In five weeks Mr. '—' had spent at least as many thousands of pounds; and still matters were at a stand when, one day, Mr. Tomlinson reported a boat under our quarter demanding speech with us. I went to the side and saw a tall lank-haired man, in a suit of white duck, standing in the stern-sheets with the tiller-lines in his hands.
"No pigtail on me, Cap!" he bawled. "I'm Oliphant Q. Wills, of the American barque Independence: and I want to come aboard." He pointed to his vessel, which had entered the river soon after us, and now lay, ready for sea, two cables distant from us.
I saw no reason for refusing; and in less than a minute he came running up the ladder, and introduced himself again. "Business," said he; so I led him to my cabin.
"Hullo!" said he, looking over the floor. "I observe you don't chew." He glanced at the stern-window. I opened it. Our talk then ran as follows:
Capt. W. "I've come to trade."
Self. "Then you have come, sir, to a very bad ship."
Capt. W. "I allowed you would say that. I know all about it, and came in consequence. I never miss a chance."
Self. "You wish to buy, of course."
Capt. W. "Not at all. I'm here to sell."
Self. "What, pray?"
Capt. W. "A half-hogshead cask of pretty ordinary Geneva: with a
Dutchwoman inside."
Self. "Now, where on earth could you have picked that up?"
Capt. W. (spitting out of window). "In latitude 28 degrees; in a flat calm; off a Dutch East Indiaman. The name I have at home on a bit of paper: you shall have it as warranty with the cask. The captain was drunk, and I traded with the mate. I never miss a chance. The mate said nothing of the woman inside. I believe her to be his captain's wife, preserved for burial ashore. This is painful for me to speak about; for I had the worst of the deal, and such is not my reputation. But I allowed I would sell that cask at a profit if I carried it around for a hundred years."
Self. "What do you ask?"
Capt. W. "Well, I have been enquiring of Mr. '—', your Chief Factor here; and he tells me that your brother, Mr. Obed Lanyon, was with Cook and Vancouver, and knows the coast from Cape Flattery northwards and round by the Aleutians like the palm of his hand. Now it happens I have business up there among the Russian settlements—part trade, part exploring— I needn't say more, for the United States' Government didn't send me to tell secrets. A man like your brother would be money in my pocket all the way: and at the end of the job I would undertake to deliver him and his wife safely at any American port within reason, with money to take them home like princes, and a trifle over. I'm a square man: and if I weren't, you couldn't be in a worse fix than you are."
"I think," said I, "if you do not mind waiting a few minutes, we will trade, Mr. Wills." With this I went on deck and hoisted my private signal for Mr. '—', who came alongside in less than half-an-hour. He was a practical man, and at once saw the prospect of escape held out by the American's offer, ridiculous as it may seem to those who know little of Chinese law and custom. Indeed one of the magistrates had frankly appealed to Mr. '—' to hire a substitute for Margit among the negro women at Macao: and our friend engaged that by spending a few hundred additional dollars he would get the Dutchwoman's corpse accepted as full discharge for the offence, provided that Mrs. Lanyon could be smuggled out of the Canton River. This Captain Wills readily undertook to do. Mr. '—' then suggested that his negotiations would be made easier by the disappearance of all implicated in the scuffle—i.e. Mr. Tomlinson and myself, as well as Obed and Mrs. Lanyon. Mr. Findlater, my first officer, could take command and work the Macartney home; and Mr. '—' engaged to make our case right with the Company, though at the cost to me of the indirect profits which a commander looks to make from a homeward voyage. We discussed this for some while, and in the end agreed to it. Captain Wills, being short-handed, was even generous enough to offer me a small sum for my services in assisting him with the navigation.
To be short, all was arranged. That same night a boat from the Independence brought the famous cask of Geneva alongside, and took us four English people in exchange, and by 4 a.m. we were under weigh and heading for the open sea.
The Independence steered through the Formosa Strait, across the Eastern Sea, and on the 25th of July entered the bay of Nangasaki under Russian colours, which she thenceforth continued to fly. Like most European captains, our American kept his straightforward dealing for certain races only. He produced his trading articles: but the Japanese wanted nothing, and demanded to know what brought him there? He answered that he wanted water and fresh provisions (we had a plenty of both), and to prove it, ordered several butts to be started, and brought empty on deck. This was enough for the hospitable Japanese; who next day brought supplies of hogs, fish, and vegetables, for which they asked no payment; besides four dozen large tubs of water, which Captain Wills emptied on deck, stopping the scuppers, and removing the plugs at night so that the water might not be perceived. On the fourth day we got under weigh again; our deluded friends even going so far in kindness as to tow us out of the bay, and parting from us with cheers and much waving of hats and hands.
From Nangasaki we made for Kamschatka and thence for the Aleutian Islands and the American coast. On his way Captain Wills sedulously prosecuted the business for which his vessel had been chartered by the Russian American Company, and distributed his cargo of nankeens, silks, tea, sugar, etc., among the Russian settlements dotted among the islands. So far, Obed's services had been in little request: and I, too, had leisure to observe and wonder at a certain remarkable change that had come over Margit—as it seemed to me, from the time of our entering the parallels above 50 degrees. Her usual calm bearing had given way to succeeding fits of restlessness and apathy. At times she would sit dejected for hours together; at others, she would walk the deck without pause, her cloak thrown open to the cold wind, which she seemed to drink like a thirsty creature. One day, the vessel being awkwardly becalmed within a mile of an ugly-looking iceberg, her excitement rose to something like a frenzy. The weather being hazy, Obed—who was busy with the captain taking soundings—asked me to run below for his glass; and there I almost fell Over Margit, who lay on the cabin floor, her whole body writhing, her hands tightly clenched upon a handkerchief which she had torn to rags. Of course I asked what ailed her, and offered to bring help, medicines, anything. She rose in confusion. 'It was a pain at the heart,' she said; 'nothing more: it would quickly pass: the cold brought it on, she thought. I would oblige her by going away; and, above all, by saying nothing to Obed.'
To what extent Obed remarked the change, I cannot tell. He now began to be pretty busy with his soundings and sketches of the coast. We had left Kadjak on the 9th of October, and on the last day of the month were cruising off Queen Charlotte's Island. So far, considering the lateness of the season, we had enjoyed remarkable weather. The natives, too, were friendly beyond expectation. The sight of our vessel brought them off in great numbers and at times we had as many as a hundred canoes about us, the largest holding perhaps a dozen, some armed with muskets, but the most with lances and forks pointed with stags' antlers and a kind of scimetar made of whale-rib. We suffered but two or three persons to board us at a time, and traded with them for dried fish, sea-otters, beaver and reindeer skins. A string of glass beads (blue was the favourite colour) would buy a salmon of 20 pounds weight: but for beaver they would take nothing less valuable than China stuffs.
Obed had warned us against the natives of Queen Charlotte's Island, as likely to prove stronger and less friendly than any we had encountered. We felt a reasonable anxiety, therefore, when, almost as soon as we sighted the island, a thick fog came up with some wind and a heavy swell from the south and hid the coast completely. This lasted until November 2nd at daybreak, when the weather lifted and we saw land at about eight miles' distance. Unhappily the wind dropped at once, while the motion of the waves continued, and our sails being useless, we found ourselves drifting rapidly shoreward with the set of the current. In the height of our dismay, however, a breeze sprang up from the north-west, and we worked off.
But we were over-hasty in blessing this breeze, which before midnight grew to a violent gale: and for two days we drove before it in much distress—Obed and I taking turns at conning the ship, since Captain Wills had received an awkward blow between the shoulders from the swinging of a loose block, and lay below in considerable pain and occasionally spitting blood, which made us fear some inward hurt. During the night of the 4th, the wind moderated; but the weather turning thick again, we were hardly reassured.
Early on the 6th Captain Wills appeared once more on deck and sent me below to get some sleep. I believe indeed that, had fate allowed, I could have slept round the clock. But at ten that morning a violent shock pitched me clean out of my berth. The Independence was aground.
The place of our shipwreck you will find in 47 degrees 66 minutes N. lat., between Vancouver's Cape Flattery and the mouth of the Columbia River, but nearer to the former. Luckily the Independence had run in upon soft ground and at high water: so that when the tide dropped she still held together, though badly shaken and gaping in all her lower seams. To save her was out of the question. We therefore made the best of our way ashore in the dense fog, taking with us all our guns and the best part of our ammunition, as well as provisions and a quantity of sails and spars for rigging up tents. On no side of us could we see further than twenty paces. Of the inhabitants of this dreary spot—if indeed it had inhabitants—we knew nothing. So we first of all cleaned and loaded our firearms, and then set to work to light a fire and erect a shelter. We had done better, as it turned out, to have divided our company, and told off a fairly strong party to protect the ship. As it was, Captain Wills remained on board with three men to cut away and take down some of the heavier tackling.
We had set up one tent and were at work on the second, when I heard an exclamation from Margit, who stood by the big cauldron, a few paces off, cooking our dinner of salt pork. Looking up I saw a ring of savages all about us on the edge of the fog.
They were brown undersized men, clothed for the most part in dirty blankets and armed with short lances shod with iron, though one or two carried muskets. These last I soon discovered to be toens, or elders, of the tribe. They stood and observed us with great gravity (indeed in all my acquaintance with them I never knew one to smile) and in absolute silence. I could not tell how many the fog concealed. They made no aggressive movement.
I called to Margit, bidding her leave the cauldron and walk quietly towards us; and she did so. Almost at once a savage thrust his lance into the pot, drew out our dinner on the end of it, and laid it on the sand. One of the toens then cut up the pork with his knife and handed the portions round, retaining a large lump for himself.
Seeing this, some of our men were for hostilities: but I restrained them and we made our meal from a barrel of biscuit, eating in silence while the natives chewed away at the pork. The meal over, we fell to work and finished the second tent without opposition, though curiosity drew some of our visitors so near as to hamper the workmen. When thrust aside they showed no resentment, but after a minute drew near again and impeded us as badly as ever.
Towards nightfall the main body drew off—whither, the fog did not reveal: but one or two entered the tents with us, hung around while we supped, and without the least invitation stretched themselves down to sleep. I own that this impudence tried my temper sorely, and Obed—the only one of us who knew some scraps of the language of these Indians— went so far as to remonstrate with them. But if they understood, they gave no sign of understanding: and we resolved to forbear from violence, at least so long as Captain Wills and his three comrades remained away from our main body and exposed to any vengeance these savages might wreak.
And our fears for the Captain were justified about 4 a.m. by a report of firearms in the direction of the ship. I sprang to the door and waved a torch, and in a minute or so our comrades came running in through a shower of stones and lances, several of which struck the tents. The natives, it appeared, had attempted to plunder the ship. At great risk Obed ran out to seek one of the toens and reason with him: but the mischief happened too quickly. Some of our men caught up their muskets and fired. Our assailants at once broke up and fled; and half-a-dozen of us charged down to the water's edge, where we saw a score and more with torches, busily setting fire to the ship. They too dispersed before us, leaving two of their number dead on the field and carrying off several wounded. But we came too late to save the Independence, which was already ablaze in a dozen different places; nor could we make any effort against the flames, for we knew not how sorely we might be wanted at the tents.
So we returned and spent the rest of the night in great discomfort, the blaze of the ship colouring the fog all around, but showing us nothing. Soon after daybreak the weather lifted a little, and what we saw discouraged us yet further. For, except the beach on which we were encamped, we found the whole coast covered with thick forest to the water's edge; while our boats, in which we might have made shift to escape, had been either fired or taken off by the savages. At 10 a.m., therefore, Captain Wills called a council of war, and informed us that he could think of no better plan than to push on for a harbour (its name, if I mistake not, was Gray's Harbour) lying about seventy miles to the southward, where a ship of the Company was due to call early in the spring. Obed remembered it, and added that the journey might be quickly made, since his map showed no creek or river that promised to impede us, and the Indians were not likely to annoy us while the camp and the remains of the barque afforded any plunder. Accordingly we packed up, and having destroyed what muskets and weapons we did not want and thrown our spare gunpowder into the sea, shortly after noon began our march through the forest.
We were nineteen persons in all: and each of us carried two muskets, a pistol and some pounds of ammunition, besides his share of the provisions. The only ones more lightly laden were Margit and Captain Wills. The latter, indeed, could with pain manage to walk at all, and so clogged the pace of the party that we made but eight miles before night-fall, when we halted in an open space, set watches, and passed the night with no more discomfort than came from the severe cold.
In the morning we started early and made a good ten miles before noon. The Captain now seemed at the end of his powers and we allowed him an hour's rest while we cleaned our firearms. Margit gave no sign of fatigue: but I observed that she walked alone and in silence. Indeed she had scarcely spoken since our shipwreck.
The ground chosen for our halt lay about mid-way down a stiff slope by which the forest descended to the sea, visible here and there between the stems of the trees below us. Shortly before two o'clock, when we were preparing to start again, a big stone came crashing down among our stores; and, as we scattered in alarm, two or three others followed. Looking up, I caught sight of a couple of Indians on the crest of the slope, and fired off my rifle to frighten them. They desisted at once: but to prevent further annoyance we made for the crest, where the rocky ground made walking difficult, so that we added but another five miles or so before nightfall.
During this night the wind rose, and at length it blew and snowed so hard as to drive us off the ridge. Luckily, however, one of the men discovered a shallow cave in the hillside, and here we huddled and continued all the next day and night, waiting for the storm to abate; which no sooner happened than we were assailed again by a perfect bombardment of big stones. These, however, flew harmlessly over our shelter.
I was dozing at daybreak on the 10th when a seaman named Hogue woke me and called my attention to the Captain. He was stiff and cold, and had died in the night without complaint and, as far as could be learnt, without sound. The rain of stones not being resumed with daylight, we left his body in the cave, and pushed on over the snow in sad and sorry condition: for our provisions now began to run short.
Obed assumed the lead, with the consent of all. Once or twice in the course of the morning I observed him to pause, as if listening. The cause of this became apparent at about one in the afternoon, when I, too, heard the sound of running water: and an hour later we halted on the edge of a broad valley, with a swift stream running through it, black between banks of snow, and on the near bank a few huts and a crowd of three hundred Indians at least.
They had already caught sight of us: so we judged it better to advance, after looking to our arms. We were met by a toen (the same that had cut up the pork) and a chief of taller stature and pleasanter features than we had hitherto happened on in the country. It now appeared that the previous silence of these people had been deliberate: for the toen at once began to talk in a language fairly intelligible to Obed. He proposed to supply us with boats to cross the river, if we would give up our muskets in payment. This, of course, we refused: but offered him the whole collection of beads and trinkets that we had brought with us in the hope of trafficking for food. After some haggling—to which the handsome chief, Yootramaki, listened with seeming disdain—the toen undertook to let us have the boats; and presently one appeared, paddled by three naked savages. As this would barely hold a dozen passengers, we begged for another, that we might all cross together. The toen complied, and sent a second, but much smaller boat. In these we allowed ourselves to be distributed—Obed and I with ten others in the larger, and Margit with five seamen in the smaller.
The boats pushed out into the stream, the larger leading. The current ran deep and swift: and when, about half-way across, the nearest savage ceased paddling, I supposed he did so that the others on the starboard side might more easily bring the bows round to it. Before one could guess his true intention he had stooped and whipped out a plug from the boat's bottom, at the same time calling to his comrades, who leapt up and flung themselves overboard. The next moment he was after them, and the whole party swimming to shore. The current swept us down and carried us so near to a spit of the shore we had left, that the savages, who now pelted us with arrows, succeeded in killing one seaman, and wounding four others: but here most fortunately it set right across for the opposite bank, where we contrived to land just as our boat sank beneath us. Those in the smaller boat, however, fell into our enemy's hands, who clubbed the five seamen on the head, sparing only Margit; and then, supposing our muskets to be wet and useless, crossed over in a canoe to attack us.
But as Providence would have it, we had four muskets left dry—they being slung round us in bandoliers—and the greater part of our powder unspoiled. We met the foe with a volley which disposed of three and sank the canoe. The survivors swam for it, and I dare say reached shore. A second canoe put off, and from the bows of it the rascally toen (cause of all this misfortune, as we deemed) hailed Obed and offered to let us go in peace and even restore Margit if we would surrender our firearms.
I think the coldest heart must have pitied my poor brother then. He paced the bank like a mad creature, silent, directing the most agonised looks at his comrades and at me in particular. We turned our faces aside; for his wishes were madness, yet we were asking him to sacrifice what was dearest to him in the world. In his distraction then he tore off most of his clothes, and piling them in a heap besought the toen to take them for the ransom; and we too stripped and stood all but naked, adding our prayers to his. But the scoundrel, without regard of our offering, spoke to his men, and was paddled away.
I will pass over the hour that followed. We quieted Obed's ravings at length; or rather, they ceased out of pure exhaustion. We were all starving in fact, and the food left in our wallets would not keep a cat alive for another forty-eight hours. Retiring to a clump of firs about 100 yards back from the river's bank, we scooped a hole in the snow and entrenched ourselves as well as we could for the night. Some of us managed to sleep a little; the others tried to allay the pangs of hunger by chewing their musket-covers, the sponges on their ramrods, even their boot-soles.
At midnight came my turn for watching. In my weakness I may have dozed, or perhaps was light-headed. At any rate, turning after some time to glance at the sleepers, I missed Obed. An ugly suspicion seized me; I counted the muskets. Two of these were missing. After shaking one of the sleepers by the elbow and bidding him watch, I leaped over our low breastwork and ran towards the river in the track of my brother's footsteps. Almost as I started, a flash and a report of a musket right ahead changed the current of my fears. By the light of the young moon I saw two figures struggling and rolling together on the river's brink. They were Obed and our peculiar enemy, the toen. The body of a dead Indian lad was stretched some ten paces off beside a small canoe which lay moored by the bank.
Our comrades came running up as I flung myself into the struggle, and we quickly secured the toen. I believe Obed would have killed him. "Don't be a fool!" said I; "cannot you see that we now have a hostage for Margit?" I ought at the same time to have begged his pardon for my suspicions. As the reader already knows, Obed had a far keener ear than I, and it had warned him of the canoe's approach. It turned out afterwards that the toen had planned this little reconnoitring expedition on his own account, and on the chance perhaps of filching a musket or two.
We quickly laid our plans; and at daybreak flung my gentleman, bound hand and foot, into his own canoe, which Obed and I paddled into mid-stream, while our party stood on the bank and watched. The village opposite seemed deserted: but at Obed's hail an Indian woman ran out of the largest hut, and returning, must have summoned the good-looking chief Yootramaki; who emerged in a minute or so, and came slowly down the bank. By this time several groups of Indians had gathered and stood looking on, in all perhaps eighty or a hundred people.
Obed pointed to our prisoner and made his demand. I understood him to ask for the immediate ransom of Margit, and a supply of salmon and other provisions to take us on our journey. The chief stood considering for a while; then spoke to a native boy, who ran to the house; and in a minute or so Margit herself appeared, with the native woman who had first taken word of us. She came down the bank, and Yootramaki signed to Obed to address her; which he did.
"Margit," said he, pointing to the toen, "I believe that in this scoundrel here God has provided a way out of all our troubles. We caught him last night, and have brought him along as ransom for you. But stand close to the water and be ready to jump for the boat if they mean treachery. Edom and I will see that you come to no harm."
"My dear husband," she answered, very quiet and slow, "I think you are wasting your time. I am sorry, but I shall not go with you."
Obed turned a dazed look on me, and then, supposing he had not heard aright, began again—
"Stand close by the water, and jump when I give the word. All may depend on your quickness—only be bold, my dear. I will explain after."
"But it is I that must explain. I am not going with you: really I am not."
Obed turned again to me, this time with wide eyes. "God of mercy!" he cried hoarsely; "her troubles have driven her mad!"
Margit heard. "Oh no," she said; "I am not mad. The chief here has taken me: he seems to be the most powerful man in this tribe, and at least he is kind. I should be mad, rather, to wander with you through the forests, and in the end fall into worse hands, or perhaps die of starvation or cold. I do not want to be frozen—again. Go away now, when you have bartered the man there for food. You have been very good to me, but this cannot be helped."
Obed lifted his gun: then lowered it. "Dom," he muttered, "can you shoot her? I cannot!"
I was using all my strength, just then, to keep paddling the canoe against the current. I caught a glimpse of our comrades on the further bank: and then exactly what happened I know not. Perhaps Margit, having given her answer, turned back towards the house. At any rate, shrilly crying her name, Obed sprang up and discharged his musket. The shot went wide. With a second furious cry he stooped, caught up the helpless toen, and held him high in air. The canoe lurched heavily, and the next instant I was in the water.
I never saw Obed again: and the toen must have gone down like a stone. For me, I struck out for the far shore, but the current swept me down on the sandy spit where we had nearly come to shipwreck, the day before. Several Indians had gathered there. One ran into the water, waist-high, lifting a club. I turned and made a last effort to swim from him, but he flung himself on my back and bore me under.
I recovered to find myself in an Indian hut. Margit had persuaded them to spare me, and I was now, in name at least, a slave in Yootramaki's possession. As a matter of fact, however, I was allowed to do pretty much as I liked; and my employment (absurd as it may sound) for the most part consisted in designing kites and other toys for the natives, who in mind and disposition resemble children rather than grown people—sullen and rather vicious children, I should say.
I believe that Obed's body never came to land. Panic-stricken by his death (I was told), our surviving comrades turned and fled into the woods: and from that hour no more was heard of them. Probably they perished of weariness and hunger; it is at least unlikely in the extreme that they found their way back among civilised men.
Though I accompanied my master and his household northward to the village near Cape Flattery, where his chief residence lay, and remained more than three months in his service, I could never obtain speech with Margit. But I have reason to believe she accepted her new life with absolute contentment. No doubt, though, she found the sight of me an irksome reminder: and one day early in April Yootramaki took me aside and promised me my liberty if I would travel with him as far as the Strait, where an American brig had lately arrived. Of course I accepted his offer with gratitude; and we set forth next day. The captain of this brig (the Cordelia) was a Mr. Best, and his business in those parts seemed to consist in trading old American muskets in exchange for furs and dried fish. The Indians have no notion of repairing a gun which has got out of order, and Captain Best actually carried a gunsmith on board, whose knowledge enabled him to buy up at one place all the guns that wanted repairing, and sell them as new pieces at another.
It only remains to add that the Cordelia conveyed me to Valparaiso, whence I shipped for England, reaching the Downs in safety on the 4th of April, 1809.
[1] Shelter from the wind. [2] Farmyard.
THE SINGULAR ADVENTURE OF A SMALL FREE-TRADER
[_The events which are to be narrated happened in the spring of 1803, and just before the rupture of the Peace of Amiens between our country and France; but were related to my grandfather in 1841 by one Yann, or Jean, Riel, a Breton "merchant," alias smuggler—whether or not a descendant of the famous Herve of that name, I do not know. He chanced to fall ill while visiting some friends in the small Cornish fishing-town, of which my grandfather was the only doctor; and this is one of a number of adventures recounted by him during his convalescence. I take it from my grandfather's MSS., but am not able, at this distance of time, to learn how closely it follows the actual words of the narrator.
Smuggling in 1841 was scotched, but certainly not extinct, and the visit of M. Riel to his old customers was, as likely as not, connected with business.—Q.]
"Item, of the Cognac 25 degrees above proof, according to sample in the little green flask, 144 ankers at 4 gallons per anker, at 5s. 6d. per gallon, the said ankers to be ready slung for horse-carriage."
"Now may the mischief fly away with these English!" cried my father, to whom my mother was reading the letter aloud. "It costs a man a working day, with their gallons and sixpences, to find out of how much they mean to rob him at the end of it."
"Item, 2 ankers of colouring stuff at 4 gallons per anker, price as usual. The place to be as before, under Rope Hauen, east side of Blackhead, unless warned: and a straight run. Come close in, any wind but easterly, and can load up horses alongside. March 24th or 25th will be best, night tides suiting, and no moon. Horses will be there: two fenced lights, pilchard-store and beach, showing S 1/4 E to E S E. Get them in line. Same pay for freighting, and crew 17l. per man, being a straight run,"
"And little enough," was my father's comment.
"Item, 15 little wooden dolls, jointed at the knees and elbows, the same as tante Yvonne used to sell for two sols at Saint Pol de Leon—."
"'Fifteen little wooden dolls'! 'Fifteen little woo—'." My father dropped into his chair, and sat speechless, opening and shutting his mouth like a fish.
"It is here in black and white," said my mother. I found the letter, years after, in her kist. It was written, as were all the letters we received from this Cornish venturer, in a woman's hand, small and delicate, with upstrokes like spider's thread; written in French, too, quite easy and careless. My mother held it close to the window. "'Fifteen little wooden dolls,'" she repeated, "'jointed at the knees and elbows.'"
"Well, I've gone to sea with all sorts, from Admiral Brueys upwards; but fifteen little wooden dolls—jointed—at—the—knees!"
"I know the sort," I put in from the hearth, where my mother had set me to watch the bouillon. "You can get as many as you like in the very next street, and at two sols apiece. I will look to that part of the cargo."
"You, for example? . . ."
"Yes, I; since you promised to take me on the very next voyage after I was twelve."
"But that's impossible. This is a straight run, as they call it, and not a mere matter of sinking the crop."
"And next time," I muttered bitterly, "we shall be at war with England again, and then it will be the danger of privateers—always one excuse or another!"
My mother sighed as she looked out of window towards the Isle de Batz. I had been coaxing her half the morning, and she had promised me to say nothing.
Well, the result was that I went. My father's lugger carried twelve hands—I counted myself, of course; and indeed my father did the same when it came to charging for the crew. Still, twelve was not an out-of-the-way number, since in these chasse-marees one must lower and rehoist the big sails at every fresh tack. As it happened, however, we had a fair wind right across from Roscoff, and made a good landfall of the Dodman at four in the afternoon, just twenty hours after starting. This was a trifle too early for us; so we dowsed sail, to escape notice, and waited for nightfall. As soon as it grew dark, we lowered the two tub-boats we carried—one on davits and the other inboard—and loaded them up and started to pull for shore, leaving two men behind on the lugger. My father steered the first boat, and I the other, keeping close in his wake—and a proud night that was for me! We had three good miles between us and shore; but the boats were mere shells and pulled light even with the tubs in them. So the men took it easy. I reckon that it was well past midnight before we saw the two lights which the letter had promised.
After this everything went easily. The beach at Rope Hauen is steep-to; and with the light breeze there was hardly a ripple on it. On a rising tide we ran the boats in straight upon the shingle; and in less than a minute the kegs were being hove out. By the light of the lantern on the beach I could see the shifting faces of the crowd, and the troop of horses standing behind, quite quiet, shoulder to shoulder, shaved from forelock to tail, all smooth and shining with grease. I had heard of these Cornish horses, and how closely they were clipped; but these beat all I had ever imagined. I could see no hair on them; and I saw them quite close; for in the hurry each horse, as his turn came, was run out alongside the boat; the man who led him standing knee-deep until the kegs were slung across by the single girth. As soon as this was done, a slap on the rump sent the beast shoreward, and the man scrambled out after him. There was scarcely any talk, and no noise except that caused by the wading of men and horses.
Now all this time I carried my parcel of little dolls in a satchel slung at my shoulder, and was wondering to whom I ought to deliver it. I knew a word or two of English, picked up from the smugglers that used to be common as skate at Roscoff in those days; so I made shift to ask one of the men alongside where the freighter might be. As well as I could make out, he said that the freighter was not on the beach; but he pointed to a tall man standing beside the lantern and gave me to understand that this was the "deputy." So I slipped over the gunwale and waded ashore towards him.
As I came near, the man moved out of the light, and strolled away into the darkness to the left, I don't know upon what errand. I ran after him, as I thought, but missed him. I stood still to listen. This side of the track was quite deserted, but the noise of the runners behind me, though not loud, was enough to confuse the sound of his footsteps. After a moment, though, I heard a slight scraping of shingle, and ran forward again—plump against the warm body of some living thing.
It was a black mare, standing here close under the cliff, with the kegs ready strapped upon her. I saw the dark forms of other horses behind, and while I patted the mare's shoulder, and she turned her head to sniff and nuzzle me, another horse came up laden from the water and joined the troop behind, no man leading or following. The queer thing about my mare, though, was that her coat had no grease on it like the others, but was close and smooth as satin, and her mane as long as a colt's. She seemed so friendly that I, who had never sat astride a horse in my life, took a sudden desire to try what it felt like. So I walked round, and finding a low rock on the other side, I mounted it and laid my hands on her mane.
On this she backed a foot or two and seemed uneasy, then turned her muzzle and sniffed at my leg. "I suppose," thought I, "a Cornish horse won't understand my language." But I whispered to her to be quiet, and quiet she was at once. I found that the tubs, being slung high, made quite a little cradle between them. "Just a moment," I told myself, "and then I'll slip off and run back to the boat"; and twining the fingers of my left hand in her mane, I took a spring and landed my small person prone between the two kegs, with no more damage than a barked shin-bone.
And at that very instant I heard a shrill whistle and many sudden cries of alarm; and a noise of shouting and galloping across the beach; and was raising my head to look when the mare rose too, upon her hind legs, and with the fling of her neck caught me a blow on the nose that made me see stars. And then long jets of fire seemed to mingle with the stars, and I heard the pop-pop of pistol-shots and more shouting.
But before this we were off and away—I still flat on the mare's back, with a hand in her mane and my knees wedged against the tubs; away and galloping for the head of the beach, with the whole troop of laden horses pounding at our heels. I could see nothing but the loom of the cliff ahead and the white shingle underfoot; and I thought of nothing but to hold on—and well it was that I did, for else the horses behind had certainly trampled me flat in the darkness. But all the while I heard shouting, louder and louder, and now came more pounding of hoofs alongside, or a little ahead, and a tall man on horseback sprang out of the night, and, cannoning against the mare's shoulder, reached out a hand to catch her by rein, mane, or bridle. I should say that we raced in this way, side by side, for ten seconds or so. I could see the gilt buttons twinkling on his sleeve as he reached past my nose, and finding neither bit nor rein, laid his hand at length right on top of mine. I believe that, till then, the riding-officer—it was he, for the next time I saw a riding-officer I recognised the buttons—had no guess of anyone's being on the mare's back. But instead of the oath that I expected, he gave a shrill scream, and his arm dropped, for the mare had turned and caught it in her teeth, just above the elbow. The next moment she picked up her stride again, and forged past him. As he dropped back, a bullet or two sang over us, and one went ping! into the right-hand keg. But I had no time to be afraid, for the mare's neck rose again and caught me another sad knock on the nose as she heaved herself up the cliff-track, and now I had work to grip the edge of the keg, and twine my left hand tighter in her mane to prevent myself slipping back over her tail, and on to those deadly hoofs. Up we went, the loose stones flying behind us into the bushes right and left. Farther behind I heard the scrambling of many hoofs, but whether of the tub-carriers or the troopers' horses it was not for me to guess. The mare knew, however, for as the slope grew easier, she whinnied and slackened her pace to give them time to come up. This also gave me a chance to shift my seat a bit, for the edges of the kegs were nipping my calves cruelly. The beach below us was like the wicked place in a priest's sermon—black as pitch and full of cursing—and by this time all alive with lanterns; but they showed us nothing. There was no more firing, though, and I saw no lights out at sea, so I hoped my father had managed to push off and make for the lugger.
We were now on a grassy down at the head of the cliff, and my mare, after starting again at a canter which rattled me abominably, passed into an easy gallop. I declare that except for my fears—and now, as the chill of the wind bit me, I began to be horribly afraid—it was like swinging in a hammock to the pitch of a weatherly ship. I was not in dread of falling, either; for her heels fell so lightly on the turf that they persuaded all fear of broken bones out of the thought of falling; but I was in desperate dread of those thundering tub-carriers just behind, who seemed to come down like a black racing wave right on top of us, and to miss us again and again by a foot or less. The weight of them on this wide, empty down—that was the nightmare we seemed to be running from.
We passed through an open gate, then another; then out upon hard road for half-a-mile or so (but I can tell you nothing of the actual distance or the pace), and then through a third gate. All the gates stood open; had been left so on purpose, of course; and the grey granite side-posts were my only mile-stones throughout the journey. Every mortal thing was strange as mortal thing could be. Here I was, in a foreign land I had never seen in my life, and could not see now; on horseback for the first time in my life; and going the dickens knew whither, at the dickens knew what pace; in much certain and more possible danger; alone, and without speech to explain myself when—as I supposed must happen sooner or later—my runaway fate should shoot me among human folk. And overhead— this seemed the oddest thing of all—shone the very same stars that were used to look in at my bedroom window over Roscoff quay. My mother had told me once that these were millions of miles away, and that people lived in them; and it came into my head as a monstrous queer thing that these people should be keeping me in view, and my own folk so far away and lost to me.
But the stars, too, began to grow faint; and little by little the fields and country took shape around us—plough, and grass, and plough again; then hard road, and a steep dip into a valley where branches met over the lane and scratched the back of my head as I ducked it; then a moorland rising straight in front, and rounded hills with the daylight on them. And as I saw this, we were dashing over a granite bridge and through a whitewashed street, our hoofs drumming the villagers up from their beds. Faces looked out of windows and were gone, like scraps of a dream. But just beyond the village we passed an old labourer trudging to his work, and he jumped into the hedge and grinned as we went by.
We were climbing the moor now, at a lopping gallop that set the packet of dolls bob-bobbing on my back to a sort of tune. The horses behind were nearly spent, and the sweat had worked their soaped hides into a complete lather. But the mare generalled them all the while; and striking on a cart-track beyond the second rise of the moor, slowed down to a walk, wheeled round and scanned the troop. As they struggled up she whinnied loudly. A whistle answered her far down the lane, and at the sound of it she was off again like a bird.
The track led down into a hollow, some acres broad, like a saucer scooped between two slopes of the moor; and in the middle of it—just low enough to be hidden from the valley beneath—stood a whitewashed farmhouse, with a courtlege in front and green-painted gate; and by this gate three persons watched us as we came—a man and two women.
The man by his dress was plainly a farmer; and catching sight of me, he called out something I could not understand, and turned towards the woman beside him, whom I took to be his wife. But the other woman, who stood some paces away, was a very different person—tall and slight, like a lady; grey-haired, and yet not seeming old; with long white hands and tiny high-heeled shoes, and dressed in black silk, with a lace shawl crossed over her shoulders, and a silver whistle hanging from her neck. She came forward, holding out a handful of sugar, and spoke to the mare, if you'll believe me, in my very own Breton.
"Good Lilith!" said she. "Ah, what a mess for me to groom! See what a coat! Good Lilith!" Then, as Lilith munched the sugar—"Who are you, little boy? I never saw you before. Explain yourself, kindly, little boy."
"My name is Yann," said I; "Yann Riel. I am from Roscoff, and—O how tired, madame!"
"He is Breton! He speaks the Breton!" She clapped her hands, drew me down from my seat, and kissed me on both cheeks.
"Yann, you shall sleep now—this instant. Tell me only how you came—a word or two—that I may repeat to the farmer."
So I did my best, and told her about the run, and the dragoons on the beach, and how I came on Lilith's back.
"Wonderful, wonderful! But how came she to allow you?"
"That I know not, madame. But when I spoke to her she was quiet at once."
"In the Breton—you spoke in the Breton? Yes, yes, that explains—I taught her. Dear Lilith!" She patted the mare's neck, and broke off to clap her hands again and interpret the tale to the farmer and his wife; and the farmer growled a bit, and then they all began to laugh.
"He says you are a 'rumgo,' and you had better be put to bed. But the packet on your back—your night-shirt, I suppose? You have managed it all so complete, Yann!" And she laughed merrily.
"It holds fifteen little wooden dolls," said I, "jointed at the knees and elbows; and they cost two sols apiece."
"My little dolls—you clever boy! O you clever little boy!" She kissed me twice again. "Come, and you shall sleep, and then, when you wake, you shall see."
She took me by the hand and hurried me into the house, and upstairs to a great bedroom with a large oaken four-post bed in it, and a narrow wooden bed beside, and a fire lit, and an arm-chair by the hearth. The four-post bed had curtains of green damask, all closely pinned around it, and a green valance. But she went to the little bed, which was hung with pink dimity, and pulled the white sheets out of it and replaced them with others from a great wardrobe sunk in the wall. And while I sat in the chair by the fire, munching a crust of bread and feeling half inclined to cry and more than half inclined to sleep, she left me, and returned with a can of hot water and a vast night-shirt of the farmer's, and bade me good-night.
"Be quick and undress, little one." She turned at the door. "The tubs are all in hiding by this time. Good-night, Yann."
I believe I slept as soon as my head touched the sweet-smelling pillow; and I must have slept the round of the clock before I opened my eyes, for the room was now bright with candles, and in the arm-chair by the fire sat the Breton lady sewing as if for dear life.
But the wonder of her was that she now wore a short plain dress such as girls wear in the convent schools in Brittany, and her grey hair was tied just like a girl's. One little foot rested on the brass fender, and the firelight played on its silver shoe-buckle.
I coughed, to let her know that I was awake, and she looked across and nodded.
"Almost ten o'clock, Yann, and time for you to rise and have supper. And after supper—are you sorry?—another journey for you. At midnight you start in the gig with Farmer Ellory, who will drive you to the coast, to a town called Fowey, where some friends of his 'in the trade' are starting for Roscoff. In six hours you will be aboard ship again; and in another twenty, perhaps, you will see your mother—and your father too, if he escaped clear away. In little more than a day you will be back in Brittany. But first you must lie quite still, and I will show you something."
"To be sure I will, madame."
"You must not call me that. I am the Demoiselle Heloise Keranguin.
You know St. Pol de Leon, Yann?"
"Almost as well as my own town, mademoiselle."
"And the Convent of the Grey Nuns, on the road to Morlaix, a little beyond the town?"
It was on my tongue to tell her that fire and soldiery had wiped it even with the ground, during the "Terror." But she interrupted me. Setting down her work-basket, which was heaped high with reels and parti-coloured rags of silk, she pushed a small table over to the big bed and loaded it with candlesticks. There were three candles already alight in the room, but she lit others and set them in line—brass candlesticks, plated candlesticks, candlesticks of chinaware—fourteen candlesticks in all, and fresh candles in each. Laying a finger on her lip, she stepped to the big bed and unfastened the corking-pins which held the green curtains together. As she pushed the curtains back I lifted myself on an elbow.
It was into a real theatre that I looked. She had transformed the whole level of the bed into a miniature stage, with buildings of cardboard, cleverly painted, and gardens cut out of silk and velvet and laid down, and rose-trees gummed on little sticks, and a fish-pond and brook of looking-glass, with embroidered flowers stuck along their edges, and along the paths (of real sand) a score of little dolls walking, all dressed in the uniform of the Grey Nuns. I declare it was so real, you could almost hear the fountain playing, with its jet d'eau of transparent beads strung on an invisible wire.
"But how pretty, mademoiselle!" I cried.
She clasped her hands nervously. "But is it like, Yann? It is so long ago that I may have forgotten. Tell me if it is like; or if there is anything wrong. I promise not to be offended."
"It is exactly like, mademoiselle."
"See, here is the Mother Superior; and this is Soeur Gabrielle. I have to make the dresses full and stiff, or they wouldn't stand up. And that, with the blue eyes, is Soeur Hyacinthe. She walks with me— this is I—as she always did. And what do you think? With the fifteen dolls that you have brought I am going to have a real Pardon, and townspeople and fisher people to stand and worship at the altar of the Virgin, there in the corner. I made it of wax, and stamped the face with a seal that Charles gave me. He was to have been my husband when I left the school."
"Indeed, mademoiselle?"
"Yes, but the soldiers burnt his house. It was but a week after I left the school, and the Chateau Sant-Ervoan lay but a mile from my mother's house. He fled to us, wounded; and we carried him to the coast—there was a price on his head, and we, too, had to flee—and escaped over to England. He died on this bed, Yann. Look—"
She lifted a candle, and there on the bed's ledge I read, in gilt lettering, some words I have never forgotten, though it was not until years after that I got a priest to explain them to me. They were "C. DE. R. COMES ET ECSUL. MDCCXCIII."
While I stared, she set the candle down again and gently drew the curtains round the bed.
"Rise now and dress, dear child, or your supper will be cold and the farmer impatient. You have done me good. Although I have written the farmer's letters for him, it never seemed to me that I wrote to living people: for all I used to know in Brittany, ten years ago, are dead. For the future I shall write to you."
She turned at the door as she said this, and that was the last I ever saw of her. For when I passed out of the room, dressed and ready for my journey, it was quite dark on the landing, where she met and kissed me. Then she slipped a little packet into my hand.
"For the dolls," she said.
In the kitchen I slipped it out of my pocket and examined it under the table's edge. It was a little silver crucifix, and I have kept it to this day.
THE MYSTERY OF JOSEPH LAQUEDEM
A Jew, unfortunately slain on the sands of Sheba Cove, in the parish of Ruan Lanihale, August 15, 1810: or so much of it as is hereby related by the Rev. Endymion Trist, B.D., then vicar of that parish, in a letter to a friend.
My dear J—,—You are right, to be sure, in supposing that I know more than my neighbours in Ruan Lanihale concerning the unfortunate young man, Joseph Laquedem, and more than I care to divulge; in particular concerning his tragical relations with the girl Julia Constantine, or July, as she was commonly called. The vulgar knowledge amounts to little more than this—that Laquedem, a young Hebrew of extraordinary commercial gifts, first came to our parish in 1807 and settled here as managing secretary of a privateering company at Porthlooe; that by his aptitude and daring in this and the illicit trade he amassed a respectable fortune, and at length opened a private bank at Porthlooe and issued his own notes; that on August 15, 1810, a forced "run" which, against his custom, he was personally supervising, miscarried, and he met his death by a carbine-shot on the sands of Sheba Cove; and, lastly, that his body was taken up and conveyed away by the girl Julia Constantine, under the fire of the preventive men.
The story has even in our time received what I may call some fireside embellishments; but these are the facts, and the parish knows little beyond them. I (as you conjecture) know a great deal more; and yet there is a sense in which I know nothing more. You and I, my old friend, have come to an age when men do not care to juggle with the mysteries of another world, but knowing that the time is near when all accounts must be rendered, desire to take stock honestly of what they believe and what they do not. And here lies my difficulty. On the one hand I would not make public an experience which, however honestly set down, might mislead others, and especially the young, into rash and mischievous speculations. On the other, I doubt if it be right to keep total silence and withhold from devout and initiated minds any glimpse of truth, or possible truth, vouchsafed to me. As the Greek said, "Plenty are the thyrsus-bearers, but few the illuminate"; and among these few I may surely count my old friend.
It was in January 1807—the year of the abominable business of Tilsit— that my churchwarden, the late Mr. Ephraim Pollard, and I, in cleaning the south wall of Lanihale Church for a fresh coat of whitewash, discovered the frescoes and charcoal drawings, as well as the brass plaque of which I sent you a tracing; and I think not above a fortnight later that, on your suggestion, I set to work to decipher and copy out the old churchwardens' accounts. On the Monday after Easter, at about nine o'clock P.M., I was seated in the Vicarage parlour, busily transcribing, with a couple of candles before me, when my housekeeper Frances came in with a visiting-card, and the news that a stranger desired to speak with me. I took the card and read "Mr. Joseph Laquedem."
"Show the gentleman in," said I.
Now the fact is, I had just then a few guineas in my chest, and you know what a price gold fetched in 1807. I dare say that for twelve months together the most of my parishioners never set eyes on a piece, and any that came along quickly found its way to the Jews. People said that Government was buying up gold, through the Jews, to send to the armies. I know not the degree of truth in this, but I had some five and twenty guineas to dispose of, and had been put into correspondence with a Mr. Isaac Laquedem, a Jew residing by Plymouth Dock, whom I understood to be offering 25s. 6d. per guinea, or a trifle above the price then current.
I was fingering the card when the door opened again and admitted a young man in a caped overcoat and tall boots bemired high above the ankles. He halted on the threshold and bowed.
"Mr.—?"
"Joseph Laquedem," said he in a pleasant voice.
"I guess your errand," said I, "though it was a Mr. Isaac Laquedem whom
I expected.—Your father, perhaps?"
He bowed again, and I left the room to fetch my bag of guineas.
"You have had a dirty ride," I began on my return.
"I have walked," he answered, lifting a muddy boot. "I beg you to pardon these."
"What, from Torpoint Ferry? And in this weather? My faith, sir, you must be a famous pedestrian!"
He made no reply to this, but bent over the guineas, fingering them, holding them up to the candlelight, testing their edges with his thumbnail, and finally poising them one by one on the tip of his forefinger.
"I have a pair of scales," suggested I.
"Thank you, I too have a pair in my pocket. But I do not need them. The guineas are good weight, all but this one, which is possibly a couple of grains short."
"Surely you cannot rely on your hand to tell you that?"
His eyebrows went up as he felt in his pocket and produced a small velvet-lined case containing a pair of scales. He was a decidedly handsome young man, with dark intelligent eyes and a slightly scornful— or shall I say ironical?—smile. I took particular note of the steadiness of his hand as he adjusted the scales and weighed my guinea.
"To be precise," he announced, "1.898, or practically one and nine-tenths short."
"I should have thought," said I, fairly astounded, "a lifetime too little for acquiring such delicacy of sense!"
He seemed to ponder. "I dare say you are right, sir," he answered, and was silent again until the business of payment was concluded. While folding the receipt he added, "I am a connoisseur of coins, sir, and not of their weight alone."
"Antique, as well as modern?"
"Certainly."
"In that case," said I, "you may be able to tell me something about this": and going to my bureau I took out the brass plaque which Mr. Pollard had detached from the planks of the church wall. "To be sure, it scarcely comes within the province of numismatics."
He took the plaque. His brows contracted, and presently he laid it on the table, drew my chair towards him in an absent-minded fashion, and, sitting down, rested his brow on his open palms. I can recall the attitude plainly, and his bent head, and the rain still glistening in the waves of his black hair.
"Where did you find this?" he asked, but without looking up.
I told him. "The engraving upon it is singular. I thought that possibly—"
"Oh, that," said he, "is simplicity itself. An eagle displayed, with two heads, the legs resting on two gates, a crescent between, an imperial crown surmounting—these are the arms of the Greek Empire, the two gates are Rome and Constantinople. The question is, how it came where you found it? It was covered with plaster, you say, and the plaster whitewashed? Did you discover anything near it?"
Upon this I told him of the frescoes and charcoal drawings, and roughly described them.
His fingers began to drum upon the table.
"Have you any documents which might tell us when the wall was first plastered?"
"The parish accounts go back to 1594—here they are: the Registers to 1663 only. I keep them in the vestry. I can find no mention of plastering, but the entries of expenditure on whitewashing occur periodically, the first under the year 1633." I turned the old pages and pointed to the entry "Ite paide to George mason for a dayes work about the churche after the Jew had been, and white wassche is vjd."
"A Jew? But a Jew had no business in England in those days. I wonder how and why he came." My visitor took the old volume and ran his finger down the leaf, then up, then turned back a page. "Perhaps this may explain it," said he. "Ite deliued Mr. Beuill to make puision for the companie of a fforeste barke yt came ashoare iiis ivd." He broke off, with a finger on the entry, and rose. "Pray forgive me, sir; I had taken your chair."
"Don't mention it," said I. "Indeed I was about to suggest that you draw it to the fire while Frances brings in some supper."
To be short, although he protested he must push on to the inn at Porthlooe, I persuaded him to stay the night; not so much, I confess, from desire of his company, as in the hope that if I took him to see the frescoes next morning he might help me to elucidate their history.
I remember now that during supper and afterwards my guest allowed me more than my share of the conversation. He made an admirable listener, quick, courteous, adaptable, yet with something in reserve (you may call it a facile tolerance, if you will) which ended by irritating me. Young men should be eager, fervid, sublimis cupidusque, as I was before my beard grew stiff. But this young man had the air of a spectator at a play, composing himself to be amused. There was too much wisdom in him and too little emotion. We did not, of course, touch upon any religious question—indeed, of his own opinions on any subject he disclosed extraordinarily little: and yet as I reached my bedroom that night I told myself that here, behind a mask of good manners, was one of those perniciously modern young men who have run through all beliefs by the age of twenty, and settled down to a polite but weary atheism.
I fancy that under the shadow of this suspicion my own manner may have been cold to him next morning. Almost immediately after breakfast we set out for the church. The day was sunny and warm; the atmosphere brilliant after the night's rain. The hedges exhaled a scent of spring. And, as we entered the churchyard, I saw the girl Julia Constantine seated in her favourite angle between the porch and the south wall, threading a chain of daisies.
"What an amazingly handsome girl!" my guest exclaimed.
"Why, yes," said I, "she has her good looks, poor soul!"
"Why 'poor soul'?"
"She is an imbecile, or nearly so," said I, fitting the key in the lock.
We entered the church. And here let me say that, although I furnished you at the time of their discovery with a description of the frescoes and the ruder drawings which overlay them, you can scarcely imagine the grotesque and astonishing coup d'oeil presented by the two series. To begin with the frescoes, or original series. One, as you know, represented the Crucifixion. The head of the Saviour bore a large crown of gilded thorns, and from the wound in His left side flowed a continuous stream of red gouts of blood, extraordinarily intense in colour (and intensity of colour is no common quality in fresco-painting). At the foot of the cross stood a Roman soldier, with two female figures in dark-coloured drapery a little to the right, and in the background a man clad in a loose dark upper coat, which reached a little below the knees.
The same man reappeared in the second picture, alone, but carrying a tall staff or hunting spear, and advancing up a road, at the top of which stood a circular building with an arched doorway and, within the doorway, the head of a lion. The jaws of this beast were open and depicted with the same intense red as the Saviour's blood.
Close beside this, but further to the east, was a large ship, under sail, which from her slanting position appeared to be mounting over a long swell of sea. This vessel had four masts; the two foremost furnished with yards and square sails, the others with lateen-shaped sails, after the Greek fashion; her sides were decorated with six gaily painted bands or streaks, each separately charged with devices—a golden saltire on a green ground, a white crescent on a blue, and so on; and each masthead bore a crown with a flag or streamer fluttering beneath.
Of the frescoes these alone were perfect, but fragments of others were scattered over the wall, and in particular I must mention a group of detached human limbs lying near the ship—a group rendered conspicuous by an isolated right hand and arm drawn on a larger scale than the rest. A gilded circlet adorned the arm, which was flexed at the elbow, the hand horizontally placed, the forefinger extended towards the west in the direction of the picture of the Crucifixion, and the thumb shut within the palm beneath the other three fingers.
So much for the frescoes. A thin coat of plaster had been laid over them to receive the second series, which consisted of the most disgusting and fantastic images, traced in black. One of these drawings represented Satan himself—an erect figure, with hairy paws clasped in a supplicating posture, thick black horns, and eyes which (for additional horror) the artist had painted red and edged with a circle of white. At his feet crawled the hindmost limb of a peculiarly loathsome monster with claws stuck in the soil. Close by a nun was figured, sitting in a pensive attitude, her cheek resting on the back of her hand, her elbow supported by a hideous dwarf, and at some distance a small house, or prison, with barred windows and a small doorway crossed with heavy bolts.
As I said, this upper series had been but partially scraped away, and as my guest and I stood at a little distance, I leave you to imagine, if you can, the incongruous tableau; the Prince of Darkness almost touching the mourners beside the cross; the sorrowful nun and grinning dwarf side by side with a ship in full sail, which again seemed to be forcing her way into a square and forbidding prison, etc.
Mr. Laquedem conned all this for some while in silence, holding his chin with finger and thumb.
"And it was here you discovered the plaque?" he asked at length.
I pointed to the exact spot.
"H'm!" he mused, "and that ship must be Greek or Levantine by its rig.
Compare the crowns on her masts, too, with that on the plaque . . ."
He stepped to the wall and peered into the frescoes. "Now this hand and
arm—"
"They belong to me," said a voice immediately behind me, and turning, I saw that the poor girl had followed us into the church.
The young Jew had turned also. "What do you mean by that?" he asked sharply.
"She means nothing," I began, and made as if to tap my forehead significantly.
"Yes, I do mean something," she persisted. "They belong to me.
I remember—"
"What do you remember?"
Her expression, which for a moment had been thoughtful, wavered and changed into a vague foolish smile. "I can't tell . . . something . . . it was sand, I think . . ."
"Who is she?" asked Mr. Laquedem.
"Her name is Julia Constantine. Her parents are dead; an aunt looks after her—a sister of her mother's."
He turned and appeared to be studying the frescoes. "Julia Constantine—an odd name," he muttered. "Do you know anything of her parentage?"
"Nothing except that her father was a labourer at Sheba, the manor-farm. The family has belonged to this parish for generations. I believe July is the last of them."
He faced round upon her again. "Sand, did you say? That's a strange thing to remember. How does sand come into your mind? Think, now."
She cast down her eyes; her fingers plucked at the daisy-chain. After a while she shook her head. "I can't think," she answered, glancing up timidly and pitifully.
"Surely we are wasting time," I suggested. To tell the truth I disapproved of his worrying the poor girl.
He took the daisy-chain from her, looking at me the while with something between a "by-your-leave" and a challenge. A smile played about the corners of his mouth.
"Let us waste a little more." He held up the chain before her and began to sway it gently to and fro. "Look at it, please, and stretch out your arm; look steadily. Now your name is Julia Constantine, and you say that the arm on the wall belongs to you. Why?"
"Because . . . if you please, sir, because of the mark."
"What mark?"
"The mark on my arm."
This answer seemed to discompose as well as to surprise him. He snatched at her wrist and rolled back her sleeve, somewhat roughly, as I thought. "Look here, sir!" he exclaimed, pointing to a thin red line encircling the flesh of the girl's upper arm, and from that to the arm and armlet in the fresco.
"She has been copying it," said I, "with a string or ribbon, which no doubt she tied too tightly."
"You are mistaken, sir; this is a birthmark. You have had it always?" he asked the girl.
She nodded. Her eyes were fixed on his face with the gaze of one at the same time startled and confiding; and for the moment he too seemed to be startled. But his smile came back as he picked up the daisy-chain and began once more to sway it to and fro before her.
"And when that arm belonged to you, there was sand around you—eh!
Tell us, how did the sand come there?"
She was silent, staring at the pendulum-swing of the chain. "Tell us," he repeated in a low coaxing tone.
And in a tone just as low she began, "There was sand . . . red sand . . . it was below me . . . and something above . . . something like a great tent." She faltered, paused and went on, "There were thousands of people. . . ." She stopped.
"Yes, yes—there were thousands of people on the sand—"
"No, they were not on the sand. There were only two on the sand . . . the rest were around . . . under the tent . . . my arm was out . . . just like this. . . ."
The young man put a hand to his forehead. "Good Lord!" I heard him say, "the amphitheatre!"
"Come, sir," I interrupted, "I think we have had enough of this jugglery."
But the girl's voice went on steadily as if repeating a lesson:—
"And then you came—"
"I!" His voice rang sharply, and I saw a horror dawn in his eyes, and grow. "I!"
"And then you came," she repeated, and broke off, her mind suddenly at fault. Automatically he began to sway the daisy-chain afresh. "We were on board a ship . . . a funny ship . . . with a great high stern. . . ."