + bore towards Australia, and to tell his tale to Australia, and to such + other countries as would listen. The task was not pleasant, and it had its + dangers, too, of a certain kind. But Shorland had had difficulty and peril + often in his life, and he borrowed no trouble. Proceeding along the Rue de + l’Alma, and listening to the babble of French voices round him, he + suddenly paused abstractedly, and said to himself “Somehow it brings back + Paris to me, and that last night there, when I bade Freeman good-bye. Poor + old boy, I’m glad better days are coming for him. Sure to be better, if he + marries Clare. Why didn’t he do it seven years ago, and save all that + other horrible business?” + </p> + <p> + Then he moved on, noticing that he was the object of remark, but as it was + daytime, and in the street he felt himself safe. Glancing up at a doorway + he saw a familiar Paris name—Cafe Voisin. This was interesting. It + was in the Cafe Voisin that he had touched a farewell glass with Luke + Freeman, the one bosom friend of his life. He entered this Cafe Voisin + with the thought of how vague would be the society which he would meet in + such a reproduction of a famous Parisian haunt. He thought of a Cafe + chantant at Port Said, and said to himself, “It can’t be worse than that.” + He was right then. The world had no shambles of ghastly frivolity and + debauchery like those of Port Said. + </p> + <p> + The Cafe Voisin had many visitors, and Shorland saw at a glance who they + were—liberes, or ticket-of-leave men, a drunken soldier or two, and + a few of that class who with an army are called camp-followers, in an + English town roughs, in a French convict settlement recidivistes. He felt + at once that he had entered upon a trying experience; but he also felt + that the luck would be with him, as it had been with him so many times + these late years. He sat down at a small table, and called to a haggard + waitress near to bring him a cup of coffee. He then saw that there was + another woman in the room. Leaning with her elbows on the bar and her chin + in her hands, she fixed her eyes on him as he opened and made a pretence + of reading La Nouvelle Caledonie. Looking up, he met her eyes again; there + was hatred in them if ever he saw it, or what might be called + constitutional diablerie. He felt that this woman, whoever she was, had + power of a curious kind; too much power for her to be altogether vile, too + physically healthy to be of that class to which the girl who handed him + his coffee belonged. There was not a sign of gaudiness about her; not a + ring, a necklace, or a bracelet. Her dress was of cotton, faintly pink and + perfectly clean; her hair was brown, and waving away loosely from her + forehead. But her eyes—was there a touch of insanity there? Perhaps + because they were rather deeply set, though large, and because they seemed + to glow in the shadows made by the brows, the strange intensity was + deepened. But Shorland could not get rid of the feeling of active + malevolence in them. The mouth was neither small nor sensuous, the chin + was strong without being coarse, the figure was not suggestive. The hands—confound + the woman’s eyes! Why could he not get rid of the feeling they gave him? + She suddenly turned her head, not moving her chin from her hands, however, + or altering her position, and said something to a man at her elbow—rather + the wreck of a man, one who bore tokens of having been some time a gallant + of the town, now only a disreputable citizen of a far from reputable + French colony. + </p> + <p> + Immediately a murmur was heard: “A spy, an English spy!” From the mouths + of absinthe-drinking liberes it passed to the mouths of rum-drinking + recidivistes. It did not escape Blake Shorland’s ears, but he betrayed no + sign. He sipped his coffee and appeared absorbed in his paper, thinking + carefully of the difficulties of his position. He knew that to rise now + and make for the door would be of no advantage, for a number of the + excited crowd were between him and it. To show fear might precipitate a + catastrophe with this drunken mob. He had nerve and coolness. + </p> + <p> + Presently a dirty outcast passed him and rudely jostled his arm as he + drank his coffee. He begged the other’s pardon conventionally in French, + and went on reading. A moment later the paper was snatched from his hand, + and a red-faced unkempt scoundrel yelled in his face: “Spy of the devil! + English thief!” + </p> + <p> + Then he rose quickly and stepped back to the wall, feeling for the spring + in the sword-stick which he held closely pressed to his side. This same + sword-stick had been of use to him on the Fly River in New Guinea. + </p> + <p> + “Down with the English spy!” rang through the room, joined to vile French + oaths. Meanwhile the woman had not changed her position, but closely + watched the tumult which she herself had roused. She did not stir when she + saw a glass hurled at the unoffending Englishman’s head. A hand reached + over and seized a bottle behind her. The bottle was raised and still she + did not move, though her fingers pressed her cheeks with a spasmodic + quickness. Three times Shorland had said, in well-controlled tones: + “Frenchmen, I am no spy,” but they gave him the lie with increasing + uproar. Had not Gabrielle Rouget said that he was an English spy? As the + bottle was poised in the air with a fiendish cry of “A baptism! a + baptism!” and Shorland was debating on his chances of avoiding it, and on + the wisdom of now drawing his weapon and cutting his way through the mob, + there came from the door a call of “Hold! hold!” and a young officer + dashed in, his arm raised against the brutal missile in the hands of the + ticket-of-leave man, whose Chauvinism was a matter of absinthe, natural + evil, and Gabrielle Rouget. “Wretches! scum of France!” he cried: “what is + this here? And you, Gabrielle, do you sleep? Do you permit murder?” + </p> + <p> + The woman met the fire in his eyes without flinching, and some one + answered for her. “He is an English spy.” + </p> + <p> + “Take care, Gabrielle,” the young officer went on, “take care—you go + too far!” Waving back the sullen crowd, now joined by the woman who had + not yet spoken, he said: “Who are you, monsieur? What is the trouble?” + </p> + <p> + Shorland drew from his pocket his letters and credentials. Gabrielle now + stood at the young officer’s elbow. As the papers were handed over, a + photograph dropped from among them and fell to the floor face upward. + Shorland stooped to pick it up, but, as he did so, he heard a low + exclamation from Gabrielle. He looked up. She pointed to the portrait, and + said gaspingly: “My God—look! look!” She leaned forward and touched + the portrait in his hand. “Look! look!” she said again. And then she + paused, and a moment after laughed. But there was no mirth in her laughter—it + was hollow and nervous. Meanwhile the young officer had glanced at the + papers, and now handed them back, with the words: “All is right, monsieur—eh, + Gabrielle, well, what is the matter?” But she drew back, keeping her eyes + fixed on the Englishman, and did not answer. + </p> + <p> + The young officer stretched out his hand. “I am Alencon Barre, lieutenant, + at your service. Let us go, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + But there was some unusual devilry working in that drunken crowd. The + sight of an officer was not sufficient to awe them into obedience. Bad + blood had been fired, and it was fed by some cause unknown to Alencon + Barre, but to be understood fully hereafter. The mass surged forward, with + cries of “Down with the Englishman!” + </p> + <p> + Alencon Barre drew his sword. “Villains!” he cried, and pressed the point + against the breast of the leader, who drew back. Then Gabrielle’s voice + was heard: “No, no, my children,” she said, “no more of that to-day—not + to-day. Let the man go.” Her face was white and drawn. + </p> + <p> + Shorland had been turning over in his mind all the events of the last few + moments, and he thought as he looked at her that just such women had made + a hell of the Paris Commune. But one thought dominated all others. What + was the meaning of her excitement when she saw the portrait—the + portrait of Luke Freeman? + </p> + <p> + He felt that he was standing on the verge of some tragic history. + </p> + <p> + Barre’s sword again made a clear circle round him, and he said: “Shame, + Frenchmen! This gentleman is no spy. He is the friend of the Governor—he + is my friend. He is English? Well, where is the English flag, there are + the French—good French-protected. Where is the French flag, there + shall the English—good English—be safe.” + </p> + <p> + As they moved towards the door Gabrielle came forward, and, touching + Shorland’s arm, said in English: “You will come again, monsieur? You shall + be safe altogether. You will come?” Looking at her searchingly, he + answered slowly: “Yes, I will come.” + </p> + <p> + As they left the turbulent crowd behind them and stepped into the street, + Barr$ said: “You should have gone at once to the Hotel du Gouverneur and + presented your letters, monsieur, or, at least, have avoided the Cafe + Voisin. Noumea is the Whitechapel and the Pentonville of France, + remember.” + </p> + <p> + Shorland acknowledged his error, thanked his rescuer, enjoyed the + situation, and was taken to Governor Rapont, by whom he was cordially + received, and then turned over to the hospitality of the officers of the + post. It was conveyed to him later by letters of commendation from the + Governor that he should be free to go anywhere in the islands and to see + whatever was to be seen, from convict prison to Hotel Dieu. + </p> + <p> + II + </p> + <p> + Sitting that night in the rooms of Alencon Barre, this question was put to + Blake Shorland by his host: “What did Gabrielle say to you as we left, + monsieur? And why did she act so, when she saw the portrait? I do not + understand English well, and it was not quite clear.” + </p> + <p> + Shorland had a clear conviction that he ought to take Alencon Barre into + his confidence. If Gabrielle Rouget should have any special connection + with Luke Freeman, there might be need of the active counsel of a friend + like this young officer, whose face bespoke chivalry and gentle birth. + Better that Alencon Barre should know all, than that he should know in + part and some day unwittingly make trouble. So he raised frank eyes to + those of the other, and told the story of the man whose portrait had so + affected Gabrielle Rouget. + </p> + <p> + “Monsieur,” said he, “I will tell you of this man first, and then it will + be easier to answer your questions.” + </p> + <p> + He took the portrait from his pocket, passed it over, and continued. “I + received this portrait in a letter from England the day that I left + Sydney, as I was getting aboard the boat. I placed it among those papers + which you read. It fell out on the floor of the cafe, and you saw the + rest. The man whose face is before you there, and who sent that to me, was + my best friend in the days when I was at school and college. Afterwards, + when a law-student, and, still later, when I began to practise my + profession, we lived together in a rare old house at Fulham, with high + garden walls and—but I forget, you do not know London perhaps. Yes? + Well, the house is neither here nor there; but I like to think of those + days and of that home. Luke Freeman—that was my friend’s name—was + an artist and a clever one. He had made a reputation by his paintings of + Egyptian and Algerian life. He was brilliant and original, an + indefatigable worker. Suddenly, one winter, he became less industrious, + fitful in his work, gloomy one day and elated the next, generally + uncomfortable. What was the matter? Strange to say, although we were such + friends, we chose different sets of society, and therefore seldom appeared + at the same houses or knew the same people. He liked most things + continental; he found his social pleasures in that polite Bohemia which + indulges in midnight suppers and permits ladies to smoke cigarettes after + dinner, which dines at rich men’s tables and is hob-a-nob with Russian + Counts, Persian Ministers, and German Barons. That was not to my taste, + save as a kind of dramatic entertainment to be indulged in at intervals + like a Drury Lane pantomime. But though I had no proof that such was the + case, I knew Luke Freeman’s malady to be a woman. I taxed him with it. He + did not deny it. He was painting at the time, I remember, and he testily + and unprofitably drew his brush across the face of a Copt woman he was + working at, and bit off the end of a cigar. I asked him if it was another + man’s wife; he promptly said no. I asked him if there were any awkward + complications any inconsiderate pressure from the girl’s parents of + brothers; and he promptly told me to be damned. I told him I thought he + ought to know that an ambitious man might as well drown himself at once as + get a fast woman in his path. Then he showed a faculty for temper and + profanity that stunned me. But the up shot was that I found the case + straight enough to all appearances. The woman was a foreigner and not easy + to win; was beautiful, had a fine voice, loved admiration, and possessed a + scamp of a brother who, wanted her to marry a foreigner, so that, + according to her father’s will, a large portion of her fortune would come + to him.... Were you going to speak? No? Very well. Things got worse and + worse. Freeman neglected business and everything else, became a nuisance. + He never offered to take me to see the lady, and I did not suggest it, did + not even know where she lived. What galled me most in the matter was that + Freeman had been for years attentive to a cousin of mine, Clare Hazard, + almost my sister, indeed, since she had been brought up in my father’s + house; and I knew that from a child she had adored him. However, these + things seldom work out according to the law of Nature, and so I chewed the + cud of dissatisfaction and kept the thing from my cousin as long as I + could. About the time matters seemed at a crisis I was taken ill, and was + ordered south. My mother and Freeman accompanied me as far as Paris. Here + Freeman left me to return to England, and in the Cafe Voisin, at Paris—yes, + mark that—we had our farewell. I have never seen him since. While in + Italy I was brought to death’s door by my illness; and when I got up, + Clare told me that Freeman was married and had gone to Egypt. She, poor + girl, bore it well. I was savage, but it was too late. I was ordered to go + to the South Seas, at least to take a long sea-voyage; and though I could + not well afford it I started for Australia. On my way out I stopped off at + Port Said to try and find Freeman in Egypt, but failed. I heard of him at + Cairo, and learned also that his wife’s brother had joined them. Two years + passed, and then I got a letter from an old friend, saying that Freeman’s + wife had eloped with a Frenchman. Another year, and then came a letter + from Freeman himself, saying that his wife was dead; that he had + identified her body in the Morgue at Paris—found drowned, and all + that. He believed that remorse had driven her to suicide. But he had no + trace of the brother, no trace of the villain whom he had scoured Europe + and America over to find. Again, another three years, and now he writes me + that he is going to be married to Clare Hazard on the twenty sixth of this + month. With that information came this portrait. I tell you all, M. Barre, + because I feel that this woman Gabrielle has some connection with the past + life of my friend Luke Freeman. She recognised the face, and you saw the + effect. Now will you tell me what you know about her?” + </p> + <p> + Shorland had been much more communicative than was his custom. But he knew + men. This man had done him a service, and that made towards friendship on + both sides. He was an officer and a gentleman, and so he showed his hand. + Then he wanted information and perhaps much more, though what that would + be he could not yet tell. + </p> + <p> + M. Barre had smoked cigarettes freely during Shorland’s narrative. At the + end he said with peculiar emphasis: “Your friend’s wife was surely a + Frenchwoman?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Was her name Laroche?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, that was it. Do you think that Lucile Laroche and Gabrielle—!” + </p> + <p> + “That Lucile Laroche and Gabrielle Rouget are one? Yes. But that Lucile + Laroche was the wife of your friend? Well, that is another matter. But we + shall see soon. Listen. A scoundrel, Henri Durien, was sent out here for + killing an American at cards. The jury called it murder, but recommended + him to mercy, and he escaped the guillotine. He had the sympathy of the + women, the Press did not deal hardly with him, and the Public Prosecutor + did not seem to push the case as he might have done. But that was no + matter to us. The woman, Gabrielle Rouget, followed him here, where he is + a prisoner for life. He is engaged in road-making with other prisoners. + She keeps the Cafe Voisin. Now here is the point which concerns your + story. Once, when Gabrielle was permitted to see Henri, they quarrelled. I + was acting as governor of the prison at the time, saw the meeting and + heard the quarrel. No one else was near. Henri accused her of being + intimate with a young officer of the post. I am sure there was no truth in + it, for Gabrielle does not have followers of that kind. But Henri had got + the idea from some source; perhaps by the convicts’ ‘Underground Railway,’ + which has connection even with the Hotel du Gouverneur. Through it the + prisoners know all that is going on, and more. In response to Henri’s + accusation Gabrielle replied: ‘As I live, Henri, it is a lie.’ He + sardonically rejoined: ‘But you do not live. You are dead, dead I tell + you. You were found drowned and carried to the Morgue and properly + identified—not by me, curse you, Lucile Laroche. And then you were + properly buried, and not by me either, nor at my cost, curse you again. + You are dead, I tell you!’ She looked at him as she looked at you the + other day, dazed and spectre-like, and said: ‘Henri, I gave up my life + once to a husband to please my brother. + </p> + <p> + “He was a villain, my brother. I gave it up a second time to please you, + and because I loved you. I left behind me name, fortune, Paris, France, + everything, to follow you here. I was willing to live here, while you + lived, or till you should be free. And you curse me—you dare to + curse me! Now I will give you some cause to curse. You are a devil—I + am a sinner. Henceforth I shall be devil and sinner too.’ With that she + left him. Since then she has been both devil and sinner, but not in the + way he meant; simply a danger to the safety of this dangerous community; a + Louise Michel—we had her here too!—without Louise Michel’s + high motives. Gabrielle Rouget may cause a revolt of the convicts some + day, to secure the escape of Henri Durien, or to give them all a chance. + The Governor does not believe it, but I do. You noticed what I said about + the Morgue, and that?” + </p> + <p> + Shorland paced up and down the room for a time, and then said: “Great + heaven, suppose that by some hideous chance this woman, Gabrielle Rouget, + or Lucile Laroche, should prove to be Freeman’s wife! The evidence is so + overwhelming. There evidently was some trick, some strange mistake, about + the Morgue and the burial. This is the fourteenth of January; Freeman is + to be married on the twenty-sixth! Monsieur, if this woman should be his + wife, there never was brewed an uglier scrape. There is Freeman—that’s + pitiful; there is Clare Hazard—that’s pitiful and horrible. For + nothing can be done; no cables from here, the Belle Sauvage gone, no + vessels or sails for two weeks. Ah well, there’s only one thing to do—find + out the truth from Gabrielle if I can, and trust in Providence.” + </p> + <p> + “Well spoken,” said M. Barre. “Have some more champagne. I make the most + of the pleasure of your company, and so I break another bottle. Besides, + it may be the last I shall get for a time. There is trouble brewing at + Bompari—a native insurrection—and we may have to move at any + moment. However this Gabrielle affair turns out, you have your business to + do. You want to see the country, to study our life-well, come with us. We + will house you, feed you as we feed, and you shall have your tobacco at + army prices.” + </p> + <p> + Much as Blake Shorland was moved by the events of the last few hours he + was enough the soldier and the man of the world to face possible troubles + without the loss of appetite, sleep, or nerve. He had cultivated a habit + of deliberation which saved his digestion and preserved his mental poise; + and he had a faculty for doing the right thing at the right time. From his + stand-point, his late adventure in the Cafe Voisin was the right thing, + serious as the results might have been or might yet be. He now promptly + met the French officer’s exuberance of spirits with a hearty gaiety, and + drank his wine with genial compliment and happy anecdote. It was late when + they parted; the Frenchman excited, beaming, joyous, the Englishman + responsive, but cool in mind still. + </p> + <p> + III + </p> + <p> + After breakfast next morning Shorland expressed to M. Barre his intention + of going to see Gabrielle Rouget. He was told that he must not go alone; a + guard would be too conspicuous and might invite trouble; he himself would + bear him company. + </p> + <p> + The hot January day was reflected from the red streets, white houses, and + waxen leaves of the tropical foliage with enervating force. An occasional + ex-convict sullenly lounged by, touching his cap as he was required by + law; a native here and there leaned idly against a house-wall or a + magnolia tree; ill-looking men and women loitered in the shade. A + Government officer went languidly by in full uniform—even the + Governor wore uniform at all times to encourage respect—and the + cafes were filling. Every hour was “absinthe-hour” in Noumea, which had + improved on Paris in this particular. A knot of men stood at the door of + the Cafe Voisin gesticulating nervously. One was pointing to a notice + posted on the bulletin-board of the cafe announcing that all citizens must + hold themselves in readiness to bear arms in case the rumoured + insurrection among the natives proved serious. It was an evil-looking + company who thus discussed Governor Rapont’s commands. As the two passed + in, Shorland noticed that one of the group made a menacing action towards + Alencon Barre. + </p> + <p> + Gabrielle was talking to an ex-convict as they entered. Her face looked + worn; there was a hectic spot on each cheek and dark circles round the + eyes. There was something animal-like about the poise of the head and + neck, something intense and daring about the woman altogether. Her + companion muttered between his teeth: “The cursed English spy!” + </p> + <p> + But she turned on him sharply: “Go away, Gaspard, I have business. So have + you—go.” The ex-convict slowly left the cafe still muttering. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Gabrielle, how are your children this morning? They look gloomy + enough for the guillotine, eh?” said M. Barre. + </p> + <p> + “They are much trouble, sometimes—my children.” + </p> + <p> + “Last night, for instance.” + </p> + <p> + “Last night. But monsieur was unwise. We do not love the English here. + They do not find it comfortable on English soil, in Australia—my + children! Not so comfortable as Louis Philippe and Louis Napoleon. + Criminal kings with gold are welcome; criminal subjects without gold—ah, + that is another matter, monsieur. It is just the same. They may be + gentlemen—many are; if they escape to Australia or go as liberes, + they are hunted down. That is English, and they hate the English—my + children.” + </p> + <p> + Gabrielle’s voice was directed to M. Barre, but her eyes were on Shorland. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Gabrielle, all English are not inhospitable. My friend here, we + must be hospitable to him. The coals of fire, you know, Gabrielle. We owe + him some thing for yesterday. He wishes to speak to you. Be careful, + Gabrielle. No communist justice, Citizen Gabrielle.” M. Barre smiled + gaily. + </p> + <p> + Gabrielle smiled in reply, but it was not a pleasant smile, and she said: + “Treachery, M. Barre—treachery in Noumea? There is no such thing. It + is all fair in love and war. No quarter, no mercy, no hope. All is fair + where all is foul, M. Barre.” + </p> + <p> + M. Barre shrugged his shoulders pleasantly and replied: “If I had my way + your freedom should be promptly curtailed, Gabrielle. You are an active + citizen, but you are dangerous, truly.” + </p> + <p> + “I like you better when you do not have your way. Yet my children do not + hate you, M. Barre. You speak your thought, and they know what to expect. + Your family have little more freedom in France than my children have + here.” + </p> + <p> + M. Barre looked at her keenly for an instant, then, lighting a cigarette, + he said: “So, Gabrielle, so! That is enough. You wish to speak to M. + Shorland—well!” He waved his hand to her and walked away from them. + Gabrielle paused a moment, looking sharply at Blake Shorland, then she + said: “Monsieur will come with me?” + </p> + <p> + She led the way into another room, the boudoir, sitting-room, + breakfast-room, library, all in one. She parted the curtains at the + window, letting the light fall upon the face of her companion, while hers + remained in the shadow. He knew the trick, and moved out of the belt of + light. He felt that he was dealing with a woman of singular astuteness, + with one whose wickedness was unconventional and intrepid. To his mind + there came on the instant the memory of a Rocky Mountain lioness that he + had seen caged years before; lithe, watchful, nervously powerful, superior + to its surroundings, yet mastered by those surroundings—the trick of + a lock, not a trick of strength. He thought he saw in Gabrielle a woman + who for a personal motive was trying to learn the trick of the lock in + Noumea, France’s farthest prison. For a moment they looked at each other + steadily, then she said: “That portrait—let me see it.” + </p> + <p> + The hand that she held out was unsteady, and it looked strangely white and + cold. He drew the photograph from his pocket and handed it to her. A flush + passed across her face as she looked at it, and was followed by a marked + paleness. She gazed at the portrait for a moment, then her lips parted and + a great sigh broke from her. She was about to hand it back to him, but an + inspiration seemed to seize her, and she threw it on the floor and put her + heel upon it. “That is the way I treated him,” she said, and she ground + her heel into the face of the portrait. Then she took her foot away. “See, + see,” she cried, “how his face is scarred and torn! I did that. Do you + know what it is to torture one who loves you? No, you do not. You begin + with shame and regret. But the sight of your lover’s agonies, his + indignation, his anger, madden you and you get the lust of cruelty. You + become insane. You make new wounds. You tear open old ones. You cut, you + thrust, you bruise, you put acid in the sores—the sharpest nitric + acid; and then you heal with a kiss of remorse, and that is acid too—carbolic + acid, and it smells of death. They put it in the room where dead people + are. Have you ever been to the Morgue in Paris? They use it there.” + </p> + <p> + She took up the portrait. “Look,” she said, “how his face is torn! Tell me + of him.” + </p> + <p> + “First, who are you?” + </p> + <p> + She steadied herself. “Who are you?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I am his friend, Blake Shorland.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I remember your name.” She threw her hands up with a laugh, a bitter + hopeless laugh. Her eyes half closed, so that only light came from them, + no colour. The head was thrown back with a defiant recklessness, and then + she said: “I was Lucile Laroche, his wife—Luke Freeman’s wife.” + </p> + <p> + “But his wife died. He identified her in the Morgue.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know why I speak to you so, but I feel that the time has come to + tell all to you. That was not his wife in the Morgue. It was his wife’s + sister, my sister whom my brother drowned for her money—he made her + life such a misery! And he did not try to save her when he knew she meant + to drown herself. She was not bad; she was a thousand times better than I + am, a million times better than he was. He was a devil. But he is dead now + too.... She was taken to the Morgue. She looked like me altogether; she + wore a ring of mine, and she had a mark on her shoulder the same as one on + mine; her initials were the same. Luke had never seen her. He believed + that I lay dead there, and he buried her for me. I thought at the time + that it would be best I should be dead to him and to the world. And so I + did not speak. It was all the same to my brother. He got what was left of + my fortune, and I got what was left of hers. For I was dead, you see—dead, + dead, dead!” + </p> + <p> + She paused again. Neither spoke for a moment. Shorland was thinking what + all this meant to Clare Hazard and Luke Freeman. + </p> + <p> + “Where is he? What is he doing?” she said at length. “Tell me. I was—I + am—his wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you were—you are—his wife. But better if you had been + that woman in the Morgue,” he said without pity. What were this creature’s + feelings to him? There was his friend and the true-souled Clare. + </p> + <p> + “I know, I know,” she replied. “Go on!” + </p> + <p> + “He is well. The man that was born when his wife lay before him in the + Morgue has found another woman, a good woman who loves him and—” + </p> + <p> + “And is married to her?” interrupted Gabrielle, her face taking on again a + shining whiteness. But, as though suddenly remembering something, she + laughed that strange laugh which might have come from a soul irretrievably + lost. “And is married to her?” + </p> + <p> + Blake Shorland thought of the lust of cruelty, of the wounds, and the + acids of torture. “Not yet,” he said; “but the marriage is set for the + twenty-six of this month.” + </p> + <p> + “How I could spoil all that!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you could spoil all that. But you have spoiled enough already. Don’t + you think that if Luke Freeman does marry, you had better be dead as you + have been this last five years? To have spoiled one life ought to be + enough to satisfy even a woman like you.” + </p> + <p> + Her eyes looked through Blake Shorland’s eyes and beyond them to something + else; and then they closed. When they opened again, she said: “It is + strange that I never thought of his marrying again. And now I want to kill + her—just for the moment. That is the selfish devil in me. Well, what + is to be done, monsieur? There is the Morgue left. But then there is no + Morgue here. Ah, well, we can make one, perhaps—we can make a + Morgue, monsieur.” + </p> + <p> + “Can’t you see that he ought to be left the rest of his life in peace?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I can see that.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, then!” + </p> + <p> + “Well—and then, monsieur? Ah, you did not wish him to marry me. He + told me so. ‘A fickle foreigner,’ you said. And you were right, but it was + not pleasant to me. I hated you then, though I had never spoken to you nor + seen you; not because I wanted him, but because you interfered. He said + once to me that you had told the truth in that. But—and then, + monsieur?” + </p> + <p> + “Then continue to efface yourself. Continue to be the woman in the + Morgue.” + </p> + <p> + “But others know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Henri Durien knows and M. Barre suspects.” + </p> + <p> + “So, you see.” + </p> + <p> + “But Henri Durien is a prisoner for life; he cannot hear of the marriage + unless you tell him. M. Barre is a gentleman: he is my friend; his memory + will be dead like you.” + </p> + <p> + “For M. Barre, well! But the other—Henri. How do you know that he is + here for life? Men get pardoned, men get free, men—get free, I tell + you.” + </p> + <p> + Shorland noticed the interrupted word. He remembered it afterwards all too + distinctly enough. + </p> + <p> + “The twenty-sixth, the twenty-sixth,” she said. + </p> + <p> + Then a pause, and afterwards with a sudden sharpness: “Come to me on the + twenty-fifth, and I will give you my reply, M. Shorland.” + </p> + <p> + He still held the portrait in his hand. She stepped forward. “Let me see + it again,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He handed it to her: “You have spoiled a good face, Gabrielle.” + </p> + <p> + “But the eyes are not hurt,” she replied; “see how they look at one.” She + handed it back. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, kindly.” + </p> + <p> + “And sadly. As though he still remembered Lucile. Lucile! I have not been + called that name for a long time. It is on my grave-stone, you know. Ah, + perhaps you do not know. You never saw my grave. I have. And on the + tombstone is written this: By Luke to Lucile. And then beneath, where the + grass almost hides it, the line: I have followed my Star to the last. You + do not know what that line means; I will tell you. Once, when we were + first married, he wrote me some verses, and he called them, ‘My Star, + Lucile.’ Here is a verse—ah, why do you not smile, when I say I will + tell you what he wrote? Chut! Women such as I have memories sometimes. One + can admire the Heaven even if one lives in—ah, you know! Listen.” + And with a voice that seemed far away and not part of herself she repeated + these lines: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “In my sky of delight there’s a beautiful Star; + ‘Tis the sun and the moon of my days; + And the doors of its glory are ever ajar, + And I live in the glow of its rays. + ‘Tis my winter of joy and my summer of rest, + ‘Tis my future, my present, my past; + And though storms fill the East and the clouds haunt the West, + I shall follow my Star to the last.” + </pre> + <p> + “There, that was to Lucile. What would he write to Gabrielle—to + Henri’s Gabrielle? How droll—how droll!” Again she laughed that + laugh of eternal recklessness. + </p> + <p> + It filled Shorland this time with a sense of fear. He lost sight of + everything—this strange and interesting woman, and the peculiar + nature of the events in which he was sharing, and saw only Clare Hazard’s + ruined life, Luke Freeman’s despair, and the fatal 26th of January, so + near at hand. He could see no way out of the labyrinth of disgrace. It + unnerved him more than anything that had ever happened to him, and he + turned bewildered towards the door. He saw that while Gabrielle lived, a + dead misfortune would be ever crouching at the threshold of Freeman’s + home, that whether the woman agreed to be silent or not, the hurt to Clare + would remain the same. With an angry bitterness in his voice that he did + not try to hide he said: “There is nothing more to be done now, Gabrielle, + that I can see. But it is a crime—it is a pity!” + </p> + <p> + “A pity that he did not tell the truth on the gravestone—that he did + not follow his star to the last, monsieur? How droll! And you should see + how green the grass was on my grave! Yes, it is a pity.” + </p> + <p> + But Shorland, heavy at heart, looked at her and said nothing more. He + wondered why it was that he did not loathe her. Somehow, even in her + shame, she compelled a kind of admiration and awe. She was the wreck of + splendid possibilities. A poisonous vitality possessed her, but through it + glowed a daring and a candour that belonged to her before she became + wicked, and that now half redeemed her in the eyes of this man, who knew + the worst of her. Even in her sin she was loyal to the scoundrel for whom + she had sacrificed two lives, her own and another’s. Her brow might flush + with shame of the mad deed that turned her life awry, and of the + degradation of her present surroundings; but her eyes looked straight into + those of Shorland without wavering, with the pride of strength if not of + goodness. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, there is one thing more,” she said. “Give me that portrait to keep—until + the 25th. Then you may take it—from the woman in the Morgue.” + </p> + <p> + Shorland thought for a moment. She had spoken just now without sneering, + without bravado, without hardness. He felt that behind this woman’s + outward cruelty and varying moods there was something working that perhaps + might be trusted, something in Luke’s interest. He was certain that this + portrait had moved her deeply. Had she come to that period of reaction in + evil when there is an agonised desire to turn back towards the good? He + gave the portrait to her. + </p> + <p> + IV + </p> + <p> + Sitting in Alencon Barre’s room an hour later, Shorland told him in + substance the result of his conference with Gabrielle, and begged his + consideration for Luke if the worst should happen. Alencon Barre gave his + word as a man of honour that the matter should be sacred to him. As they + sat there, a messenger came from the commandant to say that the detachment + was to start that afternoon for Bompari. Then a note was handed to + Shorland from Governor Rapont offering him a horse and a native servant if + he chose to go with the troops. This was what Shorland had come for—news + and adventure. He did not hesitate, though the shadow of the twenty-fifth + was hanging over him. He felt his helplessness in the matter, but + determined to try to be back in Noumea on that date. Not that he expected + anything definite, but because he had a feeling that where Gabrielle was + on that day he ought to be. + </p> + <p> + For two days they travelled, the friendship between them growing hourly + closer. It was the swift amalgamation of two kindred natures in the flame + of a perfect sincerity, for even with the dramatic element so strongly + developed in him, the Englishman was downright and true. His friendship + was as tenacious as his head was cool. + </p> + <p> + On the evening of the third day Shorland noticed that the strap of his + spur was frayed. He told his native servant to attend to it. Next morning + as they were starting he saw that the strap had not been mended or + replaced. His language on the occasion was pointed and confident. The fact + is, he was angry with himself for trusting anything to a servant. He was + not used to such a luxury, and he made up his mind to live for the rest of + the campaign without a servant, as he had done all his life long. + </p> + <p> + The two friends rode side by side for miles through the jungle of fern and + palm, and then began to enter a more open but scrubby country. The scouts + could be seen half a mile ahead. Not a sign of natives had been discovered + on the march. More than once Barre had expressed his anxiety at this. He + knew it pointed to concentrated trouble ahead, and, just as they neared + the edge of the free country, he rose in his saddle and looked around + carefully. Shorland imitated his action, and, as he resumed his seat, he + felt his spur-strap break. He leaned back, and drew up the foot to take + off the spur. As he did so, he felt a sudden twitch at his side, and Barre + swayed in his saddle with a spear in the groin. Shorland caught him and + prevented him falling to the ground. A wild cry rose from the jungle + behind and from the clearing ahead, and in a moment the infuriated French + soldiers were in the thick of a hand-to-hand fray under a rain of spears + and clubs. The spear that had struck Barre would have struck Shorland had + he not bent backward when he did. As it was the weapon had torn a piece of + cloth from his coat. + </p> + <p> + A moment, and the wounded man was lifted to the ground. The surgeon shook + his head in sad negation. Death already blanched the young officer’s face. + Shorland looked into the misty eyes with a sadness only known to those who + can gauge the regard of men who suffer for each other. Four days ago this + gallant young officer had taken risk for him, had saved him from injury, + perhaps death; to-day the spear meant for him had stricken down this same + young officer, never to rise again. The vicarious sacrifice seemed none + the less noble to the Englishman because it was involuntary and an + accident. The only point clear in his mind was that had he not leant back, + Barre would be the whole man and he the wounded one. + </p> + <p> + “How goes it, my friend?” said Shorland, bending over him. + </p> + <p> + Alencon Barre looked up, agony twitching his nostrils and a dry white line + on his lips. “Ah, mon camarade,” he answered huskily, “it is in action—that + is much; it is for France, that is more to me—everything. They would + not let me serve France in Paris, but I die for her in New Caledonia. I + have lived six-and-twenty years. I have loved the world. Many men have + been kind, and once there was a woman—and I shall see her soon, + quite soon. It is strange. The eyes will become blind, and then they will + open, and—ah!” His fingers closed convulsively on those of Blake + Shorland. When the ghastly tremor, the deadly corrosions of the poisoned + spear passed he said: “So—so! It is the end. C’est bien, c’est + bien!” + </p> + <p> + All round them the fight raged, and French soldiers were repeating English + bravery in the Soudan. + </p> + <p> + “It is not against a great enemy, but it is good,” said the wounded man as + he heard the conquering cries of a handful of soldiers punishing ten times + their numbers. “You remember Prince Eugene and the assegais?” + </p> + <p> + “I remember.” + </p> + <p> + “Our Houses were enemies, but we were friends, he and I. And so, and so, + you see, it is the same for both.” + </p> + <p> + Again the teeth of the devouring poison fastened on him, and, when it left + him, a grey pallor had settled upon the face. + </p> + <p> + Blake Shorland said to him gently: “How do you feel about it all?” + </p> + <p> + As if in gentle protest the head moved slightly. “All’s well, all’s well,” + the low voice said. + </p> + <p> + A pause, in which the cries of the wounded came through the smoke, and + then the dying man, feeling the approach of another convulsion, said: “A + cigarette, mon ami.” + </p> + <p> + Blake Shorland put a cigarette between his lips and lighted it. + </p> + <p> + “And now a little wine,” the fallen soldier added. The surgeon, who had + come again for a moment, nodded and said: “It may help.” + </p> + <p> + Barre’s native servant brought a bottle of champagne intended to be drunk + after the expected victory, but not in this fashion! + </p> + <p> + Shorland understood. This brave young soldier of a dispossessed family + wished to show no fear of pain, no lack of outward and physical courage in + the approaching and final shock. He must do something that was + conventional, natural, habitual, that would take his mind from the thing + itself. At heart he was right. The rest was a question of living like a + strong-nerved soldier to the last. The tobacco-smoke curled feebly from + his lips, and was swallowed up in the clouds of powder-smoke that circled + round them. With his head on his native servant’s knee he watched Shorland + uncork the bottle and pour the wine into the surgeon’s medicine-glass. It + was put in his fingers; he sipped it once and then drank it all. “Again,” + he said. + </p> + <p> + Again it was filled. The cigarette was smoked nearly to the end. Shorland + must unburden his mind of one thought, and he said: “You took what was + meant for me, my friend.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, no, no! It was the fortune, we will say the good fortune. C’est + bien!” Then, “The wine, the wine,” he said, and his fingers again clasped + those of Shorland tremblingly. He took the glass in his right hand and + lifted it. “God guard all at home, God keep France!” he said. He was about + to place the glass to his lips, when a tremor seized him, and the glass + fell from his hand. He fell back, his breath quick and vanishing, his eyes + closing, and a faint smile upon his lips. “It is always the same with + France,” he said; “always the same.” And he was gone. + </p> + <p> + V + </p> + <p> + The French had bought their victory dear with the death of Alencon Barre, + their favourite officer. When they turned their backs upon a quelled + insurrection, there was a gap that not even French buoyancy could fill. On + the morning of the twenty-fifth they neared Noumea. Shorland thought of + all that day meant to Luke and Clare. He was helpless to alter the course + of events, to stay a terrible possibility. + </p> + <p> + “You can never trust a woman of Gabrielle’s stamp,” he said to himself, as + they rode along through valleys of ferns, grenadillas, and limes. “They + have no baseline of duty; they either rend themselves or rend others, but + rend they must, hearts and not garments. Henri Durien knows, and she + knows, and Alencon Barre knew, poor boy! But what Barre knew is buried + with him back there under the palms. Luke and Clare are to be married + to-morrow-God help them! And I can see them in their home, he standing by + the fireplace in his old way—it’s winter there—and looking + down at Clare; and on the other side of the fireplace sits the sister of + the Woman in the Morgue, waiting for the happiest moment in the lives of + these two before her. And when it comes, as she did with the portrait, as + she did with him before, she will set her foot upon his face and then on + Clare’s; only neither Luke nor Clare will live again after that + crucifixion.” Then aloud: “Hello! what’s that?—a messenger riding + hard to meet us! Smoke in the direction of Noumea and sound of firing! + What’s that, doctor? Convicts revolted, made a break at the prison and on + the way to the quarries at the same moment! Of course—seized the + time when the post was weakest, helped by ticket-of-leave-men and led by + Henri Durien, Gaspard, and Gabrielle Rouget. Gabrielle Rouget, eh! And + this is the twenty-fifth! Yes, I will take Barre’s horse, captain, thank + you; it is fresher than mine. Away we go! Egad, they’re at it, doctor! + Hear the rifles!” Answering to the leader’s cry of “Forward, forward!” the + detachment dashed into the streets of this little Paris, which, after the + fashion of its far-away mother, was dipping its hands in Revolution. + Outcast and criminal France were arrayed against military France once + more. A handful of guards in the prison at Ile Nou were bravely holding in + check a ruthless mob of convicts; and a crowd of convicts in the street + keeping back a determined military force. Part of the newly-arrived + reinforcements proceeded to Ile Nou, part moved towards the barricade. + Shorland went to the barricade. + </p> + <p> + The convicts had the Cafe Voisin in their rear. As the reinforcements + joined the besieging party a cheer arose, and a sally was made upon the + barricade. It was a hail of fire meeting a slighter rain of fire—a + cry of coming victory cutting through a sullen roar of despair. The square + in which the convicts were massed was a trench of blood and bodies; but + they fought on. There was but one hope—to break out, to meet the + soldiers hand to hand and fight for passage to the friendly jungle and to + the sea, where they might trust to that Providence who appears to help + even the wicked sometimes. As Shorland looked upon the scene he thought of + Alencon Barre’s words: “It is always the same with France, always the + same.” + </p> + <p> + The fight grew fiercer, the soldiers pressed nearer. And now one clear + voice was heard above the din, “Forward, forward, my children!” and some + one sprang upon the outer barricade. It was the plotter of the revolt, the + leader, the manager of the “Underground Railway,” the beloved of the + convicts—Gabrielle Rouget. + </p> + <p> + The sunlight glorified her flying hair and vivid dress-vivid with the + blood of the fallen. Her arms, her shoulders, her feet were bare; all that + she could spare from her body had gone to bind the wounds of her desperate + comrades. In her hands she held a carbine. As she stood for an instant + unmoving, the firing, as if by magic, ceased. She raised a hand. “We will + have the guillotine in Paris,” she said; “but not the hell of exile here.” + </p> + <p> + Then Henri Durien, the convict, sprang up beside her; the man for whom she + had made a life’s sacrifice—for whom she had come to this! His head + was bandaged and clotted with blood; his eyes shone with the fierceness of + an animal at bay. Close after him crowded the handful of his frenzied + compatriots in crime. + </p> + <p> + Then a rifle-crack was heard, and Henri Durieu fell at the feet of + Gabrielle. The wave on the barricade quivered, and then Gabrielle’s voice + was heard crying, “Avenge him! Free yourselves, my children! Death is + better than prison!” + </p> + <p> + The wave fell in red turmoil on the breakers. And still Gabrielle stood + alone above the body of Henri Durien; but the carbine was fallen from her + hands. She stood as one awaiting death, her eyes upon the unmoving form at + her feet. The soldiers watched her, but no one fired. Her face was white; + but in the eyes there was a wild triumph. She wanted death now; but these + French soldiers had not the heart to kill her. + </p> + <p> + When she saw that, she leaned and thrust a hand into the bleeding bosom of + Henri Durien, and holding it aloft cried: “For this blood men must die.” + Stooping again she seized the carbine and levelled it at the officer in + command. Before she could pull the trigger some one fired, and she fell + across the body of her lover. A moment afterwards Shorland stood beside + her. She was shot through the lungs. + </p> + <p> + He stooped over her. “Gabrielle, Gabrielle!” he said. “Yes, yes, I know—I + saw you. This is the twenty-fifth. He will be married to-morrow-Luke. I + owed it to him to die; I owed it to Henri to die this way.” She drew the + scarred portrait of Luke Freeman from her bosom and gave it over. + </p> + <p> + “His eyes made me,” she said. “They haunted me. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it is all done. I am sorry, ah! Never tell him of this. I go away—away—with + Henri.” + </p> + <p> + She closed her eyes and was still for a moment; so still that he thought + her dead. But she looked up at him again and said with her last breath: “I + am—the Woman in the Morgue—always—now!” + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + PG EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS: + + All is fair where all is foul + Answered, with the indifference of despair + Ate some coffee-beans and drank some cold water + He borrowed no trouble + His courtesy was not on the same expansive level as his vanity + It isn’t what they do, it’s what they don’t do + Mystery is dear to a woman’s heart + Never looked to get an immense amount of happiness out of life + No, I’m not good—I’m only beautiful + Preserved a marked unconsciousness + Should not make our own personal experience a law unto the world + Surely she might weep a little for herself + There is nothing so tragic as the formal + Time when she should and when she should not be wooed + Undisciplined generosity + Where the light is darkness + Women don’t go by evidence, but by their feelings + You have lost your illusions + You’ve got to be ready, that’s all +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Cumner & South Sea Folk, Complete +by Gilbert Parker + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK CUMNER & SOUTH SEA FOLK, COMPLETE *** + +***** This file should be named 6201-h.htm or 6201-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/6/2/0/6201/ + +Produced by David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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