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POISON ISLAND





Poison Island
By
A. T. QUILLER-COUCH
(“Q")
CHARLEs SCRIBNER's SONs
NEW YORK
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Tri-)r w . ºATHons,
1907
:
CopyRIGHT 1906, 1907, BY
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
Published, February, 1907
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trow directory
PRINTING AND BookBINDING ComPANY
NEw York


CHAPTER
II.
III.
IV.
VI.
VII.
VIII.
IX.
XI.
XII.
XIII.
XIV.
XV.
XVI.
XVII.
CONTENTS
- PAGE
HOW I FIRST MET WITH CAPTAIN COFFIN ... 1
I AM ENTERED AT COPENHAGEN ACADEMY . 11
A STREET FIGHT, AND WHAT CAME of IT . 18
CAPTAIN COFFIN STUDIES NAVIGATION , 26
THE WHALEBOAT' . . . . . . . . . . 38
MY FIRST GLIMPSE OF THE CHART . . . . 49
ENTER THE RETURNED PRISONER . . . . 58
THE HUNTED AND THE HUNTER . . . . . 69
CHAOS IN THE CAPTAIN'S LODGINGS . . . 80
NEWS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 88
THE CRIME IN THE SUMMER-HOUSE . . . 99
THE BLOODSTAIN ON THE STILE . . . . . 109
CLEWS IN A TANGLE . . . . . . . . . 124
How I BROKE OUT THE RED ENSIGN . . . 136
CAPTAIN BRANSCOME’S CONFESSION – THE
MAN IN THE LANE . . . . . . . . 148
CAPTAIN BRANSCOME'S CONFESSION – THE
FLAG AND THE CASHBOX . . . . . . 163
THE CHART OF MORTALLONE . . . . . . 178
V


CONTENTS
chapter PAGE
XVIII. THE CONTENTS OF THE CORNER CUPBOARD 187
XIX. CAPTAIN DANNY’s LOG . . . . . . . 199
XX. CAPTAIN DANNY's LOG (continued) . . . 216
XXI. IN WHICH PLINNY SURPRISES EVERY ONE 230
XXII. A STRANGE MAN IN THE GARDEN . . . 242
XXIII. HOW WE SAILED TO THE ISLAND . . . 257
XXIV. WE ANCHOR OFF THE ISLAND. . . . . 265
XXV. I TAKE FRENCH LEAVE ASHORE . . . . .277
XXVI. THE WOMEN IN THE GRAVEYARD . . . 290
XXVII. THE MAN IN BLACK . . . . . . . . . 302
XXVIII. THE MASTER OF THE ISLAND . . . . . 314
XXIX. A BOAT ON THE BEACH . . . . . . . 327
XXX. The SCREAM on THE CLIFF . . . . . 334
XXXI. AARON GLASS. . . . . . . . . . . .344
XXXII. WE COME To DR. BEAUREGARD's HOUSE 356
XXXIII. WE FIND THE TREASURE . . . . . . 375
XXXIV. DOCTOR BEAUREGARD . . . . . . . 392


POISON ISLAND





POISON ISLAND
CHAPTER I
HOW I FIRST MET WITH CAPTAIN COFFIN
IT was in the dusk of a July evening of the year
1813 (July 27th, to be precise) that on my way back
from the mail-coach office, Falmouth, to Mr. Stim-
coe's Academy for the Sons of Gentlemen, No. 7,
Delamere Terrace, I first met Captain Coffin as he
came drunk and cursing up the Market Strand, with
a rabble of children at his heels. I have reason to re-
member the date and hour of this encounter, not
only for its remarkable consequences, but because it
befel on the very day and within an hour or two of
my matriculation at Stimcoe's. That afternoon I
had arrived at Falmouth by Royal Mail, in charge of
Miss Plinlimmon, my father's housekeeper; and now
but ten minutes ago I had seen off that excellent lady
and waved farewell to her—not without a sinking of
the heart—on her return journey to Minden Cot-
tage, which was my home.
My name is Harry Brooks, and my age on this re-
1


POISON ISLAND
membered evening was fourteen and something over.
My father, Major James Brooks, late of the 4th
(King's Own) Regiment, had married twice, and was
for the second time a widower at the time of his re-
tirement from active service. Blindness—contracted
by exposure and long marches over the snows of
Galicia—had put an end to a career by no means un-
distinguished. In his last fight, at Corunna, he had
not only earned a mention in despatches from his
brigadier-general, Lord William Bentinck, but by his
alertness in handling his half-regiment at a critical
moment, and refusing its right to an outflanking line
of French, had been privileged to win almost the last
word of praise uttered by his idolized commander.
My father heard, and faced about, but his eyes were
already failing him; and Sir John Moore, before they
could speak their gratitude, had cantered off along
the brigade to encourage the 50th and 42nd regi-
ments in turn, and to receive, a few minutes later,
the fatal cannon-shot.
Every one has heard what miseries the returning
transports endured in the bitter gale of January,
1809. The “Londonderry,” in which my father
sailed, did indeed escape wreck, but at the cost of a
week's beating about the mouth of the Channel. He
was by rights an invalid, having taken, a wound in
the kneecap from a spent bullet, one of the last fired
2


HOW I, FIRST MET CAPTAIN COFFIN
in the battle; but in the common peril he bore a hand
with the best. For three days and two nights he
never shifted his clothing, which the gale alternately
soaked and froze. It was frozen stiff as a board when
the “Londonderry” made the entrance of Plym-
outh Sound; and he was borne ashore in a rheu-
matic fever. From this, and from his wound, the
doctors restored him at length, but meanwhile his
eyesight had perished.
His misfortunes did not end here. My stepsister
Isabel—a beautiful girl of seventeen, the only child
of his first marriage—had met him at Plymouth and
nursed him through his illness, and had brought him
home, a convalescent, to Minden Cottage and to the
garden which henceforward he tilled, but saw only
through memory. Since then she had married a
young officer in the 52d Regiment, a Lieutenant
Archibald Plinlimmon; but, her husband having
to depart at once for the Peninsula, she had re-
mained with her father, and tended him as before,
until death took her—as it had taken her mother—
in childbirth. The babe did not survive her; and, to
complete the sad story, her husband fell a few weeks
later before Badajoz, while assaulting the Picurina
Gate with fifty axemen of the Light Division.
Beneath these blows of fate my father did indeed
bow his head, yet bravely. From the day Isabel died
3


JPOISON ISLAND
his shoulders took a sensible stoop; but this was the
sole evidence of the mortal wound he carried, unless
you count that from the same day he put aside his
“AEneid,” and taught me no more from it, but spent
his hours for the most part in meditation, often with
a Bible open on his knee—although his eyes could
not read it. Sally, our cook, told me one day that
when the foolish midwife came and laid the child in
his arms, not telling him that it was dead, he had
first felt it over and then broken forth in a terrible
cry—his first and last protest.
In me—the only child of his second marriage, as
Isabel had been the only child of his first—he ap-
peared to have lost all interest. While Isabel lived
there had been reason for this, or excuse at least, for
he had loved her mother passionately, whereas from
mine he had separated within a day or two after
marriage, having married her only because he was
obliged—or conceived himself obliged—by honor.
Into this story I shall not go. It was a sad one, and,
strange to say, sadly creditable to both. I do not
remember my mother. She died, having taken some
pains in her proud indignation to hide even my ex-
istence from her husband, who, having discovered
me, conscientiously took up the burden. A man
more strongly conscientious never lived; and his
sudden neglect of me had nothing to do with caprice,
4


HOW I FIRST MET CAPTAIN COFFIN
but came—as I am now assured—of some lesion of
memory under the shock of my sister's death. As
an unregenerate youngster I thought little of it at
the time, beyond rejoicing to be free of my daily les-
son in Virgil.
I can see my father now, seated within the
summer-house by the filbert-tree at the end of the or-
chard—his favorite haunt—or standing in the door-
way and drawing himself painfully erect, a giant
of a man, to inhale the scent of his flowers or listen
to his bees or the voice of the stream which bounded
our small domain. I see him framed there, his head
almost touching the lintel, his hands gripping the
posts like a blind Samson's, all too strong for the
flimsy trelliswork. He wore a brown holland suit
in summer, in colder weather a fustian one of like
color, and at first glance you might mistake him for
a Quaker. His snow-white hair was gathered, close
beside the temples, back from a face of ineffable sim-
plicity and goodness—the face of a man at peace
with God and all the world, yet marked with scars—
scars of bygone passions, cross-hatched and almost
effaced by deeper scars of calamity. As Miss Plin-
limmon wrote in her album:
Few men so deep as Major Brooks
Have drained affliction's cup.
Alas! if one may trust his looks,
I fear he's breaking up!
5


POISON ISLAND
This Miss Plinlimmon, a maiden aunt of the
young officer who had been slain at Badajoz, kept
house for us since my sister's death. She was a lady
of good Welsh family, who after many years of gen-
teel poverty had come into a legacy of seven thou-
sand pounds from an East Indian uncle; and my
father—a simple liver, content with his half-pay—
had much ado in his blindness to keep watch and war
upon the luxuries she untiringly strove to smuggle
upon him. For the rest, Miss Plinlimmon wore cork-
screw curls, talked sentimentally, worshipped the
manly form (in the abstract) with the manly virtues,
and possessed (quite unknown to herself) the heart
of a lion.
Upon this unsuspected courage and upon the
strength of her affection for me she had drawn on
the day when she stood up to my father—of whom,
by the way, she was desperately afraid—and told
him that his neglect of me was a sin and a shame
and a scandal. “And a good education,” she wound
up feebly, “would render Harry so much more of
a companion to you.”
My father rubbed his head vaguely.
“Yes, yes, you are right. I have been neglecting
the boy. But pray end as honestly as you began, and
do not pretend to be consulting my future when you
are really pleading for his. To begin with, I don’t
6


HOW I FIRST MET CAPTAIN COFFIN
want a companion; next, I should not immediately
make a companion of Harry by sending him away
to school; and, lastly, you know as well as I that long
before he finished his schooling I should be in my
grave.”
“Well, then, consider what a classical education
would do for Harry! I feel sure that had I—par-
don the supposition—been born a man, and made
conversant with the best thoughts of the ancients—
Socrates, for example—”
“What about him?” my father demanded.
“So wise, as I have always been given to under-
stand! yet in his own age misunderstood, by his wife
especially! And, to crown all, unless I err, drowned
in a butt of hemlock!”
“Dear madam, pardon me; but how many of
these accidents to Socrates are you ascribing to his
classical education?”
“But it comes out in so many ways,” Miss Plin-
limmon persisted; “and it does make such a differ-
ence! There's a je ne sais quoi. You can tell it even
in the way they handle a knife and fork!”
That evening, after supper, Miss Plinlimmon de-
clined her customary game of cards with me, on the
pretence that she felt tired, and sat for a long while
fumbling with a newspaper, which I recognized for
a week-old copy of the “Falmouth Packet.” At
7


POISON ISLAND
length she rose abruptly, and, crossing over to the
table where I sat playing dominoes (right hand
against left), thrust the paper before me, and
pointed with a trembling finger.
“There, Harry! What would you say to that?”
I brushed my dominoes aside, and read:
“The Reverend Philip Stimcoe, B.A. (Oxon.), of
Copenhagen Academy, 7, Delamere Terrace, begs to
inform the Nobility, Clergy, and Gentry of Fal-
mouth and the neighborhood that he has Vacancies
for a limited number of Pupils of good Social Stand-
ing. Education classical, on the lines of the best
Public Schools, combined with Home Comforts un-
der the personal supervision of Mrs. Stimcoe (niece
of the late Hon. Sir Alexander O’Brien, R.N., Ad-
miral of the White and K.C.B.). Backward and
delicate boys a specialty. Separate beds. Commo-
dious playground in a climate unrivalled for pul-
monary ailments. Greenwich time kept.”
I did not criticise the advertisement. It sufficed
me to read my release in it; and in the same instant
I knew how lonely the last few months had been, and
felt myself an ingrate. I that had longed unspeak-
ably, if but half consciously, for the world beyond
Minden Cottage—a world in which I could play the
man—welcomed my liberty by laying my head on
my arms and breaking into unmanly sobs.
8


HOW I FIRST MET CAPTAIN COFFIN
I will pass over a blissful week of preparation, in-
cluding a journey by van to Torpoint, and by ferry
across to Plymouth, where Miss Plinlimmon bought
me boots, shirts, collars, under-garments, a valise, a
low-crowned beaver hat for Sunday wear, and for
week-days a cap shaped like a concertina; where I
was measured for two suits after a pattern marked
“Boy’s Clarence, Gentlemanly ”; and where I ex-
pended two-and-sixpence of my pocket-money on a
piratical jack-knife and a book of patriotic songs—
two articles indispensable, it seemed to me, to full-
blooded manhood; and I will come to the day when
the Royal Mail pulled up before Minden Cottage
with a merry clash of bits and swingle-bars, and, the
scarlet-coated guard having received my box from
Sally the cook, and hoisted it aboard in a jiffy, Miss
Plinlimmon and I climbed up to a seat behind the
coachman. My father stood at the door, and shook
hands with me at parting.
“Good luck, lad,” said he; “and remember our
motto: Nil nisi recte! Good luck have thou with
thine honor. 'Tis the old Psalmist's wish. And, by
the way, here's half-a-sovereign for you.”
“Cl’k!” from the coachman, shortening up his
enormous bunch of reins—Ta-ra-ra! from the guard's
horn close behind my ear—and we were off!
Oh, believe me, there never was such a ride! As
9


POISON ISLAND
we swept by the second milestone I stole a look at
Miss Plinlimmon. She sat in an ecstasy, with
closed eyes. She was, as she put it, indulging in
mental composition.
Verses composed while Riding by the Royal Mail.
I’ve sailed at eve o'er Plymouth Sound—
For me it was a rare excursion—
Oblivious of the risk of being drown'd,
Or even of a more temporary immersion.
I dream'd myself the Lady of the Lake,
Or an Oriental one (within limits) on the Bosphorus.
We left a trail of glory in our wake,
Which the intelligent boatman ascribed to phosphorus.
Yet agreeable as I found it o'er the ocean
To glide within my bounding shallop,
I incline to think that for the poetry of motion
One may even more confidently recommend the Tantivy
Gallop.
10


CHAPTER II
I AM ENTERED AT COPENHAGEN ACADEMY
AGREEABLE, too, as I found it to be whirled be-
tween the hedgerows behind five splendid horses; to
watch the ostlers run out with the relays; to catch
blue glimpses of the Channel to southward; to dive
across dingles and past farm-gates, under which
the cocks and hens flattened themselves in their haste
to give us room; to gaze back over the luggage and
along the road, and assure myself that the rival
coach (the Self-Defence) was not overtaking us—yet
Falmouth, when we reached it, was best of all; Fal-
mouth, with its narrow streets and crowd of sail-
ors, postmen, 'longshoremen, porters with wheelbar-
rows, and passengers hurrying to and from the
packets, its smells of pitch and oakum and canvas,
its shops full of seamen's outfits and instruments
and marine curiosities, its upper windows where par-
rots screamed in cages, its alleys and quay-doors,
giving peeps of the splendid harbor, thronged—to
quote Miss Plinlimmon again—“with varieties of
gallant craft, between which the trained nautical eye
may perchance distinguish, but mine doesn't.”
11


POISON ISLAND
The residential part of Falmouth rises in neat ter-
races above the waterside, and of these Delamere
Terrace was by no means the least respectable. The
brass doorplate of No. 7—" Copenhagen Academy
for the Sons of Gentlemen. Principal, the Rev.
Philip Stimcoe, B.A. (Oxon.)”—shone immaculate;
and its window-blinds did Mrs. Stimcoe credit, as
Miss Plinlimmon remarked before ringing the bell.
Mrs. Stimcoe herself opened the door to us, in a
full lace cap and a maroon-colored gown of state.
She was a gaunt, hard-eyed woman, tall as a grena-
dier, remarkable for a long upper lip decorated with
two moles. She excused her condescension on the
ground that the butler was out, taking the pupils for
a walk; and conducted us to the parlor, where Mr.
Stimcoe sat in an atmosphere which smelt faintly of
sherry.
Mr. Stimcoe rose and greeted us with a shaky
hand. He was a thin, spectacled man, with a pendu-
lous nose and cheeks disfigured by a purplish cutane-
ous disorder (which his wife, later on, attributed to
his having slept between damp sheets while the hon-
ored guest of a nobleman, whose name I forget). He
wore a seedy clerical suit.
While shaking hands he observed that I was taller
than he had expected; and this, absurdly enough, is
all I remember of the interview, except that the
12


COPENHAGEN ACADEMY
room had two empty bookcases, one on either side of
the chimney-breast; that the fading of the wallpaper
above the mantelpiece had left a patch recording
where a clock had lately stood (I conjectured that
it must be at Greenwich, undergoing repairs); that
Mrs. Stimcoe produced a decanter of sherry—a wine
which Miss Plinlimmon abominated—and poured
her out a glassful, with the remark that it had been
twice round the world; that Miss Plinlimmon sup-
posed vaguely “the same happened to a lot of things
in a seaport like Falmouth; ” and that somehow this
led us on to Mr. Stimcoe's delicate health, and this
again to the subject of damp sheets, and this finally
to Mrs. Stimcoe's suggesting that Miss Plinlimmon
might perhaps like to have a look at my bedroom.
The bedroom assigned to me opened out of Mrs.
Stimcoe's own. (“It will give him a sense of pro-
tection. A child feels the first few nights away from
home.”) Though small, it was neat, and, for a boy’s
wants, amply furnished; nay, it contained at least
one article of supererogation, in the shape of a razor-
case on the dressing-table. Mrs. Stimcoe swept this
into her pocket with a turn of the hand, and ex-
plained frankly that her husband, like most scholars,
was absent-minded. Here she passed two fingers
slowly across her forehead. “Even in his walks, or
while dressing, his brain wanders among the death-
13


POISON ISLAND
less compositions of Greece and Rome, turning them
into English metres—all cakes especially ”—she
must have meant alcaics—“ and that makes him
leave things about.”
I had fresh and even more remarkable evidence
of Mr. Stimcoe's absent-mindedness two minutes
later, when, the sheets having been duly inspected,
we descended to the parlor again; for, happening to
reach the doorway some paces ahead of the two
ladies, I surprised him in the act of drinking down
Miss Plinlimmon's sherry.
The interview was scarcely resumed before a mor-
tuary silence fell on the room, and I became aware
that somehow my presence impeded the discussion of
business.
“I think perhaps that Harry would like to run
out upon the terrace and see the view from his new
home,” suggested Mrs. Stimcoe, with obvious tact.
I escaped, and went in search of the commodious
playground, which I supposed to lie in the rear of
the house; but, reaching a back-yard, I suddenly
found myself face to face with three small boys, one
staggering with the weight of a pail, the two others
bearing a full washtub between them; and with sur-
prise saw them set down their burdens at a distance
and come tip-toeing toward me in a single file, with
theatrical gestures of secrecy.
14


COPENHAGEN ACADEMY
“Hallo! ” said I.
“Hist! Be dark as the grave!” answered the
leader in a stage-whisper. He was a freckly, nar-
row-chested child, and needed washing. “You’re
the new boy,” he announced, as though he had
tracked me down in that criminal secret.
“Yes,” I owned. “Who are you?”
“We are the Blood-stained Brotherhood of the
Pampas, now upon the trail!”
“Look here,” said I, staring down at him, “that's
nonsense!”
“Oh, very well,” he answered promptly; “then
we're the “Backward Sons of Gentlemen’—that's
down in the prospectus—and we’re fetching water
for Mother Stimcoe, because the turncock cut off the
company's water this morning! See? But you
won’t blow the gaff on the old girl, will you?”
“Are you all there is, you three?” I asked, after
considering them a moment.
“We’re all the boarders. My name's Ted Bates
—they call me Doggy Bates—and my father's a
captain out in India; and these are Bob Pilking-
ton and Scotty Maclean. You may call him Red-
head, being too big to punch; and, talking of that,
you’ll have to fight Bully Stokes.”
“Is he a day-boy?” I asked.
“He’s cock of Rogerses up the hill, and he wants
15


JPOISON ISLAND
it badly. Stimcoes and Rogerses—hated rivals, you
know. If you can whack Bully Stokes for us 25
“But Mr. Stimcoe told me that you were taking
a walk with the butler,” I interrupted.
Master Bates winked.
“Would you like to see him?”
He beckoned me to an open window, and we
gazed through it upon a bare back kitchen, and upon
an extremely corpulent man in an armchair, slum-
bering with a yellow bandanna handkerchief over
his head to protect it from the flies. Master Bates
whipped out a pea-shooter, and blew a pea on to the
exposed lobe of the sleeper's ear.
“D n!” roared the corpulent one, leaping
up in wrath. But we were in hiding behind the yard
wall before he could pull the bandanna from his
face.
“He’s the bailiff,” explained Master Bates.
“He’s in possession. Oh, you’ll get quite friendly
with him in time. Down in the town they call him
Mother Stimcoe's lodger, he comes so often. But, I
say, don’t go and blow the gaff on the old girl.”
On our way to the coach-office that evening I felt
—as the saying is—my heart in my mouth. Miss
Plinlimmon spoke sympathetically of Mr. Stimcoe's
state of health, and with delicacy of his absent-
mindedness, “so natural in a scholar.” I discovered
16


COPENHAGEN ACADEMY
long afterward that Mr. Stimcoe, having retired to
cash a note for her, had brought back a strong smell
of brandy and eighteenpence less than the strict
amount of her change. I knew in my heart that my
new schoolmaster and his wife were a pair of frauds,
and yet I choked down the impulse to speak. Per-
haps Master Bates's loyalty kept me on my mettle.
The dear soul and I bade one another farewell,
she not without tears. The coach bore her away;
and I walked back through the crowded streets with
my spirits down in my boots, and my fists thrust
deep into the pockets of my small-clothes.
In this dejected mood I reached the Market
Strand just as Captain Coffin came up it from the
Plume of Feathers public-house, cursing and striking
out with his stick at a mob of small boys.
17


CHAPTER III
A STREET FIGHT, AND WHAT CAME of IT
HE emerged upon the street which crosses the
head of Market Strand, and, dropping his arms,
stood for a moment as if in doubt of his bearings.
He was flagrantly drunk, but not aggressively. He
reminded me of a purblind owl that, blundering into
daylight, is set upon and mobbed by a crowd of small
birds.
The 'longshoremen and loafers grinned and
winked at one another, but forbore to interfere.
Plainly the spectacle was a familiar one.
The man was not altogether repulsive; pitiable,
rather—a small, lean fellow, with a gray-white face
drawn into wrinkles about the jaw, and eyes that
wandered timidly. He wore a suit of good sea-cloth
—soiled, indeed, but neither ragged nor threadbare
—and a blue and yellow spotted neckerchief, the
bow of which had worked around toward his right
ear. His hat, perched a-cock over his left eye, had
made acquaintance with the tavern sawdust. Next
to his drunkenness, perhaps, the most remarkable
18


A STREET FIGHT
thing about him was his stick—of ebony, very curi-
ously carved in rings from knob to ferule, where it
ended in an iron spike—an ugly weapon, of which
his tormentors stood in dread, and small blame
to them.
While he stood hesitating they swarmed close and
began to bay him afresh.
“Captain Coffin, Captain Coffin!” “Who killed
the Portugee?” “Who hid the treasure and got so
drunk he couldn’t find it?” “Where's your ship,
Cap'n Danny?” These were some of the taunts
flung; and as the urchins danced about him, yelling
them, the passion blazed up again in his red-rimmed,
watery eyes.
Amongst the crowd capered Ted Bates.
“Hallo, Brooks!” he shouted, and, catching at
another boy’s elbow, pointed toward me. Beyond
noting that the other boy had a bullet-shaped head
with ears that stood out from it at something like
right angles, I had time to take very little stock of
him; for just then, as Captain Coffin turned about to
smite, a stone came flying and struck him smartly
on the funny-bone. His hand opened with the pain
of it, but the stick hung by a loop to his wrist, and,
gripping it again, he charged among his tormentors,
lashing out to right and left.
So savagely he charged that I looked for nothing
19


POISON ISLAND
short of murder; and just then, while I stood at gaze,
a boy stepped up to me—the same that Ted Bates
had plucked by the arm.
“Look here!” said he, frowning, with his legs
a-straddle. “Doggy Bates tells me that you told
him you could whack me with one hand behind
you.”
I replied that I had told Doggy Bates nothing of
the sort.
“That's all right,” said he. “Then you take it
back?”
He had the air of one sure of his logic, but his
under lip—not to mention his ears—protruded in a
way that struck me as offensive, and I replied:
“That depends.”
“My name's Stokes,” said he, still in the same
reasonable tone. “And you’ll have to take coward's
blow.”
“Oh, indeed!” said I.
“It’s the rule,” said he, and gave it me with a
light, back-handed smack across the bridge of the
nose; whereupon I hit him on the point of the
chin, and, unconsciously imitating Captain Coffin's
method of charging a crowd, lowered my head and
butted him violently in the stomach.
I make no doubt that my brain was tired and
giddy with the day's experiences, but to this moment
20


A STREET FIGHT
I cannot understand why we two suddenly found
ourselves the focus of interest in a crowd which had
wasted none on Captain Coffin.
But so it was. In less time than it takes to write,
a ring surrounded us—a ring of men staring and
offering bets. The lamp at the street-corner shone
on their faces; and close under the light of it Master
Stokes and I were hammering one another.
We were fighting by rule, too. Some one—I can-
not say who—had taken up the affair, and was im-
posing the right ceremonial upon us. It may have
been the cheerful, blue-jerseyed Irishman to whose
knee I returned at the end of each round to be fresh-
ened up around the face and neck with a dripping
boat-sponge. He had an extraordinarily wide mouth,
and it kept speaking encouragement and good advice
to me. I feel sure he was a good fellow, but have
never set eyes on him from that hour to this.
Bully Stokes and I must have fought a good many
rounds, for towards the end we were both panting
hard, and our hands hung on every blow. But I re-
member yet more vividly the strangeness of it all,
and the uncanny sensation that the fight itself, the
street-lamp, the crowd, and the dim houses around
were unreal as a dream: that, and the unnatural
hardness of my opponent's face, which seemed the
one unmalleable part of him.
21


JPOISON ISLAND
A dreadful thought possessed me that if he could
only contrive to hit me with his face all would be
over. My own was badly pounded; for we fought—
or, at least, I fought—without the smallest science;
it was blow for blow, plain give-and-take, from the
start. But what distressed me was the extreme ten-
derness of my knuckles; and what chiefly irritated
me was the behavior of Doggy Bates, dancing about
and screaming “Go it, Stimcoes! Stimcoes for-
ever!” Five times the onlookers flung him out by
the scruff of his neck; and five times he worked him-
self back, and screamed it between their legs.
In the end this enthusiasm proved the undoing of
all his delight. Towards the end of an intolerably
long round, finding that my arms began to hang like
lead, I had rushed in and closed; and the two of us
went to ground together. There I lay panting, and
my opponent under me—the pair of us too weary for
the moment to strike a blow; and then, as breath
came back, I was aware of a sudden hush in the din.
A hand took me by the shirt-collar, dragged me to
my feet, and swung me round; and I stared, blinking,
into the face of Mr. Stimcoe.
“Dishgrashful!” said Mr. Stimcoe. He was ac-
companied by a constable, to whom he appealed for
confirmation, pointing to my face. “Left immy
charge only this evening. Perfly dishgrashful!”
22


A STREET FIGHT
“Boys will be boys, sir,” said the constable.
“M” good fellow ’’—Mr. Stimcoe comprehended
the crowd with an unsteady wave of his hand—“that
don’t 'pply 'case of men. Ne tu pu'ri tempsherish
annosh: tha's Juvenal.”
“Then my advice is, sir—take the boy home and
give him a wash.”
“He can’t,” came a taunting voice from the
crowd. “’Cos why? The company've cut off his
water.”
Mr. Stimcoe gazed around in sorrow rather than
in anger. He cleared his throat for a public speech;
but was forestalled by the constable's dispersing the
throng with a “Clear along, now, like good fel-
lows!”
The wide-mouthed man helped me into my jacket,
shook hands with me, and said I had no science, but
the devil's own pluck-and-lights. Then he, too, faded
away into the night; and I found myself alongside
of Doggy Bates, marching up the street after Mr.
Stimcoe, who declaimed, as he went, upon the vul-
garity of street-fighting.
By and by it became apparent that he had forgot-
ten us in the soothing flow of his own eloquence; and
Doggy Bates, who understood his preceptor's habits
to a hair, checked me with a knowing squeeze of the
arm, and began, of set purpose, to lag in his steps.
23


POISON ISLAND
Mr. Stimcoe strode on, still audibly denouncing and
exhorting.
“It was all my fault!” groaned Master Bates,
pulling up and studying my mauled face by the light
of a street-lamp. “Old Brandy-and-Water heard me
shouting his own name, silly fool that I was!”
I begged him not to be distressed on my account.
“What's the use of half a fight?” he groaned
again. “My word, though, won’t Stimcoe catch it
from the missus! She sent him out to get change for
your aunt's notes—“fees payable in advance.’ I
know the game—to pay off the bailey; and he's been
soaking in a public-house ever since. Hallo! ”
We turned together at the sound of footsteps ap-
proaching after us up the street. They broke into
a run, then appeared to falter; and, peering into the
dark interval between us and the next lamp, I dis-
cerned Captain Coffin. He had come to a halt, and
stood there mysteriously beckoning.
“You—I want you!” he called huskily. “Not
the other boy! You!”
I obeyed, having a reputation to keep up in the
eyes of Doggy Bates; but my courage was oozing as
I walked towards the old man, and I came to a sud-
den stop about five yards from him.
“Closer!” he beckoned. “Good boy, don’t be
afraid. What's your name, good boy?”
24


A STREET FIGHT
“Harry Brooks, sir.”
“Call me “sir,’ do you? Well, and you’re right.
I could ride in my coach-and-six if I chose; and some
day you may see it. How would you like to ride in
your coach-and-six, Harry Brooks?”
“I should like it finely, sir,” said I, humoring him.
“Yes, yes, I’ll wager you would. Well, now—
come closer. Mum's the word, eh? I like you,
Harry Brooks; and the boys in this town’—he
broke off and cursed horribly—“they’re not fit to
carry slops to a bear, not one of 'em. But you’re
different. And, see here: any time you’re in trouble,
just pay a call on me. Understand? Mind you, I
make no promises.” Here, to my exceeding fright,
he reached out a hand, and, clutching me by the
arm, drew me close, so that his breath poured hot
on my ear, and I sickened at its reek of brandy.
“It’s money, boy—money, I tell you!”
He dropped my arm, and, falling back a pace,
looked nervously about him. “Between you and me
and the gatepost, eh?” he asked.
His hand went down and tapped his pocket slyly,
and with that he turned quickly and shuffled away
down the street. I stared after him into the foggy
darkness, listening to the tap of his stick upon the
cobbles.
25


CHAPTER IV
CAPTAIN COFFIN STUDIES NAVIGATION
EvKNTs soon to be narrated made my sojourn in
tutelage of Mr. Stimcoe a brief one, and I will pass
it lightly over.
The school consisted of four boarders and six
backward sons of gentlemen resident in the town,
and assembled daily in a large outhouse furnished
with desks of a peculiar pattern, known to us as
“scobs.” Mr. Stimcoe, who had received his educa-
tion as a “querister” at Winchester (and after-
ward as a “servitor” at Pembroke College, Ox-
ford), habitually employed and taught us to employ
the esoteric slang—or “notions,” as he called it—of
that great public school; so that in “preces,”
“morning lines,” “book-chambers,” and what not
we had the names if not the things, and a vague and
quite illusory sense of high connection, on the
strength of which, and of our freedom from what
Mrs. Stimcoe called “the commercial taint,” we
made bold to despise the more prosperous Rogerses
up the hill.
26


COFFIN STUDIES NAVIGATION
Upon commerce in the concrete—that is to say,
upon the butchers, bakers, and other honest trades-
men of Falmouth—Mrs. Stimcoe waged a predatory
war, and waged it mercilessly. She had a genius for
opening accounts, and something more than genius
for keeping her creditors at bay. She never
wheedled nor begged them for time; she never com-
promised nor parleyed, nor condescended to yield an
inch to their claims for decent human treatment.
She relied simply upon browbeating and the efficacy
of the straight-spoken lie. A more dauntless, un-
blushing, majestic liar never stood up in petticoats.
She was a byword in Falmouth; yet, strange to say,
her victims would own to a sneaking fondness for
her, almost amounting to respect. Britons will pay
this tribute to courage even in their worst enemy.
We boys, too, kept a soft spot in our hearts for the
Warrior, as we called her. It was not in her nature
to encourage any such weakness. She would not
have thanked us for it. But we had this amount of
excuse: that she fed us liberally when she could
browbeat the butcher; and if at times we went short,
she shared our privation. Also, there must have
been some good in the woman to stand so unflinch-
ingly by Stimcoe. Stimcoe's books had gone into
storage at the pawnbroker's; but in his bare
“study,” where he heard our construing of Caesar
27


COFFIN STUDIES NAVIGATION
the support of a malacca cane, dragging his wounded
leg after him; and had a trick of talking to himself
as he went.
I need scarcely say that we mimicked him; but in
school he kept far better discipline than Stimcoe, for,
with all his oddity, we knew him to be a brave man.
Such mathematics as we needed he taught capably
enough and very patiently. The ‘
far as we were concerned, was a mere flourish of the
‘navigation,” so
prospectus; and his qualifications as a teacher of
English began and ended with an enthusiasm for Dr.
Johnson’s “Rasselas.”
Such was Captain Branscome; and, such as he was,
he kept the school running on days when Stimcoe
was merely drunk and incapable. He even treated
Mrs. Stimcoe with the finest courtesy, and, alone
among her creditors, was rewarded with that lady's
respect.
I knew, to be sure—we all knew—that she must
be in arrears with Captain Branscome's pay; but we
were unprepared for the morning when, on the
stroke of the church clock—our Greenwich time—
he walked up to the door, resolutely handed Mrs.
Stimcoe a letter, and as resolutely walked away
again. Stimcoe had been maudlin drunk for a week,
and could not appear. His wife heroically stepped
into the breach, and gave us as a geography lesson
29


FOISON ISLAND
some account of her uncle the admiral, and his career
—“distinguished, but wandering,” as she put it.
I remember little of this lesson save that it dis-
pensed—wisely, no doubt—with the use of the ter-
restrial globe; that it included a description of the
admiral's country seat in County Roscommon, and
an account of a ball given by him to celebrate Mrs.
Stimcoe's arrival at marriageable age, with a list of
the notabilities assembled; and that it ended in her
rapping Doggy Bates over the head with a ruler, for
biting his nails. From that moment anarchy reigned.
It reigned for a week. I have since wondered how
our six day-boys managed to refrain from carrying
home a tale which must have brought their parents
down upon us en masse. Great is schoolboy honor—
great, and more than a trifle quaint. In any case,
the parents must have been singularly unobservant
or singularly slow to reason upon what they ob-
served; for we sent their backward sons home to
them each night in a mask of ink.
Saturday came, and brought the usual half-holi-
day. We boarders celebrated it by a raid upon the
backyard of Rogerses—Bully Stokes being tempo-
rarily incapacitated by chicken-pox—and possessed
ourselves, after a gallant fight, of Rogerses’ football.
Superior numbers drove us back to our own door,
when—at the invocation of all the householders
30


COFFIN STUDIES NAVIGATION
along Delamere Terrace—the constable intervened;
but we retained the spoil.
At the shut of dusk, as we kicked the football in
triumph about our own backyard, Mrs. Stimcoe
sought me out with a letter to be conveyed to Cap-
tain Branscome. I took it and ran.
The lamplighter, going his rounds, met me at the
corner of Killigrew Street, and directed me to the
alley in which the captain’s lodgings lay. The alley
was dark, but a little within the entrance my eyes
caught the glimmer of a highly polished brass door-
knocker, and upon this I rapped at a venture.
Captain Branscome opened to me. The house had
no passage. Its front door opened directly upon a
whitewashed room, with a round table in the centre,
covered with charts. On the table, too, stood a lamp,
the light of which dazzled me for a moment. On the
walls hung the captain's sword of honor (above the
mantelpiece), a couple of bookshelves, well stored,
and a panel with a ship upon it—a brig in full sail—
carved in high-relief and painted. My eyes, how-
ever, were not for these, but for a man who sat at
the table, poring over the charts, and lifted his head
nervously to blink at me. It was Captain Coffin.
While I stared at him Captain Branscome took the
letter from me. It contained some pieces of silver,
as I knew from its weight and the feel of it—five
31


POISON ISLAND
shillings, as I judged, or perhaps seven-and-sixpence.
As his hand weighed it I saw a sudden relief on his
face, and realized how gray and pinched it had been
when he opened the door to me.
He poised the envelope in his hand for a moment,
then broke the seal very deliberately, took out the
coins, and, as if weighing them in his palm, turned
back to the table, and laid Mrs. Stimcoe's letter close
under the lamp while he searched for his gold-
rimmed spectacles.
(There was a tradition at Stimcoe's, by the way,
that the London merchants, finding a small surplus
of subscriptions in hand after purchasing the sword
of honor, had presented him with these spectacles in
addition, and that he valued them no less.)
“Brooks,” said he, laying down the letter and
pushing the spectacles high on his forehead while he
gazed at me, “I want to ask you a question in confi-
dence. Had Mrs. Stimcoe any difficulty in finding
this money?”
“Well, sir,” said I, “I oughtn't perhaps to know
it, but she pawned Stim—Mr. Stimcoe's Cicero this
morning, the six volumes—with a shield on the cov-
ers—that he got as a prize at Oxford.”
“Good Lord!” said Captain Branscome slowly.
As if in absence of mind he stepped to a side-cup-
board and looked within. It was bare but for a plate
32


COFFIN STUDIES NAVIGATION
and an apple. He took up the apple, and was about
to offer it to me, but set it back slowly on the plate,
and locked the cupboard again. “Good Lord!” he
repeated quietly, and, linking his hands under his
coat-tails, strode twice backwards and forwards
across the room.
Captain Coffin looked up from his charts and
stared at him, and I, too, stared, waiting in the semi-
darkness beyond the lamp's circle.
“Good Lord!” said Captain Branscome for the
third time. “And it's Saturday, too! You'll ex-
cuse me a moment.”
And with that he caught up the letter, and made
a dart up the wooden staircase, which led straight
from a corner of the room through a square hole in
the ceiling to his upper chamber.
“Money again!” said Captain Coffin, turning his
eyes upon me and blinking. “Nothing like money!”
He picked up a pair of compasses, spread them out
on the paper of figures before him, and winked at
me with a sly, silly smile.
“You won’t guess what I’m doing?” he chal-
lenged.
« No.”
“I’m studyin’ navigation. Cap'n Branscome's
larnin’ it to me. Some people has luck an’ some has
heads; an' with a head on my shoulders same as I
33


POISON ISLAND
had at your age, I’d be Prime Minister an' Lord
Mayor of Lunnon rolled into one, by crum!” He
reached across for Captain Branscome's sextant, and
held it between his shaking hands. “He can do it;
hundreds o' men—thick-headed men in the ord'nary
way—can do it; take a vessel out o' Falmouth here,
as you might say, and hold her 'crost the Atlantic,
as you might put it; whip her along for thirty days,
we’ll say; an' then, ‘To-morrow, if the wind holds,
an’ about six in the mornin’,” they’ll say, “there’ll be
an island with a two-three palm-trees on a hill an’ a
spit o' sand bearing nor’-by-west. Bring 'em in line,’
they’ll say, ‘an’ then you may fetch my shaving-
water.” And all the while no more’n ordinary men,
same as you and me. Whereby I allow it must come
in time, though my head don’t seem to get no grip
on it.”
Captain Coffin stared for a moment at a sheet of
paper on which he had been scribbling figures, and
passed it over to me, with a sigh.
“There! What d'you make of it?”
At a glance I saw that nothing could be made of
it. The figures crossed one another, and ran askew;
here and there they trailed off into mere illegibility.
In the left-hand bottom-corner I saw a 23 set under
a 10, and beneath it the result—17—underlined,
which, as a sum, left much to be desired, whether
34


COFFIN STUDIES NAVIGATION
you took it in addition, subtraction, multiplication,
or division.
“And yet,” he went on plaintively, “there's hun-
dreds can do it—even ord'nary men.” .
He reached out a hand and gripped me by the
elbow; and again his brandy-laden breath sickened
me as he drew me close.
“S'pose, now, you was to do this for me? You
could, you know. And there's money in it—lashin's
o’ money!”
He winked at me, glanced around the room, and
with an indescribable air of slyness dived a hand into
his breast-pocket.
“It’s here,” he nodded, drawing out a small par-
cel wrapped about in what at first glance appeared
to me to be a piece of pig's bladder. “Here. And
enough to set you an’ me up for life.” In shape the
parcel resembled a bag, tied about the neck with a
piece of tarry string. His fingers fumbled with this
for two or three seconds, but presently faltered.
“You come to me to-morrow,” he went on, still with
the same air of mystery, “and I’ll show you some-
thing. Up the hill, past Market Strand, till you
come to a signboard ‘G. Goodfellow. Funerals Fur-
nished ”—first turning to the right down the court,
and knock three times.”
Here he whipped the parcel back into his pocket,
35


POISON ISLAND
picked up his compasses, and made transparent pre-
tence to be occupied in measuring distances as Cap-
tain Branscome came down the stairs from the
garret.
Captain Branscome gave no sign of observing his
confusion, but signalled to me to step outside
with him into the alley, where he pressed an envel-
ope into my hand. By the weight of it I knew on
the instant that he was returning Mrs. Stimcoe's
money.
“And tell her,” said he, “that I will come on
Monday morning at nine o'clock as usual.”
“Yes, sir.”
I turned to go. I could not see his face in the
gloom of the alley, but I had caught one glimpse of
it by the lamplight within, and knew what had de-
tained him upstairs. Honest man, he was starving,
and had been praying up there to be delivered from
temptation.
“Brooks,” said he, as I turned, “they tell me
your father was once a major in the Army. Is he,
by chance, the same Major Brooks—Major James
Brooks, of the King's Own—I had the honor to
bring home in the ‘Londonderry,' after Corunna?”
“That must have been my father, sir.”
“A good man and a brave one. I am glad to hear
he is recovered.”
36


COFFIN STUDIES NAVIGATION
I told him in a word or two of my father's health
and of his blindness.
“And he lives not far from here?” I remembered
afterwards that his voice shook upon the question.
I described Minden Cottage and its position on
the road towards Plymouth. He cut me short hur- .
riedly, and remarked, with a nervous laugh, that he
must be getting back to his pupil. Whereat I, too,
laughed.
“Do you think it wrong of me, boy?” he asked
abruptly.
“Wrong, sir?”
“He insists upon coming; and he pays me. He
will never learn anything. By the way, Brooks, I
have been inhospitable. An apple, for instance?”
I declared untruthfully that I never ate apples;
and perhaps the lie was pardonable, since by it I es-
caped eating Captain Branscome's Sunday dinner.
37


CHAPTER W
THE WHALEBOAT
A BARBER's pole protruded beside the opening lead-
ing to Captain Coffin's lodgings. It was painted
in spirals of scarlet and blue, and at the end of it
a cage containing a gray parrot dangled over the
footway.
“Drunk again!” screamed the parrot, as I hesi-
tated before the entrance, for the directing-marks
just here were so numerous as to be perplexing. To
the right of the alley the barber had affixed his sign-
board, close above the base of his pole; to the left a
flanking slopshop dangled a row of cast-off suits,
while immediately overhead was nailed a board
painted over with ornate flourishes and the surpris-
ing legend:
“G. Goodfellow. Carpenter and House-Deco-
rator, &c. Repairs Neatly Executed. Instruction
in the Violin. Funerals at the Shortest Notice.
Shipping Supplied.”
“Drunk again!” repeated the parrot. “Riss me,
38


THE WHALEBOAT
kiss me, kiss me, kiss me! Oh, you nasty image!
Kiss me, kiss me! Who killed the Portugee?”
“He don’t mean you,” explained the barber reas-
suringly, emerging at that moment from his shop
with a pannikin of water for the parrot's cage, which
he lowered very deftly by means of a halliard reeved
through a block at the end of the pole. “He means
old Coffin. Nice bird, hey?”
He slipped a hand through the cage-door, and
caressed him, scratching his head.
“If you please, sir,” said I, “it’s Captain Coffin
I’m looking for.”
“Drunk again!” screamed the bird. “Damn my
giblets, drunk again!”
“He don’t like Coffin, and that’s a fact,” said the
barber.
“He don’t appear to, sir,” I agreed.
“You’ll find the old fellow down the yard. That
is, if you really want him.” The barber eyed me
doubtfully. “He’s sober enough, just now; been
swearin’ off his liquor for a week. I dare say you
know his temper's uncertain at such times.”
I did not know it, but was too far committed to
retreat.
“Well, you’ll find him down the yard—green
door to the right, with the brass knocker. He's out
at the back, hammering at his ship, but he'll hear
39


POISON ISLAND
you fast enough: he's wonderful quick of hear-
ing.”
A man, even though he possessed a solid brass
knocker, had need to be quick of hearing in that
alley. Without, street-hawkers were bawling and
carts rattling on the cobbled thoroughfare; from the
entrance the parrot vociferated after me as I went
down the passage beneath an open window whence
an invisible violin repeated the opening phrase of
“Come, cheer up, my lads!” plaintively and persist-
ently; while from the far end, somewhere between it
and the harbor side, an irregular hammering punctu-
ated the music.
I knocked, and the hammering ceased. The rest
of the din ceased not, nor abated. In about a minute
the green door opened—a cautious inch or two at
first, then wide enough to reveal Captain Coffin. He
wore a dirty white jumper over his upper garments,
and held a formidable mallet. I observed that either
his face was unnaturally white or the rims of his
eyes were unnaturally red, and that sawdust be-
sprinkled his hair and collar. I recalled the tavern
sawdust which had bepowdered his hat on the night
of our first meeting, and jumped to a wrong con-
clusion.
“Eh? It's Brooks—the boy Brooks! Glad to see
you, Brooks! Come inside.”
40


THE WHALEBOAT
“Thank you, sir,” said I, feeling a strong impulse
to bolt as he shook me by the hand, so hot was his
and so dry, and so feverishly it gripped me.
“You’re sure no one tracked ye here?” he asked,
as he closed the door behind us.
“There was a barber, sir, at the head of the pas-
sage. I stopped to ask him the way.”
“He’s all right, or would be but for that cursed
bird of his. How a man can keep such a bir 22
Captain Coffin broke off. “I had a two-three nails
in my mouth when you knocked. Nearly made me
swallow 'em, you did. They was copper nails, too.”
I suppose I must have stared at this, for he paused
and peered at me, drawing me over to the window,
through which—so thickly grimed it was—a very
little light dribbled from the courtyard into the
room. Yet the room itself was clean, almost spick
and span, with a seaman-like tidiness in all its ar-
rangements—a small room, crowded with foreign
odds-and-ends, among which I remember a walking-
stick even more singular than the one Captain Coffin
carried on his walks abroad (it was white in color,
with lines of small gray indentations, and he after-
wards told me it was a shark's backbone); a corner-
cupboard, too, painted over with green-and-yellow
tulips.
“Copper nails, I tell you. Nothing but the best’ll
41


POISON ISLAND
do for your friend Coffin.” He leaned back, still
eying me, and tapped me twice on the chest. “You
heard me say that? “Your friend’ was my words.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“But you made me jump, you did—me being that
way given when off the liquor.” He hesitated a mo-
ment, with a glance over his shoulder at the tulip-
painted cupboard. “Brooks,” he went on earnestly,
“you and me being met on a matter of business, and
the same needin' steadiness—head and hand, my
boy, if ever business did—what d'ye say to a tot of
rum apiece?”
Without waiting for my answer he glided off to
the cupboard, with a stealthy motion, and had set two
glasses on the table and brimmed them with neat
spirit before I had finished protesting. The bottle-
neck trembled on the rims of the glasses, and struck
out a sort of chime as he paused.
“You won’t?” he asked, gulping down his own
portion; and the liquor must have been potent, for
it brought a sudden water to his eyes. “Well, so be
it—if you’ve kept off it at your age. But at mine *
—he drank off the second glassful and wiped his
mouth—“I’ve had experiences, Brooks. When
you’ve heard 'em, you wouldn’t be surprised, not if
it took a dozen to steady me.”
He filled again, and came close to me, holding the
42


THE WHALEBOAT
glass, yet so tremulously that the rum spilled over
his fingers.
“Ingots, lad—golden ingots! Bars and wedges
of solid gold! Gems, too, and cath-e-deral plate, with
crucifixions and priests' vestments stiff with pearls
and rubies as if they was frozen. I’ve seen 'em lyin'
tossed in a heap like mullet in a ground-net. Ay,
and blazin’ on the beach, with the gulls screamin'
over 'em and flappin', and the sea all around. I seen
it with these eyes, boy!” He stood back and shiv-
ered. “And behind o' that, the Death! But it
comes equal to all, the Death. Not if a man had
learned every trick the devil can teach could he lay
his course clear o’ that. Could he, now?”
His words, his uncouth gestures, which were
almost spasms, and the changes in his face—from
cupidity to terror, and from terror again to a kind
of wistful hope—fairly frightened me, and I stam-
mered stupidly that death was the common lot,
and there couldn’t be a doubt of it; that or some-
thing of the sort. But what I said does not matter.
He was not listening, and before I had done he
drained and set down the glass and gripped my
arm again.
“I seen all that—ay, an’ felt it!” He drew away
and stretched out both hands, crooking his fingers
like talons. “Ay, an' I seen him!”
43


POISON TSLAND
.
“Him?” I echoed. “But you were talking of
Death, sir.”
“You may call him that. There's men lyin'
around in the sand Did ever you hear, boy, of
a poison called antimony?”
“No, sir.”
“It kills 'em, lad—kills 'em and turns 'em gray.
What's more, it preserves 'em. The first heap as
ever I dug, believin’ it to be the treasure—my reck-
oning was out by a foot or two—I came on one o'
them. Three foot beneath the sand I came on him,
an’ the gulls sheevoing all the while over my head.
They knew. And the sea and the dreadful loneliness
around us all the while. There was three of us,
Brooks—I mention no names, you understand—
three of us, and him. Three to one. Yet he got the
better of us all—as he got the better of the first lot,
and they must ha’ been a dozen. Four of them we
uncovered afore we struck the edge of the treasure
—uncovered 'em and covered 'em up again pretty
quick, I can tell you. Fresh as paint they were, in
a manner o’ speaking, just as though they’d died
yesterday; whereas by Melhuish's account they must
ha’ lain there for years. And the faces on 'em gray-
white and shinin' 22
Here Captain Coffin shivered, and, glancing about
him nervously, poured out another go of rum.
44


THE WHALEBOAT
“You wouldn’t blame me for wantin' it, Brooks
—not if you’d seen 'em. That was on the Keys, as
they’re called—half a dozen banks to no’thard of
the island, and maybe from half a mile to three-
quarters off the shore, which shoals thereabout—
sand, all the lot of 'em, and nothin’ but sand; sand
and sea-birds, and—what I told you. But the bulk
lies in the island itself, in two caches; and where the
bigger cache lies he don’t know, and nobody knows
but only Dan Coffin.”
Captain Coffin winked, touched his breast, and
wagged his forefinger at me impressively.
“That makes twice,” he went on. “Twice that
devil has got the better of every one. But the third
time's lucky, they say. He may be dead afore this;
he'll be getting an oldish man, anyway, and life on
that cursed island can’t be good for his health. We
won’t go in a crowd this time, neither; not a dozen,
nor yet four of us, but only you an’ me, Brooks. It's
the safer way—the only safe way—an’ there’ll be
the fatter sharin's. Now you know—hey?—why
Branscome's givin’ me lessons in navigation.”
He chuckled, and was moving off mysteriously to
a back doorway behind the dresser, but halted and
came back to the table.
“Look ye here, Brooks,” said he. “If there's
anything you don't get the hang of-anything that
45


POISON ISLAND
takes ye aback, so to speak, in what I’m tellin' you
—you just hitch on an' trust to old Dan Coffin; to
old Dan, as 'll do for you more than ever your god-
fathers an’ godmothers did at your baptism. You'll
pick up a full breeze as you go on. Man, the treas-
ure's there! Man, I’ve handled it, or enough of it
to keep you in a coach-an’-six, with nothing to do
but loll on cushions for the rest o' your days, an’
pick your teeth at the crowd. And look ye here.”
He waved a hand around the room. “I’m old
Danny Coffin, ain't I? poor old drunken Danny
Coffin, eh? Yet cast an eye about ye. Nice fittin's,
ben’t they? Hitch down my coat off the peg there;
feel the cloth of it; take it between finger and
thumb. Ay, I don’t live upon air, nor keep house
an’ fixtures upon nothin’ at all. There—if you want
more proof!” He dived a hand into his trouser-
pocket, and held out a golden coin under my nose.
“There! that very dollar came from the island, and
I'm offerin' you the fellows to it by the thousand.
Why? says you. Because, says I, you’re a good lad,
and I’ve took a fancy to see you in Parlyment.
That's why. An’ it's no return I’m askin' you, but
just to believe!”
He made for the back-door again, and opened it,
letting in the sunlight; but the sunlight fell in two
slanting rays, one on either side of a dark object,
46


THE WHALEBOAT
which all but filled the entrance, blocking out my
view of the back-court beyond—the stern of a tall
boat.
The boat, in fact, filled the small back-court, leav-
ing an alley-way scarcely more than two feet wide
along either party-wall. She rested on the stocks,
about three-parts finished, in shape very like a whale-
boat, and in measurement—so Captain Coffin in-
formed me, with a proprietary wave of the hand—
some twenty-six feet over all, with a beam of nine
feet six inches amidships. And even to a boy’s eye
she showed herself a pretty model, though (as I say)
unfinished, with a foot and more of her ribs standing
up bare and awaiting the top-strakes.
“Designed her myself, Brooks. Eh, but your
friend Dan'l Coffin has an eye for the shape of a
boat, though no hand at pencilling, nor what you
might call the cabinet-making part of the job.
There's a young carpenter lives up the court here—
a cleverish fellow. I got him to help me over the
niceties, you understand; but on my lines, lad.
Climb up and cast your eye over the well I’ve put
in her. That's for the treasure; and there’ll be side-
lockers round the stern-sheets, and a locker forward
big enough to hold a man. The fellow don’t guess
their meanin', an’I don’t let him guess. He thinks
they’re for air-compartments, to keep her buoyant;
47


POISON ISLAND
says she'll need more ballast than I’ve allowed her,
and wants to know what sense there is in buildin’
a boat so floatey. We'll ballast her, Brooks; all in
good time. We'll ship her aboard the Kingston
packet, bein’ of a size that she'll carry comfortable
as deck-cargo; and soon as we get to Kingston
we’l »
“Avast there, cap'n! ” interrupted a cheerful
voice; and I glanced up, to see a sandy-haired youth
with an extremely good-natured face nodding at us
across the coping of the party-wall. “Avast there!
Busy with visitors, eh? No? Well, I’ve been
thinkin’ it over, and I’ll take sixpence an hour.”
“I don’t give a ha'penny over fippence,” answered
Captain Coffin, patently taken aback by the inter-
ruption.
“Fivepence, then, as a pro-temporary accommo-
dation,” said the youth, and, throwing a leg over the
wall, heaved himself over and into the back-yard.
“But it's taking advantage of me; and you know
that if I weren’t in love and in a hurry it wouldn’t
happen.”
“You can take fippence, or go to the devil!” said
Captain Coffin. “By the way, Brooks, this is my as-
sistant, Mr. George Goodfellow.”
48


CHAPTER WI
My FIRST GLIMPSE of THE CHART
“GooD-DAY,” said Mr. George Goodfellow, nod-
ding affably. “I hope I see you well.”
“Pretty well, thank you, sir,” I answered.
“And where might you come from, makin' so
bold?”
I told him that I was a boarder at Mr. Stimcoe's.
“Then,” said Mr. Goodfellow, taking off his coat
and extracting a pencil and a two-foot rule from its
pocket, “I’m sorry for you. What a female!” He
chose out a long and flexible plank from a stack laid
lengthwise in the alley-way along the base of the
wall, lifted it, set it on three trestles, and began to
measure and mark it off. “She’s calculated to de-
stroy one's belief in human nature, that's what she
is! Fairly knocks the gilt off. Sometimes I can’t
hardly realize that she and Martha belong to the
same sex. Martha is my young woman.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Yes. At present she's living in Plymouth, as-
49


POISON ISLAND
sistant in a ham-and-beef shop, as you turn down to
the Barbican. That's her conscientiousness, instead
of sitting at home and living on her parents. Don't
tell me that women—by which I mean some women
—ain’t the equals of men.”
“Because,” continued Mr. Goodfellow after a
pause, “I know better. Ever been to Plymouth ?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Live there?”
“No, sir.”
He seemed to be disappointed.
“You go past the bottom of Treville Street, and
there the shop is, slap in front of you. You can’t
miss it, because it has a plaster-of-Paris cow in the
window, and the proprietor's called Mudge. I go to
Plymouth every week on purpose to see her.”
“By coach, sir?” I asked, suddenly interested,
and eager to compare notes with him on the Royal
Mail and its rivals, the Self-Defence and Highflyer.
“Coach? Not a bit of it. Shank’s mare, my boy,
every step of the way; and Martha's worth it.
That's the best of bein’ in love; it makes you want
to do things. By the way,” he asked, “you ain’t
thinkin’ to learn the violin, by any chance?”
“No, sir.”
“No,” he said reflectively. “You wouldn't—not
at Stimcoe's. Not—mind you—that I believe in
50


FIRST GLIMPSE OF THE CHART
coddling. Nobody ever coddled Nelson, and yet
what happened?” He shut one eye, put his pencil to
it for an imaginary telescope, and took a nautical
survey of the back premises.
“That rain-chute's out of order,” he said, address-
ing Captain Coffin. “Give me a shilling to put it
right for you, and you’ll save yourself a lot of
trouble.”
“That's the landlord’s affair,” answered Captain
Coffin, “and I’m not paying you fippence an hour to
talk.”
“But, sir,” I put in, “if you walk to Plymouth
you must pass the house where I live—a low-roofed
house about three miles this side of St. Germans vil-
lage, with windows opening right on the road, and
‘Minden Cottage ' painted over the door.”
“ Know it? Bless my soul, to be sure I know it!
Why, the last time but one I passed that way, taking
note that one of the window-hinges was out of gear,
I knocked and asked leave to repair it. A lady with
side-curls opened the door, and after the job was
done took me into the parlor an” gave me a jugful o'
cider over and above the sixpence charged. I be-
lieve she’d have made it a shillin', too, only when I
told her she lived in a very pretty house, and asked
if she owned it or rented it, she turned very stiff in
her manner. Touchy as tinder she was; and if that
51


POISON ISLAND
comes of being a lady, I’m glad my Martha's more
sociable.”
“That was Plinny—Miss Plinlimmon, I mean.
You didn't catch sight of my father? Brooks, he's
called—Major Brooks.”
“No, I didn’t. But I stopped to pass the time o'
day with the landlord of the Seven Stars Inn, a mile
along the road, and there I heard about 'em. So
you're Major Brooks's son? Well, then, by all ac-
counts you’ve got a thunderin’ good father. Old
English gentleman, straight as a ramrod—pays his
way, fears God and honors the King—such was the
landlord’s words; and he told me the cottage, as you
call it, was rented at twenty-five pounds a year, with
a walled garden an' a paddock thrown in, which I
call dirt cheap.”
“I don’t see that it's any business of yours what
my father pays for his house!” said I, my flush of
pleasure changing to one of annoyance.
I glanced round for Captain Coffin's support, but
he had walked indoors, no doubt in despair of Mr.
Goodfellow's loquacity.
“No?” queried Mr. Goodfellow. “No, I dare
say not; but you just wait till you fall in love. It's
a most curious feelin’. First of all it makes you want
to pull off your coat and turn a hand to anything,
from breakin' stones to playing the fiddle—it don’t
52


FIRST GLIMPSE OF THE CHART
matter what, so long as you sweat an’ feel you’re
earnin’ money. Why, just take a look at my busi-
ness card.” He stepped to his coat, pulled one from
his pocket, and glanced over it proudly: “‘ George
Goodfellow, Carpenter and Decorator — Cabinet
Making in all its Branches—Repairs neatly executed
—Funerals and Shipping supplied—Practical Val-
uer, and for Probate—Fire Office claims prepared
and adjusted—Good Berths booked on all the Pack-
ets, and guaranteed by personal inspection—Boats
built and designed—Instruction in the Violin—Old
instruments cleaned and repaired, or taken in ex-
change—Rowboat for hire.” There, put it in your
pocket and take it away with you. I’ve plenty more
in my desk.
“That's what it feels like, bein’ in love,” con-
tinued Mr. Goodfellow. “And, next thing, it makes
you take a tremenjous interest in houses—houses an’
furnicher an’ the price o’ things—right down to
butter, as you might say. I never see a house, now
—leastways, a house that takes my fancy—but I
want to be measuring it an’ planning out the fur-
nicher, an’ the rent, an’ where to stow the firewood,
an’ sitting down cosy in it along with Martha-in
the mind's eye, as you may say—one on each side
o' the fire, an’ makin' two ends meet. I pity any
man that ends a bachelor.” He glanced towards the
53


POISON ISLAND
house. “By the way, how do you get along with
Coffin?”
“He-he seems very kind.”
“”Tisn’ his way with boys, as a rule.” Mr. Good-
fellow tapped his forehead significantly with the end
of his two-foot rule, and nodded. “Upper story,”
he announced.
“You think so?”
“Sure of it. Cracked as a bell. Not,” said Mr.
Goodfellow, picking up a saw and making ready to
cut the plank lengthwise to his measurements, “not
that there's any harm in the man until he runs foul
of the drink. The tale is, he gets his money out o'
Government—a sort of pension. Was mixed up in
the Spithead Mutiny, by one account, an’ turned in-
former; but there's another tale he earned it by
some hanky-panky over in Lisbon, when the Royal
Family there packed up traps from the Brazils;
and that's the story I favor, for, between you
and me, I’ve seen Portugal money in his posses-
sion.”
So, indeed, had I. But Captain Coffin himself cut
short the talk at this point by appearing and an-
nouncing from the back doorstep that he had a treat
for me if I would come inside.
The treat consisted in a dish of tea—a luxury in
those times, rarely afforded even at Minden Cottage
54


FIRST GLIMPSE OF THE CHART
—and a pot of guava-jelly, with Cornish cream and
a loaf of white, wheaten bread. Such bread, I need
scarcely say, with wheat at 140s. a quarter, or there-
abouts, never graced the table of Copenhagen Acad-
emy. But the dulcet, peculiar taste of guava-jelly is
what I associate in memory with that delectable
meal; and to this day I cannot taste the flavor of
guava but I find myself back in Captain Coffin's
sitting-room, cutting a third slice from the wheaten
loaf, with the corals and shells of mother-of-pearl
winking at me from among the china on the dresser,
and Captain Coffin seated opposite, with the silver
rings in his ears, and his eyes watching me, very
white in the dusk and distinct within their inflamed
rims.
“Nothing like tea,” he was saying; “nothing like
tea to pull a man round from the drink, and cock him
back like a trigger.”
His right hand was at his breast as he spoke. It
came out swiftly, as upon a sudden impulse. His
left hand closed upon it and partly covered it for a
moment; and with that, as I reached towards the pot
of guava-jelly, I saw the two hands spread apart and
disclose an oilskin case. -
“Brooks!” he whispered hoarsely. “Brooks,
look at this!”
His fingers plucked at the oilskin wrapper, uncov-
55


POISON ISLAND
ered it, unfolded an inner parcel of parchment, and,
trembling, spread it open on the table.
I leaned closer, and this is what I saw:
º 'ºw lºw tº ºl
:
:
C. h. A R. T.
of THE is lawn
º
MORTALL one
tº wrºt
Twice, while I leaned across and stared at it, Cap-
tain Coffin's fingers all but closed over the parch-


56


FIRST GLIMPSE OF THE CHART
ment to hide it from me. The afternoon light was
falling dim, and I stood up to walk around the edge
of the table for a better look. As I pushed back my
chair he clutched his treasure away and hid it again
in the breast of his jumper, at the same moment fall-
ing back and passing a hand over his damp forehead.
“No, no, Brooks! You mustn't think— Only
you took me sudden. But my promise I’ve passed,
and my promise I’ll stand by. Come again to-
morrow, lad.”
Outside in the back yard I could hear Mr. Good-
fellow, the slave of love, sawing for dear life and
Martha.
57


CHAPTER VII
ENTER THE RETURNED PRISONER
STRANGE to say, although I paid six or eight vis-
its after this to Captain Coffin, and by invitation,
and watched his whaleboat building, and ate more
of his delectable guava-jelly, I saw nothing more of
the chart for several months.
On each occasion he treated me kindly, and made
no secret of his having chosen me for his favorite
and particular friend; but somehow, without any
words, he contrived to set up an understanding that
further talk about the chart and the treasure must
wait until the boat should be ready for launching.
The truth is, I believe, that a kind of superstitious
terror restricted him; that he trusted me, yet was
afraid of overt signs of trust. You may put it that
during this while he was testing, watching me. I
can only answer that I had no suspicion of being
watched, and that in discussing the boat's fittings
with me—her tanks, wells, and general storage ca-
pacity—he took it for granted that I followed and
understood her purpose. If indeed he was testing
58


ENTER THE RETURNED PRISONER
me I took in my innocence the best way to reassure,
him; for I honestly looked upon the whole business
as moonshine, and made no doubt that he was
cracked as a fiddle.
Christmas came, and the holidays with it. As
Miss Plinlimmon sang:
Welcome, Christmas! Welcome, Yule!
It brings the schoolboy home from school.
[N. B.-Vulgarly pronounced “schule” in the West of
England.]
Puddings and mistletoe and holly,
With other contrivances for banishing melancholy:
Boar's head, for instance—of which I have never partaken,
But the name has festive associations denied to ordinary bacon.
Dear soul, she had been waiting at the door—so
Sally, the cook, informed me—for about an hour,
listening for the coach, and greeted me with a tremu-
lous joy between laughter and tears. Before leading
me to my father, however, she warned me gravely
enough that I should find him changed; and changed
he was, albeit less perhaps in appearance than in the
perceptible withdrawal of his mind from all earthly
concerns. He seldom spoke, but sat all day immo-
bile, with the lids of his blind eyes half lowered, so
that it was hard to tell whether he brooded or merely
dozed. On Christmas Day he excused himself from
walking to church with us, and upon top of his ex-
59


POISON ISLAND
cuse looked up with a sudden happy smile — as
though his eyes really saw us—and quoted Waller's
famous lines:
“The soul's dark cottage, battered and decay’d,
Lets in new light through chinks that time hath made. . . .”
To me it seemed rather that, as its home broke up,
the soul withdrew little by little, and contracted itself
like the pupil of an eye, to shrink to a pinpoint or
suddenly vanish in the full admitted ray.
This our last Christmas at Minden Cottage was a
quiet yet a singularly happy one. It was good to be
at home, yet the end of the holidays and the return
to Stimcoe's cast no anticipative gloom on my spir-
its. To tell the truth, I had a sneaking affection for
Stimcoe's; and to Miss Plinlimmon's cross-examina-
tion upon its internal economies I opposed a careless,
manly assurance as hardily fraudulent as Mr. Stim-
coe's brazen doorplate or his lady's front-window
curtains. The careful mending of my linen, too—
for Mrs. Stimcoe with all her faults was a needle-
woman — helped to disarm suspicion. When we
talked of my studies I sang the praises of Captain
Branscome, and told of his past heroism and his
sword of honor.
“Branscome? Branscome, of the ‘London-
derry’?” said my father. “Ay, to be sure, I re-
60


ENTER THE RETURNED PRISONER
member Branscome—a God-fearing fellow and a
good seaman. You may take him back my compli-
ments, Harry—my compliments and remembrances
—and say that if Heaven permitted us to meet again
in this world, nothing would give me greater pleas-
ure than to crack a bottle with him.”
I duly reported this to Captain Branscome, and
was taken aback by his reception of it. He began
in a sudden flurry to ask a dozen questions concern-
ing my father:
“He keeps good health, I trust? It would be an
honor to call and chat with the Major. At what
hour would he be most accessible to visitors?”
I stared; for in truth he seemed ready to take me
at my word and start off at once, and at my patent
surprise he grew yet more nervous and confused.
“I have kept a regard for your father, Brooks—
a veneration, I might almost call it. Sailors and
soldiers, if I may say it, are not apt to think too well
of one another; but the Major from the first fulfilled
my conception of all a soldier should be—a gentle-
man fearless and modest, a true Christian hero.
Minden Cottage, you say? And fronting the road
a little this side of St. Germans? Tell me, pray—
and excuse the impertinence—what household does
he keep?”
It is hard to write down Captain Branscome's
61


POISON ISLAND
questions on paper, and divest them, as his gentle
face and hesitating, kindly manner divested them, of
all offensiveness. I did not resent them at the time
or consider them impertinent. But they were cer-
tainly close and minute, and I had reason before long
to recall every detail of his catechism.
Captain Coffin, on the other hand, welcomed me
back to Falmouth with a carelessness which disap-
pointed if it did not nettle me. He fetched out the
tea and guava-jelly, to be sure, but appeared to take
no interest in my doings during the holidays, and
was uncommunicative on his own. This seemed the
stranger because he had important news to tell me.
During my absence he and Mr. Goodfellow between
them had finished the whaleboat. -
The truth was—though I did not at once perceive
it—that upon its completion the old man had begun
to drink hard. Drink invariably made him morose,
suspicious. His real good-will to me had not
changed, as I was to learn. He had paid a visit to
Captain Branscome, and given him special instruc-
tions to teach me the art of navigation, the intrica-
cies of which eluded his own fuddled brain. But for
the present he could only talk of trivialities, and es-
pecially of the barber's parrot, for which he had con-
ceived a ferocious hate.
“I’ll wring his neck, I will!” he kept repeating.
62


ENTER THE RETURNED PRISONER
“I’ll wring his neck one o’ these days, blast me if
I don't! ”
I took my leave that evening in no wise eager to
repeat the visit; and in fact I repeated it but twice—
and each time to find him in the same sullen humor
—between then and May 11th, the day when the
“Wellingboro’” transport cast anchor in Falmouth
roads with two hundred and fifty returned prisoners
of war.
She had sailed from Bordeaux on April 20th, in
company with five other transports bound for Plym-
outh; and her putting into Falmouth to repair her
steering-gear came as a surprise to the town, which
at once hung out all its bunting and prepared to wel-
come her poor passengers home to England with
open arms. A sorry crew they looked, ragged, wild-
eyed, and emaciated, as the boats brought them
ashore at the Market Stairs to the strains of the Fal-
mouth Artillery Band. The homes of the most of
them lay far away, but England was England; and
a many wept and the crowd wept with them at sight
of their tatters, for I doubt if they mustered a com-
plete suit of good English cloth between them.
Stimcoe, I need scarcely say, had given us a whole
holiday; and Stimcoes and Rogerses met in amity
for once, and cheered in the throng that carried the
home-comers shoulder high to the Town Hall, where
63


POISON ISLAND
the Mayor had arrayed a public banquet. There
were speeches at the banquet, and alcoholic liquors,
both affecting in operation upon his Worship's
guests. Poor fellows, they came to the feast after
long abstinence, with stomachs sadly out of training;
and the streets of Falmouth that evening were a pan-
oramic lesson on the dangers of undiscriminating
charity.
Now, at about five o'clock I happened to be stand-
ing on the edge of the Market Stairs, watching the
efforts of a boat's crew to take a dozen of these ine-
briates on board for the transport, when I heard my
name called, and turned to see Mr. George Good-
fellow beckoning to me from the doorway of the
Plume of Feathers public-house. His gestures were
insistent.
“It's Coffin,” he explained. “The old fool's sit-
ting in the taproom as drunk as an owl, and I was
reckonin’ that you an’ me between us might get him
home quiet before the house fills up an’ mischief be-
gins; for by the looks of it there’ll be Newgate-let-
loose in Falmouth streets to-night.”
I answered that this was very thoughtful of him;
and he agreed it was providential that he had
dropped in at the Plume of Feathers for twopenny-
worth of cider to celebrate the day.
We found Captain Coffin seated in a corner of
64


ENTER THE RETURNED PRISONER
the taproom settle, puffing at an empty pipe and
staring at vacancy. “Drunk as an owl" described
his condition to a nicety; for at a certain stage in
his drinking all the world became mirk midnight to
him, and he would grope his way home through the
traffic, at high noon, in profound, pathetic belief that
darkness and slumber wrapped the streets; on which
occasions the dialogue between him and the barber's
parrot might be counted on to touch high comedy.
I knew this, and knew also that in the next stage he
would recover his eyesight, and at the same time turn
dangerously quarrelsome. If Mr. Goodfellow and I
could escort him home quietly, he would have reason
to thank us to-morrow.
We were bending over him to persuade him—at
first, with small success; for he continued to stare
and mutter, as our voices coaxed without penetrating " -
his muddled intelligence—when a party of 'long-
shoremen staggered into the taproom, escorting one
of the returned prisoners, a thin, sandy-haired, foxy-
looking man, with narrow eyes and a neck remark-
able for its attenuation and the number and depth
of its wrinkles. This neck showed above the greasy
collar of a red infantry coat, from which the badges
and buttons had long since vanished; and for the
rest the fellow wore a pair of dirty white drill trous-
ers of French cut, French shoes, and a round
65


POISON ISLAND
japanned hat; but, so far as a glance could discover,
neither shirt nor underclothing. When the 'long-
shoremen called for drink he laughed with a kind of
happy shiver, as though rubbing his body round the
inside of his clothes, cast a quick glance at us in our
dim corner, and declared for rum, adding that the
Mayor of Falmouth was a well-meaning old swab,
but his liquor wouldn’t warm the vitals of a baby
in clouts.
As he announced this I fancied that our persua-
sions began to have effect on Captain Coffin, for his
eyes blinked as in a strong light, and he seemed to
pull himself together with a shudder; but a moment
later he relapsed again and sat staring.
“Hallo!” said one of the 'longshoremen.
“Who’s that you're a-coaxin’ of, you two? Old
Coffin, eh? Well, take the old shammick home, an’
thank 'ee. We’re tired of 'en here.”
As I looked up to answer I saw the returned pris-
oner give a start, turn slowly about, and peer at us.
He seemed to be badly scared, too, for an instant;
for I heard a sudden, sharp click in his throat:
“E-e-eh? Coffin, is it? Danny Coffin? Oh, good
Lord! ”
He came towards our corner, still peering, and,
as he peered, crouching so that he spread his palms
on his knees.
66


ENTER THE RETURNED PRISONER
“Coffin? Danny Coffin?” he repeated, in a voice
that, as it lost its wondering quaver, grew tense and
wicked and wheedling.
Captain Coffin's face twitched, and it seemed to
me that his eyes, though rigid, expanded a little.
But they stared into the stranger's face without see-
ing him.
The fellow crouched a bit lower, and still lower,
as he drew close and thrust his face gradually within
a yard of the old man's.
“Shipmate Danny—messmate Danny—tip us a
stave. The old stave, Danny:
“And alongst the Keys o' Mortal-lone!’”
As his voice lifted to it in a hoarse melancholy
minor (time and again since that moment the tune
has put me in mind of sea-birds crying over a waste
shore), I saw the shiver run across Captain Coffin's
face and neck, and with that his sight came back to
him, and he bounced upright from the settle, with a
horrible scream, his hands fencing, clawing at air.
The prisoner dropped back with a laugh. Mr.
Goodfellow, at a choking sound, put out a hand to
loosen Captain Coffin's neckcloth; but the old man
beat him off.
“Not you! Not you!—Harry!”
He gripped me by the arm, and, ducking his head,
67


POISON ISLAND
fairly charged me past the 'longshoremen and out
through the doorway into the street. As we gained
it I heard the stranger in the taproom behind me
break into a high, cackling laugh.
68


CHAPTER VIII
THE HUNTED AND THE HUNTER
ALL the drunkenness had gone out of Captain
Danny. Gripping my arm, he steered me rapidly
through the knots of loafers, up Market Strand into
the crowded Fore Street, across it and up the hill
towards open country, taking the ascent with long
strides which forced me now and again into a run.
Twice or thrice I glanced up at his face; for I was
scared, and badly scared. His mouth worked, and I
observed small beads of sweat on his shaven upper
lip; but he kept his eyes fastened straight ahead, and
paid no heed to me.
At the head of the street the town melted off into
a suburb of scattered houses, modest domiciles of
£25 or £30 rentals, detached, each with its garden
and narrow garden-door, for Falmouth in those days
boasted few carriage-folk. He paused once here-
abouts, in the roadway between two walls, and stood
listening, while his right hand trembled on his stick;
but presently grippel my arm again and hurried me
forward, nor halted until we reached the summit, and
69


POISON ISLAND
the open country lay before us, with the Channel and
its long horizon on our left. Here, on the very knap
of the hill, in a cornfield, and some two hundred
yards back from the road, stood the shell of an old
windmill, overlooking the sea — deserted, ruinous,
without sails, a building many hundreds of years
older than the oldest house in Falmouth, serving now
but as a landmark for fishermen and on Sundays a
rendezvous for courting couples. At the stile lead-
ing into the cornfield, Captain Coffin released me,
climbed over, hurried up the footpath to the wind-
mill, and, having satisfied himself that the building
was empty, motioned me to seat myself on the side
where its long shadow pointed down across a bank of
nettles, and beyond the edge of the green young bar-
ley sheeting the slope towards the harbor.
“Brooks,” he began—but his voice rattled like a
dried pea in a pod, and he had to moisten his un-
der-lip with his tongue before he could proceed—
“Brooks, are you in any way a superstitious kind o'
boy?”
“That depends, sir,” said I diplomatically.
“After all these years, too,” he groaned; “an’
agen’ all likelihood o’ natur’. But you saw him—
hey? You heard what he said, an’ that cussed song,
too? Sang it, he did; slapped it out at the top of
his voice in a public tavern. I tell you, Brooks—
70


THE HUNTED AND THE HUNTER
knowin’ what he knows—a man must have all hell
runnin’ cold in him to sing them words aloud an’
not care who heard.”
“Why, he sang but a line of it,” said I, “and
that harmless enough, though dismal.”
“Is that so, lad—is that so?” Captain Danny
put out a hand like a bird’s claw and hooked me by
the cuff. “Wasn’ there nothing in it about Execu-
tion Dock; nothing about ripe medlars—“medlars
a-rottin' on the tree'? No?”—for I shook my head.
“Well, then, I could be sworn I heard him sing-
in’ them words for minutes, an’ me sittin’ all the
while wi' the horrors on me afore I dared look in
his damned face. An' you tell me he piped but a
line of it?” His eyes searched mine anxiously.
“Brooks,” he went on, in a voice almost coaxing,
“I’d give five hundred pound at this moment if you
could look me in the face an’ tell me the whole scare
was nothing but fancy—that he wasn’ there!”
His grasp relaxed as I shook my head again.
Despair grew in his eyes, and he drew back his
hand.
“I’ll put it to you another way,” said he after
seeming to reflect for a while. “Suppose there was
a couple o' men mixed up in an ugly job—by which
I don’t mean to say there was any real harm in the
business; leastways not to start with; but, as it went
71


POISON ISLAND
on, these two men were forced to do something that
brought them within reach o' the law. We’ll put it
that, when the thing was done, the one o' this pair
felt it heavy upon his mind, but tother didn' care
no more than a brass button; an' the one that took
it serious—as you might say—lost sight o' the other
for years, an’ meantime picked up with a little re-
ligion, an’ made oath with hisself that all the profits
o' the job (for there were profits) should come into
innecent hands— You catch on to this?”
I nodded.
“Well, then *—he leant forward, his palm rest-
ing amid a bed of nettles; he did not appear to feel
their sting, although, while he spoke, I saw the back
of his hand whiten slowly with blisters—“well, then,
you can’t go for to argue with me that the A’mighty
would go for to strike the chap that repented by
means o' the chap that didn'. 'Tisn’ reasonable nor
religious to think such a thing—is it now?”
“He might punish the one first,” said I judi-
cially, “and keep the other—the wicked man—for a
worse punishment in the end. A great deal,” I
added, “might depend on what sort of crime they’d
committed. If 'twas a murder, now »
“Murder?” He caught me up sharply, and his
eyes turned from watching me, to throw a quick
glance back along the footpath, then fastened them-
72


THE HUNTED AND THE HUNTER
selves on the horizon. “Who's a-talkin' of any such
thing?”
“I was putting a case, sir—putting it as bad as
possible. “Murder will out,’ they say; but with
smaller crimes it may be different.”
“Murder ?” He sprang up and began to pace to
and fro. “How came that in your head, eh?” He
threw me a furtive sidelong look, and halted before
me, mopping his forehead. “I’ll tell you what,
though: Murder there’ll be if you don’t help me give
that devil the slip.”
“But, sir, he never offered to follow you.”
“Because he reckoned I couldn' run—or wouldn’,
as I’ve never run from him yet. But, with you in
the secret, I must give him leg-bail, no matter what
it costs me. And, see here, Brooks: you’re clever
for your age, an’ I want your advice. In the first
place, I daren’t go home; that’s where he’ll be watch-
in’ for me sooner or later. Next, our plans ain’t
laid for startin' straight off—here as we be—an’
givin’ him the go-by. Third an’ last, I daren’t go
carryin’ the secret about with me; he might happen
on me any moment, an’ I’m not in trainin’. The
drink's done for me, boy; whereas he’ve been farin’
hard an’ livin’ clean.” Captain Coffin, with his hands
deep in his pockets, stared down at the transport
at anchor below, and bent his brows. “I can’t turn
73


POISON ISLAND
it over to you, neither,” he mused. “That might
ha’ done well enough if he hadn’ seen you in my
company; but now we can’t trust to it.”
He took another dozen paces forth and back, and
halted before me again.
“Brooks,” he said, “how about your father?”
“The very man, sir,” I answered; “that is, if
you would trust him.”
“Cap'n Branscome tells me he's one in a thou-
sand. I thought first o' Branscome, but there's folks
as know about my goin’ to him for navigation les-
sons; an’ if Glass got hold o' that, 'twould be a hot
scent.”
“Glass 2 " I echoed. -
“That's his damned name, lad—Aaron Glass,
though he’ve passed under others, and plenty of 'em,
in his time. Well, now, if I can slip out o' Fal-
mouth unbeknowns to him, an’ win to your father—
on the Plymouth road, I’ve heard you say, and a
little this side of St. Germans 25
“You might walk over to Penryn and pick up the
night coach.” -
Captain Coffin shook his head as he turned out
his pockets.
“One shilling, lad, an’ two ha'pennies. It won’t
carry me; an' I daren’ go home to refit, an' I daren’
send you.”
74


THE HUNTED AND THE HUNTER
“I could take a message to Captain Branscome,”
I suggested, “and he might fetch you the money, if
you tell him where to look for it.”
“That's an idea,” decided Captain Coffin, after
a moment's thought. He unbuttoned his waistcoat,
dived a hand within the breast of his shirt, and
pulled forth a key looped through with a tarry
string. This string he severed with his pocket-knife.
“Run you down to the cap'n's lodgings,” said he,
handing me the key, “an tell him to go straight an’
unlock the cupboard in the cornder—the one wi' the
toolips painted over the door. You know it? Well,
say that on the second shelf he'll find a small bagful
o’ money—he needn’t stay to count it— an’’pon the
same shelf, right back in the cornder, a roll o' papers.
Tell him to keep the papers till he hears from me,
but the bag he's to give to you, an’ you’re to bring
it along quick with the key. Mind, you’re not to
go with him on any account; an’ if you should run
against this Glass on your way, give him a wide berth
—go straight home to Stimcoe's—do anything but
lay him on to my trail by comin' back to tell me.
Understand? There, now, hark to the town clock
chimin’ below there. Six o'clock it is—four bells.
If you’re not back agen by seven I shall know what's
happened an’ take steps accordin’. An’ you'll know
that I’m on my way to your father by another tack.
75


POISON ISLAND
“What tack?” says you. “Never you mind,” says I.
If the worst comes to the worst, old Dan Coffin has
a shot left in his locker.”
I took the key and ran. The alley where Captain
Branscome lodged lay a gunshot on this side of the
Market Strand; and while I ran I kept—as the say-
ing is—my eyes skinned for a sight of the enemy.
The coast, however, was clear.
But at Captain Branscome's door a wholly unex-
pected disappointment awaited me. It was locked,
and I had not hammered twice on its shining brass
knocker before a neighboring housewife put forth her
head from a window in the gathering dusk and in-
formed me that the captain was not at home. He
had gone out early in the afternoon, and left his
door key with her, saying that he was off on a visit,
and would not return before to-morrow afternoon
at earliest. For a moment I was tempted to disobey
Captain Danny's injunctions and fetch the money
myself, or at least make a bold attempt for it; but,
recollecting how earnestly he had charged me, and
how cheerfully at the last he had assured me that he
had still a shot in his locker, I turned and mounted
the hill again, albeit dejectedly.
The moon was rising as I climbed over the stile
into the footpath, and, recognizing my footstep, the
old man came forward to meet me, out of the shadow
76


THE HUNTED AND THE HUNTER
*
on the western side of the windmill, to which he had
shifted his watch.
My ill-success, depressing enough to me, he took
very cheerfully.
“I was afraid,” said he—and my conscience smote
me—“you might be foolin' off for the money on your
own account. Gone on a visit, has he? Well, you
can hand him the key to-morrow, with my message.
An' now I’ll tell you my next notion. The St.
Mawes packet”—this was the facetious name given
to a small cutter which plied in those days between
Falmouth and the small village of St. Mawes across
the harbor—“the St. Mawes packet is due to start
at seven-thirty. I won’t risk boardin’ her at Market
Strand, but pick up a boat at Arwennack, an’ row
out to hail her as she's crossin’. She’ll pick me up
easy, wi' this wind; if she don’t, I’ll get the water-
man to pull me right across. Bogue, the landlord of
The Lugger over there, knows me well enough to
lend me ten shillin', an’ wi' that I can follow the
road through Tregoney to St. Austell, an' hire a lift.”
I could not but applaud the plan. The route he
proposed cut off a corner, led straight to Minden Cot-
tage, and was at the same time the one on which he
was least likely to be tracked. We descended the hill
together, keeping to the dark side of the road. At
the foot of the hill we parted, with the understanding
77


POISON ISLAND
that I was to run straight home to Stimcoe's, and ex-
plain my absence at locking-up—or, as Mr. Stimcoe
preferred to term it, “names-calling”—as best I
might.
Thereupon I did an incredibly foolish thing,
which, as it proved, defeated all our plans and gave
rise to unnumbered woes. I was already late for
names-calling; but for this I cared little. Stimcoe
had not the courage to flog me; the day had been a
holiday, and of a sort to excuse indiscipline; and,
anyway, one might as well suffer for a sheep as for
a lamb. The St. Mawes packet would be lying along-
side the Market Strand. The moon was up — a
round, full moon—and directly over St. Mawes, so
that her rays fell, as near as might be, in the line
of the cutter's course, which, with a steady breeze
down the harbor, would be a straight one. From the
edge of Market Strand I might be able to spy Captain
Coffin's boat as he boarded. Let me, without ex-
tenuating it, be brief over my act of folly. Instead
of making at once for Stimcoe's, I bent my steps
towards Market Strand. The St. Mawes packet lay
there, and I stood on the edge of the quay, watching
her preparations for casting off—the skipper clearing
the gangway and politely helping aboard, between
the warning notes of his whistle, belated marketers
who came running with their bundles.
78


THE HUNTED AND THE HUNTER
While I stood there, a man sauntered out and
stood for a moment on the threshold of the Plume of
Feathers. It was the man Aaron Glass, and, recog-
nizing him, I (that had been standing directly under
the light of the quay-lamp) drew back from the edge
into the darkness. I had done better, perhaps, to
stand where I was. How long he had been observing
me—if, indeed, he had observed me—I could not tell.
But, as I drew back, he advanced and strolled non-
chalantly past me, at five yards distance, down to
the quay-steps.
“All aboard for St. Mawes!” called the skipper,
drawing in his plank.
“All but one, captain
without removing his hands from his pockets, put a
foot upon the bulwark and sprang lightly on to her
deck.
!” answered Glass, and,
79


CHAPTER IX
CHAOS IN THE CAPTAIN's LoDGINGs
I LEAVE you to guess what were my feelings as
foot by foot the packet's quarter fell away wider of
the quay. If, as the skipper thrust off, I had found
presence of mind to jump for her, who knows what
mischief might have been prevented ? I could at
least — whatever the consequences — have called a
warning to Captain Coffin to give his enemy a wide
berth. But I was unnerved; the impulse came too
late; and as the foresail filled and she picked up
steerage way, I stood helpless under the lamp at the
quay-head—stood and stared after her, alone with the
sense of my incredible folly.
Somewhere out yonder Captain Coffin was waiting
in his shore-boat. I listened, minute after minute,
on the chance of hearing his hail. A heavy bank of
cloud had overcast the moon, and the packet melted
from sight in a blur of darkness. Worst of all—
worse even than the sting of self-reproach—was the
prospect of returning to Stimcoe's and wearing
through the night, while out there in the darkness the
80


CHAOS IN THE CAPTAIN'S LODGINGS
two men would meet, and all that followed their meet-
ing must happen unseen by me.
This ordeal appeared so dreadful to me in prospect
that I began to cast about among all manner of im-
practicable plans for escaping it. Of these the most
promising—although I had no money—was to give
the Stimcoes leg-bail and run home; the most allur-
ing, too, since it offered to deaden the torment of un-
certainty by keeping me employed, mind and body.
I must follow the coach-road. In imagination I
measured back the distance. If George Goodfellow
walked to Plymouth and back once a week, why might
not I succeed in walking to Minden Cottage ' Home
was home. I should get counsel and comfort there;
counsel from my father and comfort most assuredly
from Plinny. I needed both, and in Falmouth just
now there was none of either. Even Captain Brans-
come, who might have helped me—
At this point a sudden thought fetched me up
with a jerk. The enemy, by pursuing after Captain
Danny, had at least left me a clear coast. I was safe
for a while against his spying, and consequently the
embargo was off. I had no need to wait for morning
to deliver the message to Captain Branscome. I
could go myself to Coffin's lodgings, unlock the cor-
ner-cupboard, and bring away the roll of papers.
I dived my hand into my breech-pocket for the
81


POISON ISLAND
forgotten key. It was small, and of a curious, in-
tricate pattern. Almost before my fingers closed
upon it my mind was made up. Stimcoe's—that is,
if I decided to return to Stimcoe's—might wait.
I might yet decide to break ship — as Captain
Danny would have put it—and make a push for
home; but that decision, too, must wait. Meanwhile,
here was an urgent errand, and, against all expecta-
tion, a clear coast for it; here was occupation and
inexpressible relief. It's an ill wind that blows
nobody some good.
I set off at a run. On my way I met and passed
half a dozen gangs of hilarious ex-prisoners and
equally hilarious townsmen escorting them to the
waterside, where the coxswains of the transport's
boats were by this time blowing impatient calls on
their whistles. But the upper end of the street was
wellnigh deserted. A dingy oil lantern overhung
the pavement a few yards from the ope, and above
the ope the barber's parrot hung silent, with a shawl
flung over its cage. I dived into the dark passage,
and, stumbling my way to Captain Danny's door,
found that it gave easily to my hand.
For a moment I paused on the threshold, striving
to remember where he kept his tinder-box and
matches. But the room was small, I knew the geog-
raphy of it, and could easily—I told myself—grope
82


POISON ISLAND
by Captain Coffin. By whom then? Some one must
have visited the lodgings in his absence.
Some one, for aught I knew, was in the room at
this moment l Some one, back there against the wall,
waiting only for me to strike a light! I declare that
at the thought I came near to screaming aloud, cast-
ing the tinder-box from me and rushing out blindly
into the court.
I dare say that I stood for a couple of minutes, mo-
tionless, listening not with my ears only but with every
hair of my head. Nevertheless, my wits must have
been working somehow; for my first action, when I
plucked up nerve enough for it, was an entirely sen-
sible one. I set the tinder-box on the floor between
my heels, and, feeling for the table, righted it very
cautiously; then, picking up the box again, set it on
the table and twisted off the lid. I found flint and
steel at once, dipped my fingers into the box to make
sure of the tinder and the brimstone matches, and so,
after another pause to listen, essayed to strike out
the spark.
This, for a pair of trembling hands, proved no easy
business, and at first promised to be a hopeless one.
But the worst moment arrived when, the spark struck,
I stooped to blow it upon the tinder, the glow of
which must light up my own face while it revealed
to me nothing of the surrounding darkness. Still,
84


CHAOS IN THE CAPTAIN'S LODGINGS
it had to be done; and, keeping a tight hold on what
little remained of my courage, I thrust in the match
and ignited it.
While the brimstone caught fire and bubbled I
drew myself erect to face the worst. But for what
met my eyes as the flame caught hold of the stick,
even the overturned table had not prepared me.
The furniture of the room lay pell-mell as though
a cyclone had swept through it. The very pictures
hung askew. Of the drawers in the dresser some had
been pulled out bodily, others stood half open, and
all had been ransacked; while the fragments of china
strewn along the shelves or scattered across the floor,
could only be accounted for by some blind ferocity
of destruction — a madman for instance, let loose
upon it and striking at random with a stick. As the
match burned low in my fingers I looked around
hastily for a candle, scanning the dresser, the mantel-
shelf, the hugger-mugger of linen, crockery, wall or-
naments, lying in a trail along the floor. But no
candle could I discover; so I lit a second match from
the first and turned towards the sacred cupboard in
the corner. The cupboard was gone!
I held the match aloft, and stared at the angle of
the wall; stared stupidly, at first unable to believe.
Yes, the cupboard was gone! Nothing remained
but the mahogany bracket which had supported it.
85


POISON ISLAND
I gazed around, the match burning lower and lower
in my hand till it scorched my fingers. The pain
of it awakened me, and, dropping the charred end, I
stumbled out into the passage, almost falling on the
way as my feet entangled themselves in Captain
Coffin's best tablecloth.
A moment later I was rapping at Mr. George Good-
fellow's door. I knew that he sometimes sat up late
to practise his violin-playing; and in my confusion
of terror I heeded neither that the house was silent
nor that the window over his doorway showed a blank
and unlit face to the night. I knocked and knocked
again, pausing to call his name urgently, at first in
hoarse whispers, by and by desperately, lifting my
voice as loudly as I dared.
At length a voice answered; but it came from the
end of the passage next the street, and it was not Mr.
Goodfellow’s.
“D—n my giblets!” it said in a kind of muffled
scream. “Drunk again! Oh, you nasty imagel ”
It was the barber's accursed parrot. I could hear
it tearing with its beak at the bars of its cage, as if
struggling to pull off the cloth which covered it.
A window creaked on its hinges, some way up the
court.
“Hallo! Who's there?” demanded a gruff voice.
I took to my heels, and made a dash up the pass-
86


CHAOS IN THE CAPTAIN'S LODGINGS
age for the street. The cage, as I passed under it,
swayed violently with the parrot's struggles for free
speech.
“Drunk again!” it yelled. “Riss me, kiss me,
kiss me—here’s a pretty time o’ night to disturb a
lady!”
No longer had I any thought of braving the night
and the perils of the road, but pressed my elbows
tight against my ribs and raced straight for Stimcoe's.
87


CHAPTER X
NEWS
By great good fortune, Mr. Stimcoe had been
drinking the health of the returned prisoners until
his own was temporarily affected. In fact, as I
reached Delamere Terrace, panting and excogitating
the likeliest excuse to offer Mrs. Stimcoe, the door
of No. 7 opened, and the lady herself emerged upon
the night, with a shawl swathed carelessly over her
masculine neck and shoulders.
I drew up and ducked aside to avoid recognition,
but she halted under the lamp and called to me, in
no very severe voice:
“Harry!”
“Yes, ma'am!”
“You are late, and I have been needing you. Mr.
Stimcoe is suffering from an attack.”
“Indeed, ma'am!'” said I. “Shall I run for Dr.
Spargo?”
She stood for a moment considering. “No,” she
decided; “I had better fetch Dr. Spargo myself.
Being more familiar with the symptoms, I can de-
scribe them to him.”
88


NEWS
More familiar with the symptoms, poor woman,
she undoubtedly was, though I was familiar enough;
and so, for that matter, was the doctor, whose ledger
must have registered at least a dozen similar “at-
tacks.” But I understood at once her true reason
for not entrusting me with the errand. It would
require all her courage, all her magnificent impu-
dence, to browbeat Dr. Spargo into coming, for I
doubt if the Stimcoes had ever paid him a stiver.
“But you can be very useful,” she went on, in a
tone unusually gentle. “You will find Mr. Stimcoe
in his bedroom—at least, I hope so, for he suffers
from a hallucination that some person or persons un-
known have incarcerated him in a French war-prison,
such being the effect of to-day's—er—proceedings
upon his highly strung nature. The illusion being
granted, one can hardly be surprised at his resent-
ing it.”
I nodded, and promised to do my best.
“You are a very good boy, Harry,” said Mrs.
Stimcoe—a verdict so different from that which I
had arrived expecting, or with any right to expect,
that I stood for some twenty seconds gaping after
her as she pulled her shawl closer and went on her
heroic way.
I found Mr. Stimcoe in deshabille on the first-floor
landing, under the derisive surveillance of Masters
89


NEWS
on him to return to his room, when he took my arm,
and, seating himself on the bedside, recited to me
the paradigms of the more anomalous Greek verbs
with great volubility for twenty minutes on end—
that is to say, until Mrs. Stimcoe returned with the
doctor safely tucked under her wing.
At sight of me seated in charge of the patient, Dr.
Spargo—a mild little man—lifted his eyebrows.
“Surely, madam—” he began in a scandalized
tone.
“This is Harry Brooks.” Mrs. Stimcoe intro-
duced me loftily. “If you wish him to retire, be
kind enough to say so, and have done with it. Our
boarders, I may say, have the run of the house—it
is part of Mr. Stimcoe's system. But Harry has
too much delicacy to remain where he feels himself
de trop. Harry, you have my leave to withdraw.”
I obeyed, aware that the doctor—who had pushed
his spectacles high upon his forehead—was following
my retreat with bewildered gaze. As I expected, no
sooner had I regained the dormitory than my fellow-
boarders—forgetting their sore heads, or, at any rate,
forgiving—began to pester me with a hundred ques-
tions. I had to repeat the punishment on Doggy
Bates before they suffered me to lie down in quiet.
But the interlude, in itself discomposing, had com-
posed my nerves for the while. I expected no sleep;
91


POISON ISLAND
had, indeed, an hour ago, deemed it impossible I
should sleep that night. Yet, in fact, my head was
scarcely on the pillow before I slept, and slept like
a top.
The town clock awoke me, striking four. To the
far louder sound of Scotty Maclean's snoring, in the
bed next to mine, I was case-hardened. I lay for
a second or two counting the strokes, then sprang out
of bed, and running to the window, drew wide the
curtain. The world was awake, the sun already clear
above the hills over St. Just pool, and all the harbor
twinkling with its rays. My eyes searched the
stretch of water between me and St. Mawes, as though
for flotsam—anything to give me news, or a hint of
InewS.
For many minutes I stood staring—needless to
say, in vain—and so, the morning being chilly, crept
back to bed with the shivers on me.
Two hours later, in the midst of my dressing, I
looked out of the window again, and saw the St.
Mawes packet reaching across towards Falmouth
merrily, quite as if nothing had happened. Yet
something—I told myself—must have happened,
and that something a tragedy.
The Copenhagen Academy enjoyed a holiday that
day, for Captain Branscome failed to present him-
self, and Mr. Stimcoe lay under the influence of
92


NEWS
sedatives. At eleven in the morning he awoke, and
began to discuss the character of Talleyrand at the
pitch of his voice. Its echoes reached me where I
sat disconsolate in the deserted school-room, and I
went upstairs to the bedroom door to offer my
services. Doggy Bates, Pilkington, and Scotty Mac-
lean had hied them immediately after breakfast
to the harbor, to beg, borrow, or steal a boat and fish
for mackerel; and Mrs. Stimcoe, worn out with
watching, set down my faithful presence to motives
of which I was shamefully innocent. In point of
fact, I had lurked at home because I could not bear
company. I preferred the deserted schoolroom,
though Heaven knows what I would not have given
for the dull distraction of work—an hour of Rule of
Three with Captain Branscome, or Caesar's Com-
mentaries with Mr. Stimcoe. But Mr. Stimcoe lay
upstairs chattering, and Captain Branscome ap-
peared to be taking a protracted holiday. It hardly
occurred to me to wonder why.
It was borne in upon me later that during this in-
terval of anarchy in the Stimcoe establishment—it
lasted two days, and may have lasted longer for
aught I know—I wasted little wonder on the con-
tinued absence of Captain Branscome. I was indeed
kept anxious by my own fears, which did not de-
crease as the hours dragged by. From the window
93


POISON ISLAND
of Mr. Stimcoe's sick-room I watched the St. Mawes
packet plying to and fro. I had a mind to steal down
to the Market Strand and interrogate her skipper. I
had a mind—and laid more than one plan for it—to
follow up my first impulse of bolting for home to
discover if Captain Coffin had arrived there. But
Mrs. Stimcoe, misinterpreting my eagerness to be
employed, had by this time enlisted me into full
service in the sick-room. We took the watching turn
and turn about, in spells of three hours’ duration. I
was held committed, and could not desert without a
brand on my conscience. The disgusting feature of
this is that I was almost glad of it, at the same time
longing to run, and feeling that this, in a way, ex-
onerated me.
At about seven o’clock on the evening of the sec-
ond day, while I sat by Mr. Stimcoe's bedside, there
came a knock at the front door; and, looking out
of the window—for Mrs. Stimcoe had gone to bully
another sedative out of the doctor, and there was no
one in the house to admit a visitor—I saw Captain
Branscome below me on the doorstep.
“Hallo! ” said I, as cheerfully as I might, for
Mr. Stimcoe was awake and listening.
“Is—is that Harry Brooks?” asked Captain
Branscome, stepping back and feeling for his gold-
rimmed glasses. By some chance he was not wear-
94


NEWS
ing them, and, after fumbling for a moment, he .
gazed up towards the window, blinking. Folk who
habitually wear glasses look unnatural without them.
Captain Branscome's face looked unnatural. It was
pale, and for the moment it seemed to me to be
almost a face of fright; but a moment later I set
down its pallor to weariness.
“Mrs. Stimcoe has gone off to the doctor,”
I, “and Mr. Stimcoe is sick, and I am up here nurs-
ing him. There is no one to open, but you can give
me a message.”
“I just came up to make sure you were all right.”
“If you mean Stim—Mr. Stimcoe, he's bet-
ter, though the doctor says he won’t be able to
leave his bed for days. How did you come to hear
about it?”
“I’ve heard nothing about Mr. Stimcoe,” an-
” said
swered Captain Branscome, after a hesitating pause.
“I’ve been away—on a holiday. Nothing wrong
with you at all?” he asked.
I could not understand Captain Branscome.
Why on earth should he be troubling himself about
my state of health? -
“Nothing happened to upset you?” he asked.
I looked down at him sharply. As a matter of
fact, and as the reader knows, a great deal had hap-
pened to upset me, but that any hint of it should
95


POISON ISLAND
have reached Captain Branscome was in the highest
degree unlikely, and in any case I could not discuss
it with him from an upstairs window and in my pa-
tient's hearing. So I contented myself with asking
him where he had spent his holiday.
The question appeared to confuse him. He
averted his eyes and, gazing out over the harbor,
muttered—or seemed to mutter, for I could not
catch the answer distinctly—that he had been visit-
ing some friends; and so for a moment or two we
waited at a deadlock. Indeed, there is no knowing
how long it might have lasted—for Captain Brans-
come made no sign of turning again and facing me;
but, happening just then to glance along the terrace,
I caught sight of Mrs. Stimcoe returning with long
masculine strides.
She held an open letter in her hand, and was
perusing it as she came.
“It’s for you,” she announced, coming to a stand-
still under the window and speaking up to me after
a curt nod towards Captain Branscome—“from Miss
Plinlimmon; and you’d best come down and hear
what it says, for it's serious.”
I should here explain that Mr. and Mrs. Stimcoe
made a practice of reading all letters received or
despatched by us. It was a part of the system.
“I picked it up at the post-office on my way,” she
96


NEWS
explained, as I presented myself at the front door
and put out a hand for the letter. “Look here,
Harry: I know you to be a brave boy. You must
pull yourself together, and be as brave as ever you
can. Your father 25
“What about my father?” I asked, taking the let-
ter and staring into her face. “Has anything hap-
pened? Is he—is he dead?”
Mrs. Stimcoe lifted her hand and lowered it
again, at the same moment bowing her head with a
meaning I could not mistake. I gazed dizzily at
Captain Branscome, and the look on his face told me
—I can’t tell you how—that he knew what the letter
had to tell, and had been expecting it. The hand-
writing was indeed Miss Plinlimmon's, although it
ran across the paper in an agitated scrawl most un-
like her usual neat Italian penmanship.
MY DEAREST HARRY, -You must come home to me at once,
and by the first coach. I cannot tell you what has happened
save this—that you must not look to see your father alive.
We dwell in the midst of alarms which A. Selkirk preferred to
the solitude of Juan Fernandez; but in this I differ from him
totally, and so will you when you hear what we have gone
through. Come at once, Harry, with the bravest heart you
can summon. Such is the earnest prayer of
Your sincere friend in affliction,
AMELLA PLINLIMMON.
P. S.—Pray ask Mrs. Stimcoe to be kind enough to advance
the fare if your pocket-money will not suffice.
97


POISON ISLAND
“And I doubt if there's two shillings in the
house!” commented Mrs. Stimcoe, candid for once,
“ and God knows what I can pawn!”
Captain Branscome plunged his hand into his
pocket and drew out a guinea. Captain Branscome
—who, to the knowledge of both of us never had a
shilling in his pocket—stood there nervously prof-
fering me a guineal
98


CHAPTER XI
THE CRIME IN THE SUMMER-HOUSE
MRs. STIMCOE, having begged Captain Branscome
to take watch for a while over the invalid, and
having helped me to pack a few clothes in a hand-
bag, herself accompanied me to the coach-office,
where we found the Royal Mail on the point of start-
ing. The outside passengers, four in number, had
already taken their seats—two on the box beside the
coachman, and two on the seat immediately behind;
and by the light of the lamp overhanging the entry
I perceived that their heads were together in close
conversation, in which the coachman himself from
time to time took a share, slewing round to listen or
interpret a word, and anon breaking off to direct the
stowage of aparcel or call an order to the stable-boys.
Mrs. Stimcoe had stepped into the office to book my
place, and while I waited for her, watching the
preparations for departure, my curiosity led me for-
ward to take a look at the horses, where, under the
lamp, the coachman caught sight of me.
40} {}''S
99


, POISON ISLAND
“Whe-ew!” I heard him whistle. “Here’s the
boy himself! Going along wi' us, sonny?” he asked,
looking down on me and speaking down in a voice
which seemed to me unnaturally gentle—for I re-
membered him as a gruff fellow and irascible. The
outside passengers at once broke off their talk to lean
over and take stock of me; and this again struck me
as queer.
“Jim!” called the coachman (Jim was the
guard). “Jim!”
“Ay, ay!” answered Jim from the back of the
roof, where he was arranging the mail-bags.
“Here’s an outside extry.” He lowered his voice,
so that I caught only these words: “The youngster
. . . Minden Cottage . . . I reckoned they’d be
25
sending
<< Hey? 32
Jim the guard bent over for a look at me, and
scrambled down by the steps of his dickey, just as
Mrs. Stimcoe emerged from the office. She was pale
and agitated, and stood for a moment gazing about
her distractedly, when Jim blundered against her,
whereat she put out a hand and spoke to him. I saw
Jim fall back a step and touch his hat. He was
listening, with a very serious face. I could not hear
what she said.
“Cert’nly, ma'am,” he answered. “Cert’nly,
100


THE CRIME IN THE SUMMER–HOUSE
under the circumstances, you may depend on
me.”
He mounted the coach again, and, climbing for-
ward, whispered in the back of the coachman’s ear.
The passengers bent their heads forward to listen.
They nodded; the coachman nodded, too, and
stretched down a hand.
“Can you climb, sonny, or shall we fetch the steps
for you? There! I reckoned you was more of a man
than to need 'em!”
Mrs. Stimcoe detained me for a moment to fold
me in a masculine hug. But her bosom might have
been encased in an iron corselet for all the tender-
ness it conveyed, “God bless you, Harry Brooks,
and try to be a man!” Her embrace relaxed, and
with a dry-sounding sob she let me go as I caught
the coachman's hand and was swung up to my seat;
and with that we were off and up the cobble-paved
street at a rattle.
I do not know the names of my fellow-passengers.
Now and then one would bend forward and whisper
to his neighbor, who answered with a grunt or a mo-
tion of his head; but for the most part, and for mile
after mile, we all sat silent, listening only to the
horses’ gallop, the chime of the swingle-bars, the
hum of the night wind in our ears. The motion and
the strong breeze together lulled me little by little
101


POISON ISLAND
into a doze. My neighbor on the right wore around
his shoulders a woollen shawl, against which after
a while I found my cheek resting, and begged his
pardon. He entreated me not to mention it, but to
make myself comfortable; and thereupon I must
have fallen fast asleep. I awoke as the coach came to
a standstill. Were we pulling up to change teams?
No; we were on the dark highroad, between hedges.
Straight ahead of us blazed two carriage-lamps; and
a man’s voice was hailing. I recognized the voice at
once. It belonged to a Mr. Jack Rogers, a rory-tory
young squire and justice of the peace of our neigh-
borhood, and the lamps must be those of his famous
light tilbury.
“Hallo!” he was shouting. “Royal Mail,
ahoy!”
“Royal Mail it is!” shouted back the coachman
and Jim the guard together.
“Got the boy Brooks aboard?”
“Ay, ay, Mr. Rogers! D'ye want him?”
“No; you’ll take him along quicker. My mare's
fagged, and I drove along in case the letter missed
fire.” He came forward at a foot's pace, and pulled
up under the light of our lamps. “Hallo! is that
you, Harry Brooks?” He peered up at me out of
the night.
“Yes, sir,” I answered, my teeth chattering be-
102


THE CRIME IN THE SUMMER–HOUSE
tween apprehension and the chill of the night. I
longed desperately to ask what had happened at
home, but the words would not come.
“Right you are, my lad; and the first thing when
you get home, tell Miss Plinlimmon from me to fill
you up with vittles and a glass of hot brandy-and-
water. Give her that message, with Jack Rogers's
compliments, and tell her that I'm on the road mak-
ing inquiries, and may get so far as Truro. By the
way ”—he turned to Jim the guard—“you haven’t
met anything that looked suspicious, eh?”
“Nothing on the road at all,” answered Jim.
“Well, so-long! Mustn't delay his Majesty's
mails, or waste time of my own. Good-night, Harry
Brooks, and remember to give my message! Good-
night, gentlemen all!”
He flicked at his mare. Our coachman gathered
up his reins, and away we went once more at a gallop
towards the dawn. The dawn lay cold about Minden
Cottage as we came in sight of it; and at first, noting
that all the blinds were drawn, I thought the house-
hold must be asleep. Then I remembered, and shiv-
ered as I rose from my seat, cramped and stiff from
the long journey, and so numb that Jim the guard
had to lift me down to the porch. Miss Plinlimmon,
red-eyed and tremulous, opened the door to me, em:
braced me, and led me to the little parlor, -
103


POISON ISLAND
“Is—is my father dead?” I asked, staring va-
cantly around the room, and upon the table where
she had set out a breakfast. She bent over the urn
for a moment, and then, coming to me, took my
hand and drew me to the sofa.
“You must be brave, Harry.”
“But what has happened? And how did it hap-
pen? Was—was it sudden? Please tell me, Plin-
nyl 25
She stroked my hand and shivered slightly, turn-
ing her face away towards the window.
“We found him in the summer-house, dear. He
was lying face downward, across the step of the door-
way, and at first we supposed he had fallen forward
in a fit. Ann made the discovery, and came running
to me in the kitchen, when she had only time to cry
out the news before she was overtaken with hyster-
ics. I left her to them,” went on Miss Plinlimmon
simply, “and ran out to the summer-house, where
by and by, having pulled herself together, she fol-
lowed me. By this time it had fallen dusk—nay, it
was almost dark, which accounts for one not seeing
at once what dreadful thing had happened. Your
- poor father, Harry—as you know—used often to sit
in the summer-house until quite a late hour, but he
had never before dallied quite so late, and in the end
I had sent Ann out to remind him that supper was
104


THE CRIME IN THE SUMMER–HOUSE
waiting. Well, as you may suppose, he was heavy
to lift; and we two women being alone in the house,
I told Ann to run up to the vicarage or to Miss Belch-
er's, and get word sent for a doctor, and also to bring
a couple of men, if possible, to carry him into the
house. I had scarcely bidden her to do this when
she cried out, screaming, that her hand was damp,
and with blood. “You silly woman!” said I, though
trembling myself from head to foot. But when we
fetched a candle, we saw blood running down the
step, and your father—my poor Harry!—lying in a
pool of it—a veritable pool of it. Ah, Harry,
Harry!” exclaimed Miss Plinlimmon, relapsing into
that literary manner which was second nature with
her, “such a moment occurring in the pages of fic-
tion may stimulate a sympathetic thrill not entirely
disagreeable to the reader, but in real life I wouldn’t
go through it again if you offered me a fortune.”
“Plinny,” I cried—“Plinny, what is this you are
telling me about blood?”
“Your poor father, Harry— But be sure their
sins will find them out! Mr. Rogers is setting the
runners on their track—he is most kind. Already .
he has had two hundred handbills printed. We are
offering a hundred pounds reward—more if neces-
sary—and the whole country is up—”
“Plinny dear”—I tried to steady my voice as I
105


POISON ISLAND
stood and faced her—“are you trying to tell me that
—that my father has been murdered?”
She bowed her head and cast her apron over it,
sobbing.
“Excuse me, Harry. I know it isn't genteel; but
in such moments— And they have found the
cashbox. It had been battered open, presumably by
a stone, and flung into the brook a hundred yards
below Miss Belcher's lodge-gate.”
“The cashbox?” My brain whirled.
“The key was in your father's pocket. He had
fetched the box from his room, it appears, about two
hours before, and carried it out to the summer-house.
I cannot tell you with what purpose he carried it out
there, but it was quite contrary to his routine.”
She poured out a cup of tea, and passed it to me
with shaking hands. She pressed me to eat, and all
the time she kept talking, sometimes lucidly, some-
times quite incoherently; and I listened in a kind of
dream. My father had been wellnigh a stranger to
me, and I divined that I should never sorrow for his
loss as those sorrow who have genuinely loved. But
his death, and the manner of it, shocked me dread-
fully, and from the shock my brain kept harking
away to Captain-Coffin and his pursuer. Could they
have reached Minden Cottage? And, if so, had their
visit any connection with this crime? Captain Danny
106


THE CRIME IN THE SUMMER–HOUSE
had started for Minden Cottage. . . . Had he ar-
rived? And, if so
I heard Miss Plinlimmon asking: “Would you
care to see him—that is, dear, if you feel strong
enough? His expression is wonderfully tranquil.”
She led me upstairs and opened the door for me.
A sheet covered my father from feet to chin, and
above it his head lay back on the pillow, his features,
clear-cut and aquiline, keeping that massive repose
which, though it might seem to be deeper now in the
shade of the darkened room, had always cowed me
while he lived. It seemed to me that my father's
death, though I ought to feel it more keenly, made
strangely little difference to him.
“You will need sleep,” said Plinny, who had been
waiting for me on the landing.
I told her that she might get my bed ready, but I
would first take a turn in the garden. I tiptoed
downstairs. The floor of the summer-house had been
washed. The vane on its conical roof sparkled in the
sunlight. I stood before it, attempting to picture
the tragedy of which, here in the clear morning, it
told nothing to help me. My thoughts were still run-
ning on Captain Coffin and the French prisoner.
Plinny — for I had questioned her cautiously —
plainly knew nothing of any such man. They might,
however, have entered by the side-gate. I stepped
107


CHAPTER XII
THE BLOODSTAIN ON THE STILE
My father, in erecting a flagstaff before his sum-
mer-house, had chosen to plant it on a granite mill-
stone, or, rather, had sunk its base through the
stone’s central hole, which Miss Plinlimmon regu-
larly filled with salt to keep the wood from rotting.
Upon this mossed and weather-worn bench I sat
myself down to examine my find.
Yet it needed no examination to tell me that the
eyeglasses were Captain Branscome's. I recognized
the delicate cable pattern of their gold rims, glinting
in the sunlight. I recognized the ring and the
frayed scrap of black ribbon attached to it. I re-
membered the guinea with which Captain Brans-
come had paid my fare on the coach. I remembered
Miss Plinlimmon's account of the stolen cashbox.
The more my suspicions grew the more they were
incredible. That Captain Branscome, of all men in
the world, should be guilty of such a crime! And
yet, with this damning evidence in my hand, I could
not but recall a dozen trifles—mere straws, to be
109


POISON ISLAND
sure—all pointing towards him. He had been here
in my father's garden: that I might take as proven.
With what object? And if that object were an in-
nocent one, why had he not told me of his intention
to visit Minden Cottage? I remembered how straitly
he had cross-examined me, a while ago, on the to-
pography of the cottage, on my father's household
and his habits. Again, if his visit had been an in-
nocent one, why, last evening, had he said nothing
of it? Why, when I questioned him about his holi-
day, had he answered me so confusedly? Yet again,
I recalled his demeanor when Mrs. Stimcoe handed
me the letter, and the impression it gave me—so
puzzling at the moment—that he had foreknowledge
of the news. If this incredible thing were true—if
Captain Branscome were the criminal—the puzzle
ceased to be a puzzle; the guinea and the broken
cashbox were only too fatally accounted for.
Nevertheless, and in spite of the guinea, in spite
even of the eyeglass there in my hand, I could not
bring myself to believe. What? Captain Brans-
come, the simple-minded, the heroic? Captain
Branscome, of the threadbare coat and the sword of
honor ? Poor he was, no doubt—bitterly poor—poor
almost to starvation at times. To what might not
a man be driven by poverty in this degree? And
here was evidence for judge and jury.
110


THE BLOODSTAIN ON THE STILE
I glanced around me nervously, and, folding the
eyeglasses together in a fumbling haste, slipped
them into my breeches-pocket. From my seat be-
neath the flagstaff I looked straight into the doorway
of the summer-house; but a creeper obscured its
rustic window, dimming the light within; and a ter-
ror seized me that some one was concealed there,
watching me—a terror not unlike that which had
held me in Captain Coffin's lodgings.
While I stood there, summoning up courage to
invade the summer-house and make sure, my brain
harked back to Captain Coffin and the man Aaron
Glass. Captain Coffin had taken leave of me in a
fever to reach Minden Cottage. That was close on
sixty hours ago—three nights and two days. Why,
in that ample time, had he not arrived, and what had
become of him? Plinny had seen no such man.
I fetched a tight grip on my courage, walked
across to the doorway, and peered into the summer-
house. It was empty, and I stepped inside—super-
stitiously avoiding, as I did so, to tread on the spot
where my father's body had lain.
Ann the cook—so Plinny told me—had found his
chair overset behind him, but no other sign of a
struggle. He had been stabbed in front, high on the
left breast and a little below the collar-bone, and
must have toppled forward at once across the step,
111


POISON ISLAND
and died where he fell. The chair had been righted
and set in place, perhaps by Ann when she washed
down the step. A well-defined line across the floor
showed where the cleaning had begun, and behind it
the scanty furniture of the place had not been dis-
turbed. At the back, in one corner, stood an old
drum, with dust and droppings of leaf-mould in the
wrinkles of its sagged parchment, and dust upon the
drumsticks thrust within its frayed strapping; in
the corner opposite an old military chest which held
the bunting for the flagstaff—a Union flag, a couple
of ensigns, and half a dozen odd square-signals and
pennants. I stooped over this, and as I did so I ob-
served that there were finger-marks on the dust at
the edge of the lid; but, lifting it, found the flags in-
side neatly rolled and stowed in order. On the table
lay my father's Bible and his pocket Virgil, the lat-
ter open and laid face downwards. I picked it up,
and the next moment came near to dropping it again
with a shiver, for a dry smear of blood crossed the
two pages.
Here, not to complicate mysteries, let me tell at
once what Ann told me later—that she had found
the book lying in the blood-dabbled grass before the
step, where it must have fallen from my father's
hand, and had replaced it upon the table. But for
the moment, surmising another clew, I stared at the
112


POISON ISLAND
park; and (3) from the park itself, across the little
bridge. From the bridge a straight line to the sum-
mer-house would lie behind the angle of sight of any
one seated within; so that a visitor, stepping with
caution, might present himself at the doorway with-
out any warning.
You may say that, my father being blind, it need
not have entered into my calculations whether his
assailant had approached in full view of the doorway
or from the rear. But the assailant—let us suppose
for a moment — was some one ignorant of my
father's blindness. This granted, as it was at least
possible, he would be likeliest to steal upon the sum-
mer-house from the rear. I cannot say more than
that, standing there by the doorway, I felt the ap-
proach from the streamside to be most dangerous,
and therefore the likeliest.
In a few minutes, as I well knew, Plinny would
be coming in search of me, to persuade me back to
the house to breakfast and bed. I stepped down to
the streamside, where the beehives stood in a row on
the brink, paused for a moment to listen to the hum
within them and note that the bees were making
ready to swarm, crossed the bridge, and tried the
rusty hasp of the door. It yielded stiffly; but as I
pulled the door inwards it brushed aside a mass of
spider's web, white and matted, that could not be less
114


THE BLOODSTAIN ON THE STILE
than a month old. Also it brushed a clump of ivy
overgrowing the lintel, and shook down about half
an ounce of powdery dust into my hair and eyes. I
scarcely troubled to look through. Clearly, the door
had not been opened for many weeks—possibly not
since my last holidays.
I recrossed the bridge and inspected the side-gate.
This opened, as I have said, upon a lane never used
but by the woodmen on Miss Belcher's estate, and by
them very seldom. It entered the park by a stone
bridge across the stream and by a ruinous gate, the
gaps of which had been patched with furze fagots.
The roadway itself was carpeted with last year's
leaves from a coppice across the lane—leaves which
the winter's rains had beaten into a black compost,
and almost facing the side-gate was a stile whence
a tangled footpath led into the coppice.
I had stepped out into the lane and was star-
ing over the stile into the green gloom of the
coppice, when I heard Plinny’s voice calling to
me from the house, and I had half turned to hail in
answer when my eyes fell on the upper bar of the
stile.
Across the edge of it ran a dark brown smear—
a smear which I recognized for dried blood.
“Harry! Harry dear!”
“Plinny!” I raced back through the garden, and
115


POISON ISLAND
almost fell into her arms as she came along the
path between the currant bushes in search of me.
“Plinny—O Plinny!” I gasped.
“My dear child, what has happened?”
Before I could answer there came wafted to our
ears from eastward a sound of distant shouting, and
almost simultaneously, from the high-road near at
hand, the trit-trot of hoofs approaching at great
speed from westward, and the “Who-oop!” of a
man's voice, lusty on the morning air.
“That will be Mr. Jack Rogers,” said Plinny.
“He brings us news for certain! Yes, he is rein-
ing up.”
We ran through the house together, and reached
the front door in time to witness a most extraordi-
nary scene.
Mr. Jack Rogers's tilbury had run past the house
and come to a halt a short gunshot beyond, where
it stood driverless—for Mr. Jack Rogers had dis-
mounted, and was gesticulating with both arms to
stop a man racing down the road to meet him. A
moment later, as this runner came on, a second hove
in sight over the rise of the road behind him—a
short figure, so stout and round that in the distance
it resembled not a man so much as a ball rolling in
pursuit.
“Hi! Stop, you there!” shouted Mr. Rogers;
116


THE BLOODSTAIN ON THE STILE
but the first runner might have been deaf for all the
attention he paid.
“Good Lord!” said I, catching my breath; “it’s
Mr. George Goodfellow!”
“In the King's name!” Mr. Rogers shouted,
making a dash to intercept him. And a moment
later the two had collided, and were rolling in the
dust together.
I ran towards them, with Plinny—brave soul—
at my heels, and arrived to find Mr. Rogers, hat-
less and exceedingly dishevelled, kneeling with both
hands around the neck of his prostrate antagonist,
and holding his face down in the dust.
“You’d best stand up and come along quietly,”
Mr. Rogers adjured him. -
“Gug-gug—how the devil c-can I stand up if you
won’t lul-lul-let me?” protested Mr. Goodfellow,
reasonably enough.
“Very well, then.” Mr. Rogers relaxed his grip.
“Stand up! But you’re my prisoner, so let's have
no more nonsense!”
“I’d like to know what's taken ye to pitch into a
man like this?” demanded Mr. Goodfellow, in a tone
of great umbrage, as he shook the dust out of his
coat and hair. “A fellow I never seen before, not
to my knowledge. Why—hallo!” said he, looking
up and catching sight of me.
117


POISON ISLAND
“Ballo! ” said I.
“Hallo!” said Mr. Rogers in his turn. “Do
you two know each other?”
“Why, of course we does!” said Mr. Goodfellow.
“I don’t know where “ of course ’ comes in.” Mr.
Rogers eyed him with stern suspicion. “Why were
you running away from the constable?”
Mr. Goodfellow glanced towards the stout, round
man, who by this time had drawn near, mopping, as
he came, a face as red as the red waistcoat he wore.
“Him a constable? Why, I took him for a loon-
atic! They put the loonatics into them colored
weskits, don’t they?”
“Nothing of the sort. You're thinking of the
warders,” Mr. Rogers answered.
“Oh? Then I made a mistake,” said Mr. Good-
fellow cheerfully.
“Look here, my friend, if you're thinking to play
this off as a joke you’ll find it no joking matter.
Madam ”—he turned to Miss Plinlimmon—“is this
the man who called at the cottage two days ago?”
“Yes,” answered Plinny, “and once before, as I
remember.”
“And on each occasion did you observe something
strange in his manner?”
“Very strange indeed. He kept asking questions
about the house and the garden, and the position of
118


THE BLOODSTAIN ON THE STILE
the rooms, and about poor Major Brooks, and what
rent he paid, and if he was well-to-do. And he took
out a measure from his pocket and began to calcu-
late—”
“Quite so.” Mr. Rogers turned next to the con-
stable. “Hosken,” he asked, “you have been mak-
ing inquiries about this man?”
“I have, sir; all along the road, so far as Torpoint
Ferry.”
“And you learned enough to justify you in arrest-
ing him?”
“Ample, y’r worship. There wasn’t a public-
house along the road but thought his behavior highly
peculiar. He's a well-known character, an’ the ques-
tions he asks you would be surprised. He plies be-
tween Falmouth and Plymouth, sir, once a week
regular. So, actin’ on information that he might be
expected along early this morning, I concealed my-
self in the hedge, sir, the best part of two miles
back 25
“You didn’t,” interrupted Mr. Goodfellow. “I
saw your red stomach between the bushes thirty
yards before ever I came to it, and wondered what
mischief you was up to. I’m wondering still.”
“At any rate, you are detained, sir, upon sus-
picion,” said Mr. Rogers sharply, “and will come
with us to the cottage and submit to be searched.”
119


POISON ISLAND
“Why, murder!” said I. “Haven’t you heard,
man?”
“Not a syllable! Good Lord! you don't mean—”
He passed a shaky hand over his forehead as a cry
rang back to us through the coppice.
“Here, Hosken, this way! Oh, by the Almighty,
be quick, man!” -
I vaulted over the stile, Mr. Goodfellow close
after me. For two hundred yards and more—three
hundred maybe-we blundered and crashed through
the low-growing hazels, and came suddenly to a hor-
rified stand.
A little to the left of the path, between it and the
stream, Mr. Rogers and the constable knelt together
over the body of a man half hidden in a tangle of
brambles.
The corpse's feet pointed towards the path; and
I recognized the shoes, as also the sea-cloth trousers,
before Mr. Rogers—cursing in his hurry rather than
at the pain of his lacerated hands—tore the brambles
aside and revealed its face — the face of Captain
Coffin, blue-cold in death and staring up from its
pillow of rotted leaves.
I felt myself reeling. But it was Mr. Goodfellow
who reeled against me, and would have fallen if
Hosken the constable had not sprung upon one knee
and caught him.
122


THE BLOODSTAIN ON THE STILE
“If you ask my opinion,” I heard Hosken saying
as he raised himself and held Mr. Goodfellow up-
right, steadying him, “’tis a case o' guilty con-
science, an’ I never in my experience saw a clearer.”
123


CLEWS IN A TANGLE
“His name's Coffin. He came here from Fal-
mouth.”
For a moment Mr. Rogers did not appear to catch
the words. His eyes travelled from my face to Mr.
Goodfellow’s.
“You, too?”
“Knew him intimate. Know him? Why, I live
but two doors away from him in the same court.”
“Look here,” said Mr. Rogers slowly, after a
pause, “this is a black business, and a curst mysteri-
ous one, and I wasn’t born with the gift of seeing
daylight through a brick wall. But speaking as a
magistrate, Mr. What's-your-name, I ought to warn
you against saying what may be used for evidence.
As for you, lad, you’d best tell as much as you know.
What d'ye say his name was?”
“Coffin, sir.”
“H’m, he's earned it. The back of his head's
smashed all to pieces. Lived in Falmouth, you say?
And you knew him there?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then what was he doing in these parts?”
“He started to call on my father, sir.”
“Eh? You knew of his coming?”
“Yes, sir. We planned it together.”
Mr. Rogers, still on his knees, leant back and re-
garded me fixedly. -
125


CLEWS IN A TANGLE
began, and let fall the stick with another sudden,
sharp cry. “Ur-rh! There's blood upon it!”
Mr. Rogers picked it up and examined it loath-
ingly. Blood there was—blood mixed with gray
hairs upon its heavy ebony knob, and blood again
upon its wicked-looking spike.
“This settles all question of the weapon,” he said.
“The owner of this 23
We cried out, speaking together, that the stick be-
longed to the murdered man, and just then a voice
hailed us, and Constable Hosken came panting up,
with two of Miss Belcher's woodmen at his heels.
Mr. Rogers directed them to fetch a hurdle.
Then came the question whither to carry the corpse,
and after some discussion one of the woodmen sug-
gested that Miss Belcher's cricket pavilion lay handy,
a couple of hundred yards beyond the rise of the
park, across the stream. “At this time of year the
lady wouldn't object »
Mr. Rogers shuddered.
“And the last time I saw the inside of it ’twas at
Lydia's Cricket-Week Ball—and the place all flags
and lanterns, and a good third of the men drunk!
Well, carry him there if you must, but damme if
I'll ever find stomach to dance there again!”
The men lifted their burden and carried it out
into the lane, where the rest of us pulled away the
127


POISON ISLAND
furze-bushes stopping the gate into the park and so
followed the body up the green slope towards the
rise, over which, as we climbed, the thatched roof
of the pavilion slowly hove into sight.
“Hallo!” Mr. Rogers halted and stared at the
bearers, who also had halted. “What the devil
noise is that?”
The noise was that of a sudden blow or impact
upon timber. After about thirty seconds it was re-
peated, and our senses told us that it came from
within the pavilion.
“I reckon, sir,” suggested one of the woodmen,
“’tis Miss Belcher practising.”
“Good Lord! Come with me, Harry—the rest
stay where you are,” Mr. Rogers commanded, and
ran towards the pavilion; and as we started I heard
a whizzing and cracking within, as of machinery, fol-
lowed by a double crack of timber.
“Lydia! Lydia Belcher!”
“Hey! What's the matter?” I heard Miss Belch-
er's voice demand, as he burst in through the door-
way. “Take care, the catapult's loaded!” A whiz,
and again a crack. “There now! Oh, well fielded,
indeed! Well field— Eh? Caught you on the
ankle, did it? Well, and you’re lucky it didn’t find
your skull, blundering in upon a body in this
fashion.”
128


CLEWS IN A TANGLE
The first sight that met me as I reached the door-
way was Mr. Jack Rogers holding one foot and hop-
ping around with a face of agony. From him my
astonished gaze travelled to Miss Lydia Belcher,
whom I must pause to describe.
I have hinted before that Miss Belcher was an
eccentric; but I certainly cannot have prepared the
reader—as I was certainly unprepared myself—for
Miss Belcher as we surprised her.
She wore top-boots; but this is a trifle, for she
habitually wore top-boots. Upon them, and beneath
the short skirt of a red flannel petticoat, she had
indued a pair of cricket-guards. Above the red flan-
nel petticoat came, frank and unashamed, an ample
pair of stays; above them, the front of a yet ampler
chemise and a yellow bandana kerchief tied in a
sailor’s knot; above these, a middle-aged face full of
character and not without a touch of mustache on
the upper lip; an aquiline nose, gray eyes that apolo-
gized to nobody, a broad brow to balance a broad,
square jaw, and, on the top of all, a square-topped
beaver hat. So stood Miss Belcher, with a cricket-
bat under her arm; an Englishwoman, owner of one
of England’s “stately homes"; a lady amenable to
few laws save of her own making, and to no man
save—remotely—the King, whose health she drank
sometimes in port and sometimes in gin-and-water.
129


POISON ISLAND
“Good-morning, Jack! Sorry to cut you over
with that off-drive; but you shouldn't have come in
without knocking. Eh? Is that Harry Brooks?”
Her face grew grave for a moment before she turned
upon Mr. Rogers that smile which, if usually latent
and at the best not entirely feminine, was her least
dubitable charm. “Now, upon my word, Jack, you
have more thoughtfulness than ever I gave you
credit for.”
Mr. Rogers stared at her.
“An hour's knockabout with me will do the
child more good than moping in the house, and
I ought to have thought of it myself. Come along,
Harry Brooks, and play me a match at single
wicket. Help me push away the catapult there into
the corner. Will you take first innings, or shall
we toss?”
The catapult indicated by Miss Belcher was a for-
midable-looking engine with an iron arm or rod
terminating in a spoon-shaped socket, and worked by
a contrivance of crank and chain. You placed your
cricket-ball in the socket, and then, having wound up
the crank and drawn a pin which released the ma-
chinery, had just time to run back and defend your
wicket as the iron rod revolved and discharged the
ball with a jerk. The rod itself worked on a slide,
and could be shortened or extended to vary the tra-
130


CLEWS IN A TANGLE
jectory, and the exercise it entailed in one way and
another had given Miss Belcher's cheeks a fine
healthy glow.
“Phew!” she exclaimed, tucking the bat under
her arm and wiping her forehead with a loose end
of her yellow bandana. “I’m feelin' like the lady
in ‘The Vicar of Wakefield’; by which I don’t mean
the one that stooped to folly, but the one that was all
of a muck of sweat.”
“My dear Lydia,” gasped Mr. Rogers,
haven’t come to play cricket. Put down your bat
and listen to me. There's the devil to pay in this
parish of yours. To begin with, we’ve found another
bod 35
“IEh? Where?”
“In the plantation under the slope here—close
beside the path, and about two gunshots off the
lane.”
“What have you done with it?”
“Two of your fellows are fetching it along. I was
going to ask you as a favor to let it lie here for the
time while we follow up the search.”
“Of course you may. But who is it?”
“An old man in seaman's clothes. Harry knows
him; says he hails from Falmouth, and that his name
is Coffin. And we’ve arrested a young fellow on
suspicion, though I begin to think he hasn’t much to
44 We
131


POISON ISLAND
do with it; but, as it happens, he comes from Fal-
mouth, too, and knows the deceased.”
Miss Belcher hitched an old riding-skirt off a peg
and indued it over her red flannel petticoat, fasten-
ing it about her waist with a leathern strap and
buckle. -
“Well, the first thing is to fetch the body along,
and then I’ll go down with you and have a look.”
“I’ve halted the men about a hundred yards down
the hill. I thought perhaps you’d step straight
along with me to the house, so as to be out of the
way when they— But anyhow, if you insist on
coming, we can fetch across the cricket-field and
down to the left, so that you needn’t meet it.”
“Bless the man!”—Miss Belcher had turned to
another peg, taken down a loose weather-stained
gardening-jacket, and was slipping an arm into the
sleeve—“you don’t suppose, do you, that I’m the
sort of person to be scared by a dead body? Open
the door, please, and lead the way. This is a serious
business, Jack, and I doubt if you have the head
for it.”
Sure enough, the sight of the dead body on the
hurdle shook Miss Belcher's nerve not at all, or, at
any rate, not discernibly. “Humph!” she said.
“Take him to the pavilion and cover him decently.
You'll find a yard or two of clean awning in the left-
132


CLEWS IN A TANGLE
hand corner of the scoring-box.” She eyed Mr.
Goodfellow for a couple of seconds and swung round
upon Mr. Rogers. “Is that the man you’ve ar-
rested?”
Mr. Rogers nodded.
“Fiddlestick-end!”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Fiddlestick-end! Look at the man's face. And
you call yourself a justice of the peace?”
“It was thrust upon me,” said Mr. Rogers mod-
estly. “I don’t say he's guilty, mind you; and, of
35
course, if you say he isn’t
“Look at his face!” repeated Miss Belcher: and,
turning, addressed Mr. Goodfellow. “My good
man, you hadn’t any hand in this—eh?”
“No, ma'am; in course I hadn’t,” Mr. Goodfellow
answered fervently.
“There! You hear what he says?”
“Lydia, Lydia! I’ve the highest possible respect
for your judgment; but isn't this what you might call
a trifle—er—summary?”
“It saves time,” said Miss Belcher. “And if
you’re going to catch the real culprit, time is pre-
cious. Now take me to see the spot.”
But at this point Mr. Goodfellow's emotions over-
mastered him, and he broke forth into the language
of rhapsody.
133


POISON ISLAND
“O woman, woman,” exclaimed Mr. Goodfellow,
“whatever would the world do without your won-
drous instink!”
“Bless the man!”—Miss Belcher drew back a
pace—“is he talking of me?”
“No, ma'am; generally, or, as you might say, of
the sex as a whole. Mind you, I won’t go so far as
to deny that the gentleman here—or the constable,
for that matter—had a right to be suspicious. But
to think o' me liftin' a hand against poor old Danny
Coffin' Why, ma'am, the times I’ve a-led him home
from the publics when incapable is not to be num-
bered; and only at this very moment in my little
shop, home in Falmouth, I’ve a corner cupboard of
his under repair that he wouldn’t trust to another
living soul! And along comes you an’ say, ‘That
man's innocent! Look at his face l’ you says, which
it's downright womanly instink, if ever there was
such a thing in this world.”
“A corner cupboard ' " I gasped. “You have the
corner cupboard **
Mr. Goodfellow nodded.
“I took it home unbeknowns to the old man.
Many a time he’d spoken to me about repairin' it,
the upper hinge bein’ cracked, as you may remember.
But when it came to handin’ it over I could never get
him. So that afternoon, the coast bein’ clear and
134


CLEWS IN A TANGLE
him sitting drunk in the Plume o' Feathers, as again
you will remember 25
But here Miss Belcher shot out a hand and gripped
my collar to steady me as I reeled. I dare say that
hunger and lack of sleep had much to do with my
giddiness; at any rate, the grassy slope had begun
all of a sudden to heave and whirl at my feet.
“Drat the boy! He's beginning now!”
“Take me home,” I implored her, stammering.
“Please, Miss Belcher—”
“Now, I’ll lay three to one,” said Miss Belcher,
holding me off and regarding me, “that no one has
thought of giving this child an honest breakfast.
And ’’—she turned on Mr. Jack Rogers—“you call
yourself a justice of the peace!”
135


CHAPTER XIV
HOW I BROKE OUT THE RED ENSIGN
WE were seated in council in the little parlor of
Minden Cottage—Miss Belcher, Miss Plinlimmon,
Mr. Jack Rogers, Mr. Goodfellow, and I. Mr. Good-
fellow had been included at Miss Belcher's particular
request. Constable Hosken had been despatched to
search the plantation thoroughly and to report. Two
other constables had arrived, and were coping, in
front and rear of the cottage, with a steady if strag-
gling incursion of visitors from the near villages
and hamlets of St. Germans, Hessenford, Bake, and
Catchfrench, drawn by reports of a second murder
to come and stand and gaze at the premises. The
report among them (as I learned afterwards) ran
that a second body—alleged by some to be mine, by
others to be Ann the cook's—had been discovered
lying in its own blood in the attic; but the marvel
was how the report could have spread at all, since
Miss Belcher had sworn the two woodmen to secrecy.
Whoever spread it could have known very little, for
136


IHOW I BROKE OUT THE RED ENSIGN
the sightseers wasted all their curiosity on the house
and concerned themselves not at all with the plan-
tation.
From the plantation Miss Belcher had led me
straight to the house, and there in the darkened par-
lor I had told my story, corroborated here and there
by Mr. Goodfellow. In the intervals of my narra-
tive Miss Belcher insisted on my swallowing great
spoonfuls of hot bread-and-milk, against which—
faint though I was and famished—my gorge rose.
Also the ordeal of gulping it under four pairs of eyes
was not a light one. But Miss Belcher insisted, and
Miss Belcher stood no nonsense.
I told them of my acquaintance with Captain
Coffin; how he had invited me to his lodgings and
promised me wealth; of his studying navigation, of
his reference to the island and the treasure hidden
on it, and of the one occasion when he vouchsafed
me a glimpse of the chart; of the French prisoner,
Aaron Glass, and how we escaped from him, and of
the plan we arranged together at the old windmill;
how Captain Danny had taken boat to board the St.
Mawes packet; how the man Glass had followed; how
I had visited the lodgings, and of the confusion I
found there. I described the ex-prisoner's appear-
ance and clothing in detail, and here I had Mr. Good-
fellow to confirm me under cross-examination.
137


POISON ISLAND
“An' the cap'n,” said he, “was afraid of him. I
give you my word, ladies and gentlemen, I never saw
a man worse scared in my life. Put up his hands,
he did, an’ fairly screeched, an’ bolted out o' the
door with his arm linked in the lad’s.”
Three or four times in the course of my narrative
I happened to thrust my hands into my breeches-
pocket, and was reminded of the gold eyeglass con-
cealed there. I had managed very artfully to keep
Captain Branscome entirely out of the story, but
twice under examination I was forced to mention
him—and each time, curiously enough, in answer to
a question of Miss Belcher's.
“You are sure this Captain Coffin showed the
chart to no one but yourself?” she asked.
“I am pretty sure, ma'am.”
“There was always a tale about Falmouth that
Cap'n Danny had struck a buried treasure,” said Mr.
Goodfellow. “’Twas a joke in the publics, and with
the street boys; but I never heard tell till now that
any one took it serious.”
“He was learning navigation,” mused Miss
Belcher. “What was the name of his teacher?”
“A Captain Branscome, ma'am. He's a teacher
at Stimcoe’s.”
“Lives in the house, does he?”
“No, ma'am.”
138


HOW I BROKE OUT THE RED ENSIGN
“A Captain Branscome, you say?”
“Yes, ma'am. He's a retired packet captain, and
lame of one leg. Every one in Falmouth knows Cap-
tain Branscome.”
“H'm Wouldn’t this Captain Branscome won-
der a little that a man of your friend’s age, and
(we’ll say) a bit wrong in his head, should want to
learn navigation?”
“He might, ma'am.”
“He certainly would,” snapped Miss Belcher.
“And wouldn’t this Captain Branscome know it
was perfectly useless to teach such a man?”
“I dare say he would, ma'am,” I answered, guilt-
ily recalling Captain Branscome's own words to me
on this subject.
“Then why did he take the man's money, eh?
Well, go on with your story.”
I breathed more easily for a while, but by and by,
when I came to tell of the discussion by the old wind-
mill, I felt her eyes upon me again.
“Wait a moment. Captain Coffin gave you a key,
and this key was to open the corner cupboard in his
lodgings. Wasn’t it rather foolish of him to send
you, seeing that this Aaron Glass had seen you in
his company, and would recognize you if he were
watching the premises, which was just what you both
feared 2*
139


POISON ISLAND
“He didn't count on me to go,” I admitted; “at
least, not first along.”
“On whom, then?”
“On Captain Branscome, ma'am.”
“Oh! Did he send you with that message to
Captain Branscome?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Then why didn't you tell us so? Well, when
you took the message, what did Captain Branscome
say? And why didn't he go?”
“He was not at home, ma'am. Mr. Stimcoe had
given us a holiday in honor of the prisoners.”
“I see. So Captain Branscome was off on an out-
ing? When did he return?”
“I didn’t see him that evening, ma'am.”
“That's not an answer to my question. I asked,
When did he return ?”
“Not until yesterday afternoon.”
I had to think before giving this answer, so long
a stretch of time seemed to lie between me and yester-
day afternoon.
“Where had he been spending his holiday mean-
while 2 °
“He didn't tell me, ma'am.”
“At all events, he didn’t turn up for school
next day, nor the next again, until the afternoon.
Queer sort of academy, Stimcoe's. Did Mr. Stim-
140


HOW I BROKE OUT THE RED ENSIGN
coe make any remark on his under-teacher's ab'
sence?”
“No, ma'am.”
“The school went on just as usual?”
“No-o, ma’am ”—I hesitated—“not quite just as
usual. Mr. Stimcoe was unwell.”
“IDrunk?”
“My dear Miss Belcher!” put in the scandalized
Plinny. “A scholar, and such a gentleman!”
“Fiddlestick-end l’” snapped the unconscionable
lady, not removing her eyes from mine. “Was this
man Stimcoe drunk, eh? No; I beg your pardon,”
she corrected herself. “I oughtn't to be asking a
boy to tell tales out of school. “Thou shalt not say
anything to get another fellow into trouble'—that's
the first and last commandment—eh, Harry Brooks?
But, my good soul”—she turned on Plinny—“if
‘drunk and incapable' isn't written over the whole
of that seminary, you may call me a Dutchwoman!”
“There’s a point or so clear enough,” she an-
nounced, after a pause, when I had finished my
story.
“We must placard the whole country with a de-
scription of that prisoner fellow Glass,” said Mr.
Jack Rogers; “and I’d best be off to Falmouth and
get the bills printed at once.”
141


POISON ISLAND
“Indeed?” said Miss Belcher dryly. “And pray
how are you proposing to describe him?”
“Why, as for that, I should have thought Harry's
description here, backed up by Mr. Goodfellow's, was
enough to lay a trail upon any man. My dear Lydia,
a fellow roaming the country in a red coat, drill
trousers, and a japanned hat!”
“It would obviously excite remark—so obviously
that the likelihood might even occur to the man him-
Self l’”
Mr. Rogers looked crestfallen for a moment.
“You suggest that by this time he has changed
his rigº’”
“I suggest, rather, that he started by changing it,
say, as far back as St. Mawes. Some one must ride
to St. Mawes at once and make inquiries.” Miss
Belcher drummed her fingers on the table. “But
the man,” she said thoughtfully, “will have reached
Plymouth long before this.”
“You don’t think it possible he went back the
same way he came * *
“In a world, Jack, where you find yourself a
magistrate, all things are possible. But I don’t think
it at all likely.”
“Yet I still fail to see,” urged Plinny, “why our
dear Major should have fallen a victim.”
“It’s plain as a pikestaff, if you’ll excuse me,”
142


IHOW I BROKE OUT THE RED ENSIGN
Mr. Rogers answered her. “This Coffin carried the
chart on him, meaning to deliver it into the Major's
keeping. He came here, entered the garden by the
side-gate, found the Major in the summer-house, told
his story, handed over the chart, and was making his
way back to the highroad through the plantation,
when he came full on this man Aaron Glass, who had
tracked him all the way from St. Mawes. Glass fell
on him, murdered him, rifled his pockets, and, find-
ing nothing—but having some hint, perhaps—pur-
sued his way to the garden here. There in the sum-
mer-house he found the Major, who meanwhile had
fetched his cashbox from the house and locked the
chart up in it. What followed, any one can guess.”
“Not a bad theory, Jack!” murmured Miss
Belcher, still drumming softly on the table. “In-
deed, 'tis the only explanation, but for one or two
things against it.”
“For instance?”
“For instance, I don’t see why the Major should
want to go to the house and bring back his cashbox
to the garden. Surely the simple thing was to take
the paper, or whatever it was, straight to the house,
lock it up, and leave the cashbox in its usual place!
I don’t see, either, what that box was doing, later
on, in the brook below my lodge-gate; for, by every
chance that I can reckon, the murderer—supposing
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POISON ISLAND
him to be this man Glass—would have pushed on in
haste for Plymouth, whereas my lodge-gate lies half
a mile in the opposite direction.”
“Are those all your objections?” asked Mr. Rog-
ers. “Because, if so, I must say they don’t amount
to much.”
“They don't amount to much,” Miss Belcher
agreed, “but they don’t, on the other hand, quite
cover all my doubts. However, there's less doubt,
luckily, about the next step to be taken. You send
Hosken or some one to Torpoint Ferry to inquire
what strangers have crossed for Plymouth during
these forty-eight hours. You meanwhile borrow my
roan filly—your own mare is dead-beat—clap her in
the tilbury, and off you go to St. Mawes, and find
out how this man Glass got hold of a change of
clothes. Take Mr. Goodfellow with you, and while
you are playing detective at St. Mawes he can cross
over to Falmouth and fetch along that corner cup-
board. Harry has the key, and we’ll open it here
and read what the captain has to say in this famous
roll of paper. It won’t do more than tantalize us,
I very much fear, seeing that the chart has disap-
peared, and likely enough forever.”
But it had not.
It so happened that while I stood by my father's
144


HOW I BROKE OUT THE RED ENSIGN
bedside that morning I had noticed a flag, rolled in
a bundle and laid upon a chest of drawers beside his
dressing-table. I concluded at once that Plinny had
fetched it from the summer-house to spread over his
coffin.
Women know nothing about flags. This one was
a red ensign, in those days a purely naval flag, car-
ried (since Trafalgar) by the highest rank of ad-
mirals. Ashore, anyone could hoist it, but the flag
to cover a soldier's body was the flag of Union.
This had crossed my mind when I caught sight
of the red ensign on the chest of drawers; and again
in the summer-house, as I lifted the lid of the flag-
locker and noted the finger-marks in the dust upon
it, I guessed that Plinny had visited it with pious
purpose, and, woman-like, chosen the first flag handy.
I had meant to repair her mistake, and again had
forgotten my intention. -
Mr. Jack Rogers had driven off for St. Mawes,
with Mr. Goodfellow in the tilbury beside him.
Constable Hosken was on his way to Torpoint. Miss
Belcher had withdrawn to her great house, after in-
sisting that I must be fed once more and packed
straight off to bed; and fed I duly was, and tucked
between sheets, to sleep, exhausted, very nearly the
round of the clock.
Footsteps awoke me—footsteps on the landing out-
145


POISON ISLAND
side my bedroom. I sat up, guessing at once that
they were the footsteps of the carpenter and his men,
arrived in the dawn with the shell of my father's
coffin. Almost at once I remembered the red en-
sign, and, waiting until the footsteps withdrew, stole
across, half-dressed, to my father's room to change
it. The faint rays of dawn drifted in through the
closed blinds. The coffin-shell lay the length of the
bed, and in it his body. The carpenter's men had
left it uncovered. In the dim light, no doubt, they
had overlooked the flag, which I felt for and found.
Tucking it under my arm, I closed the door and tip-
toed downstairs, let myself out at the back, and stole
out to the summer-house.
There was light enough within to help me in se-
lecting the Union flag from the half-dozen within
the locker. I was about to stow the red ensign in
its place when I bethought me that, day being so
near, I might as well bend a flag upon the flagstaff
halliards and half-mast it.
So, with the Union flag under one arm, I carried
out the red ensign, bent it carefully, still in a roll,
and hoisted it to the truck. In half-masting a flag,
you first hoist it in a bundle, seaman fashion, to the
masthead, break it out there, and thence lower it to
the position at which you make fast.
I felt the flag's toggle jam chock-a-block against
146


HOW I BROKE OUT THE RED ENSIGN
the truck of the staff, and gave a tug, shaking out
the flag to the still morning breeze. A second later
something thudded on the turf close at my feet.
I stared at it; but the halliards were in my hand,
and before picking it up I must wait and make them
fast on the cleat. Still I stared at it, there where
it lay on the dim turf.
And still I stared at it. Either I was dreaming
yet, or this—this thing that had fallen from heaven
—was the oilskin that had wrapped Captain Coffin's
chart.
I stooped to pick it up. At that instant the side-
gate rattled, and with a start I faced, in the half-
light—Captain Branscome!
147


CHAPTER XV
CAPTAIN BRANSCOME's CoNFESSION.—THE MAN IN
THE LANE
HE opened the gate and came across the turf to
me. I observed that his hand trembled on his walk-
ing-cane, and that he dragged his injured leg with a
worse limp than usual; also-but the uncertain light
may have had something to do with this—his face
seemed of one color with the gray dust that pow-
dered his shoes.
“Good-morning, Harry.”
“Good-morning, sir,” I answered, crushing the oil-
skin into my pocket and waiting for his explanation.
“You are surprised to see me? The fact is, I
have something to tell you, and could not rest easy
till it was off my mind. I have travelled here by
Russell’s wagon,” but have trudged a good part of
* Russell's wagons—“Russell and Co., Falmouth to London”
—were huge vehicles that plied along the Great West Road under
an escort of soldiers, and conveyed the bullion and other treasure
landed at Falmouth by the Post Office packets. They were drawn,
always at a foot-pace, by teams of six stout horses. The wagoner
rode beside on a pony, and inside sat a man armed with pistols and
blunderbuss. Poor travellers used these wagons up to the days of
railways, walking by day, and sleeping by night beneath the tilt.
148


CAPTAIN BRANSCOME'S CONFESSION
the way, as you see.” He glanced down at his shoes.
“The pace was too slow for my impatience. I could
get no sleep. Though it brought me here no faster,
I had to vent my energies in walking.” His sen-
tences followed one another by jerks, in a nervous
flurry. “You are surprised to see me?” he repeated.
“Why, as to that, sir, partly I am and partly I
am not. It took me aback just now to see you stand-
ing there by the gate; and,” said I more boldly, “it
puzzles me yet how you came there and not to the
front door, for you couldn’t have expected to find
me here in the garden at this time in the morning.”
“True, Harry; I did not.” He paused for a mo-
ment, and went on. “It is truth, lad, that I meant
to knock at your front door, by and by, and ask for
you. But, the hour being over-early for calling, I
had a mind, before rousing you out of bed, to walk
down the lane and have a look over your garden gate.
Nay,” he corrected himself, “I do not put it quite
honestly, even yet. I came in search of something.”
“I can save you the trouble, perhaps,” said I, and,
diving a hand into my breech-pocket, I pulled out
the gold-rimmed eyeglasses.
He made no offer to take them, though I held them
out to him on my open palm, but fell back a step,
and, after a glance at them, lifted his eyes and met
mine honestly, albeit with a trouble in his face.
149


POISON ISLAND
“You found them : *
« Yes.”
“To whom have you shown them?”
“To nobody.”
“Yet there has been some inquiry’ ”
I nodded.
“At which you were present?”
I nodded again.
“And you said nothing of this—this piece of evi-
dence? Why?”
“Because ’” — I hesitated for a couple of sec-
onds and then gulped hesitation down—“because
I could not believe that you — that you were
»
really
“You could not believe that I was guilty? Thank
you, Harry.”
“All the same, sir, your name was mentioned.”
“Eh!” He was plainly astonished. “My name
mentioned? But why? How 2 Since no one saw
me here, and if, as you say, you hid this only evi-
dence—”
“It came up, sir, when they examined me about
Captain Danny. You know — do you not? — that
they have found his body, too.”
“I heard the news being cried in Truro streets as
we came through. Poor old Coffin murdered It is
all mystery to me—mystery on mystery. But how on
150


CAPTAIN BRANSCOME'S CONFESSION
earth should my name have come up in connection
with him 2 *
“Why, about your teaching him navigation, sir.”
Captain Branscome passed a hand over his fore-
head.
“Navigation? Yes; to be sure, I taught him navi-
gation—or, rather, tried to. But what of that?”
“Well, sir, Miss Belcher seemed to think it sus-
picious.”
Captain Branscome reached out a hand, and, tak-
ing the glasses from me, sat down upon the stone
base of the flagstaff, and began feebly to polish them.
“Impossible!” he said faintly, as if to himself;
then aloud: “The man was a friend of yours, too,
wasn’t he?”
“Yes, sir! if you mean Captain Coffin, he was a
friend of mine.”
“And of mine; and, as you say, he came to me
to learn navigation. Now, what connection there
can be between that and his being murdered a dozen
miles inland 33
But here he broke off, and we both looked up and
across the stream as, with a click of the latch, the
door there creaked and opened, and Miss Belcher en-
tered the garden. She wore an orange-colored dress-
ing gown, top-boots to guard her ankles from the
morning dew, a red kerchief tied over her brow to
151


TOISON ISLAND
keep her iron-gray locks in place, and over it her
customary beaver hat—et vera incessu patuit dea.
Even thus attired did Miss Belcher, a goddess of the
dawn, come striding over the footbridge and across
the turf to us; and the effect of this apparition upon
Captain Branscome's nerves, after a night of travel
alongside Russell's van, I can only surmise. I did
not observe it, having for the moment no eyes for
him.
“Hallo!” said Miss Belcher, walking straight up
to us, and halting, with a hand planted, washer-
woman fashion, on either hip, as Captain Branscome
staggered to his feet and saluted. “Hallo! who's
this 2 ”
“Captain Branscome, ma'am,” stammered I.
“I thought as much. And what is Captain Brans-
come doing here?” -
“By your leave, ma'am,” said Captain Brans-
come, “I-I was just dropping in for a talk here
with my friend Harry Brooks.”
“H’m l’” sniffed Miss Belcher, and eyed him up
and down for a full ten seconds with an uncompro-
mising stare. “As an explanation, sir, you will
allow that to be a trifle unsatisfactory. What have
you been eating lately?”
“Madam?” -
Captain Branscome stared at her in weak bewil-
152


CAPTAIN BRANSCOME'S CONFESSION
derment; and, indeed, the snort which accompanied
Miss Belcher's question seemed to accuse him of im-
pregnating the morning air with a scent of onions.
“You can answer a plain question, I hope?” said
she. “When did you eat last, and what was it?”
“To be precise, ma’am—though I don’t under-
stand you—it was an apple, and about—let me see—
seven hours ago.”
Miss Belcher nodded.
“In other words, the man's starving. I don’t
blame you, Harry Brooks. One can’t look for old
heads on young shoulders. But, for goodness' sake,
take the man into the house and give him something
to eat! He's starving; and, by the look on his face,
he hasn’t squared himself to a meal since the Lord
knows when.”
“Madam—” again began Captain Branscome, still
a prey to that mental paralysis which Miss Belch-
er's costume and appearance ever produced upon
strangers, and for which she never made the smallest
allowance.
“Don’t tell me!” she snapped. “I breed stock
and I buy 'em—I know the signs.”
“I was about to suggest, ma'am, that—travel-
stained as I am—a wash and a shave would be even
more refreshing.”
“H’m You’re one of those people—eh?—that
153


POISON ISLAND
study appearances?” In the art of disconcerting
by simple interrogation I never knew Miss Belch-
er's peer, whether for swiftness, range, or variety.
“Brought a razor with you?”
“Yes, ma'am.”
“Take him to the house, Harry; but first show
me where the hens have been laying.”
Half an hour later, as Captain Branscome, washed,
brushed, and freshly shaven, descended to the break-
fast parlor, Miss Belcher entered the house by the
back door, with her hat full of new-laid eggs.
“Nothing like a raw egg to start the day upon,”
she announced. “I suck 'em, for my part; but some
prefer 'em beaten up in a dish of tea.”
She suited the action to the word, and beat up
one in the Captain's teacup while Plinny carved him
a slice of ham.
“Ladies,” he protested, “I am ashamed. I do
not deserve this hospitality. If you would allow me
first to tell my story!”
“Fiddlestick-end l’” said Miss Belcher. “You’re
all right. Couldn’t hurt a fly, if you wanted to.
There! Eat up your breakfast, and then you can
tell us all about it.”
The two ladies had, each in her way, a knack of
making her meaning clear without subservience to
the strict forms of speech.
154


CAPTAIN BRANSCOME'S CONFESSION
“It will be a weight off one's mind,” declared
Plinny, “even if it should prove to be the last
straw.”
“There's one thing to be thankful for,” chimed
in Miss Belcher, “and that is, Jack Rogers has gone
to St. Mawes. When there's serious business to be
discussed I always thank a Providence that clears
the men out of the way.”
I glanced at Captain Branscome. He-poor man
—had come with no intention at all of unbosoming
himself before a couple of ladies. He desired—de-
sired desperately, I felt sure—to confide in me alone.
But Miss Belcher's off-handish air of authority com-
pletely nonplussed him; he sat helplessly fidgeting
with his breakfast-plate.
“To tell you the truth, ladies,” he began, “I had
not expected this—this audience. It finds me, in a
manner of speaking, unprepared.” He ran a finger
around the edge of his saucer after the manner of
one performing on the musical glasses, and threw a
hunted glance at the window, as though for a way
of escape. “My name, ladies, is Branscome. I was
once well-to-do, and commanded a packet in the ser-
vice of his Majesty's Postmasters-General. But times
have altered with me, and I am now an usher in a
school, and a very poor man.”
He paused; looked up at Miss Belcher, who had
155


POISON ISLAND
squared her elbows on the table in very unlady-
like fashion; and cleared his throat before pro-
ceeding:
“You will excuse me for mentioning this, but it
is an essential part of the story. My poverty, ladies
—ashamed as I am to mention it—is not of that
mild, if distressing, kind which sometimes has to
plead for time to pay its rent. I have always kept
up the rent for my lodgings, but occasionally at the
22
expense of my—my
“Stomach,” prompted Miss Belcher. “The Stim-
coes—is that their name?—didn’t pay up—eh { *
“Mr. Stimcoe — though a scholar, ma’am — has
suffered from time to time from pecuniary embar-
rassment.”
“Traceable to drink,” interpolated Miss Belcher,
with a nod towards Plinny. “No, sir; you need not
look at Harry: he has told us nothing. I formed
my own conclusions.”
“Mrs. Stimcoe, ma’am—for I should tell you she
keeps the purse—is too often unable to make two
ends meet, as the saying is. I believe she paid when
she could, but somehow my salary has always been
in arrear. I have used remonstrance with her, be-
fore now, to a degree which it shames me to remem-
ber; yet, in spite of it, I have sometimes found my-
self on a Saturday, after a week’s work, without a
156


CAPTAIN BRANSCOME'S CONFESSION
loaf of bread in the cupboard. Forgive these
personal details, ladies; they are material to my
story.”
“Go on, sir.”
“I doubt, ma'am, if any one who has not experi-
enced it can wholly understand the power of mere
hunger to degrade a man; to what lengths he can
be urged, willy-nilly, as it were, by the instinct to
satisfy it. There were Sabbaths, ma'am, when to
attend divine worship seemed a mockery; the craving
drove me away from all congregations of Christian
men and out into the fields, where—I tell it with
shame, ma'am—I have stolen turnips and eaten them
raw, loathing the deed even worse than I loathed the
vegetable, for the taste of which—I may say—I have
a singular aversion. Well, among my pupils was
Harry here, whom I discovered to be the son of an
old friend of mine. I dare to call the late Major
James Brooks a friend in spite of the difference be-
tween our stations in life—a difference he himself
was good enough to forget. Our acquaintance be-
gan on the ‘Londonderry’ transport, which I com-
manded, and in which I brought him home from
Corunna to Plymouth in the January of 1809. It
ended with the conclusion of that short and anxious
passage. But I had always remembered Major
Brooks as one who approached, if ever man did, the
157


POISON ISLAND
ideal of an officer and a gentleman. Now, at first,
ladies, the discovery suggested no thought to me be-
yond the pleasure of knowing that my old friend
was alive and hale and—shall I say?—the hope of
seeing Harry grow up to be as good a man as his
father. But by and by—if you cannot understand,
yet remember I have warned you how such want as
mine can degrade—I found a thought waking and
growing, and awake again and itching after I had
done my best to kill it, that the Major might be
moved by the story of an old shipmate brought so
low. God forgive me, ladies!” Captain Branscome
put up a hand to cover his brow. “The very telling
of it degrades me over again; but I came here to
make a clean breast, and there is no way but to tell
all the truth. I had cross-examined Harry about the
Major and his habits—not always allowing to myself
why I asked him many trivial questions. And then
suddenly the temptation came to a head. Certain
Englishmen discharged from the French war-prisons
were landed at Plymouth. The town turned out to
welcome the poor fellows home, and the Major enter-
tained them at a banquet, to which also he invited
some two hundred townsmen. Among the guests he
was good enough to include me; for it has been a
consolation to me, ladies, and a source of pride, that
my friends in Falmouth have not withdrawn in ad-
158


CAPTAIN BRANSCOME'S CONFESSION
versity the respect which in old days my uniform
commanded.”
“Captain Branscome is not telling you the half
of it,” I broke in eagerly. “Every one in Falmouth
knows him to be a hero. Why, he has a sword of
honor at home, given him for one of the bravest bat-
tles ever fought!”
“Gently, boy—gently l’” Captain Branscome cor-
rected me, with a grateful smile, albeit a sad one.
“Youth is generous, ladies; it sees these things
through a haze which colors and magnifies them, and
—and it’s a very poor kind of hero you’ll consider
me before I have done. Where was I? Ah, yes, to
be sure—the banquet. His Worship can little have
guessed what his invitation meant to me, or that,
while others thanked him for a compliment, to me it
offered a satisfying meal such as I had not eaten for
months. Mr. Stimcoe had given the school a holiday.
In short, I attended.
“I fear, ladies, that the food and the generous
wine together must have turned my head—there is
no other explanation—for when the meal was over
and I sat with a glass of port before me, scarcely
listening to the speeches, but fumbling with the half-
crown in my pocket which must carry me over an-
other week's housekeeping, all of a sudden the man
inside me rose in revolt. I felt such poverty as mine
159


POISON ISLAND
to be unendurable, and that I was a slave, a spirit-
less fool, to put up with it. There must be hundreds
of good, Christian folk in the world who had only
to know to stretch out a hand of help and gladly, as
I would have helped such a case in the days of my
own prosperity. Remember, please, that I am not
putting this forward as a sober plea. I know it now
to be false, self-cheating, the apology that every beg-
gar makes for himself, the specious argument that
every poor man must resist who would hold fast by
his manhood. But there, with the wine in me and
the juices of good meat, the temptation took me at
unawares and mastered me as I had never allowed
it to master me while I hungered. I saw the world
in a sudden rosy light; I felt that my past suffer-
ings had been unnecessary. I thought of Major
Brooks 35
“Bless the man! ” interjected Miss Belcher.
“He’s coming to the point at last.”
“Your pardon, ma'am. I will be briefer. I
thought of Major Brooks. I took a resolve there
and then to extend my holiday; to walk hither to
Minden Cottage, and lay my case before him. The
banquet had no sooner broken up than I started. I
reached Truro at nightfall, and hired a bed there
for sixpence. Early next morning I set forward
again. By this time the impulse had died out of
160


POISON ISLAND
say) reckoning it up, along with the extent of its
garden, when, happening to take another glance down
the lane, to run a measure of the garden wall—or
perhaps a movement caught my eye—I saw a man
step across the path between the brambles, out of the
garden, as you might say, and into the plantation
opposite. The path being so narrow, I glimpsed him
for half a second only. But the glimpse of him gave
me a start, for, if to suppose it had been anywise
possible, I could have sworn the man was one I had
known in Falmouth and left behind there.”
“Captain Coffin' " I exclaimed.
“Ay, lad, Captain Coffin—Captain Danny Coffin.
But what should he be doing at Minden Cottage 2"
“The quicker you proceed, sir,” said Miss Belcher,
rapping the table, “the sooner we are likely to dis-
cover.”
162


CHAPTER XVI
CAPTAIN BRANSCOME's ConFESSION.—THE FLAG AND
THE CASHBOX
“WELL, ma'am,” resumed Captain Branscome,
“so strong was the likeness to old Coffin, and yet
so incredible was it he should be in these parts, that,
almost without stopping to consider, I turned down
the lane on the chance of another glimpse of the
man. This brought me, of course, to the stile lead-
ing into the plantation; but the path there, as you
know, takes a turn among the trees almost as soon
as it starts, and runs, moreover, through a pretty
thick undergrowth. The fellow, whoever he was, had
disappeared.
“I can’t say but what I was still puzzled, though
the likeliest explanation—indeed, the only likely one
—seemed to be that my eyes had played me a trick.
I had pretty well made up my mind to this when I
turned away from the stile to have a look at the gar-
den gate on the other side of the lane; and over it,
across the little stretch of turf, I caught sight of the
summer-house and of Major Brooks standing there
163


POISON ISLAND
in the doorway with a bundle between his hands—a
bundle of something red, which he seemed to be
wrapping round with a piece of cord.
“Here, then, was the very man I had come to see;
and here was a chance of getting speech with him
and without the awkwardness of asking it through a
servant, perhaps of having to invent an excuse for
my visit. Without more ado, therefore, I made bold
to lift the latch of the gate and step into the garden.
“At the sound of the latch—I can see him now—
Major Brooks lifted his head with a curious start,
and tucked the bundle under his arm. The move-
ment was like that of a man taken at unawares, and
straightening himself up to meet an attack. I can-
not describe it precisely, but that was just the im-
pression it made on me, and it took me aback for a
moment, so that I paused as the gate fell to and
latched itself behind me.
“‘Halt there!’ the Major commanded, facing me
full across the turf. ‘Halt, and tell me, please, why
you have come back!’
“This puzzled me worse for a moment, for the
light was good, though drawing towards sunset, and
it seemed impossible that, looking straight at me, he
could mistake me for the man who had just left the
garden. Then I remembered what Harry had told
me of his father's blindness.
164


CAPTAIN BRANSCOME'S CONFESSION
“My silence naturally made him more suspicious.
“‘Who is it there? Your name, please?” he de-
manded sharply.
“‘Sir,” I answered, ‘I beg your pardon for coming
thus unannounced, but my name is Branscome, and I
had once the honor to be shipmate with you on board
the “Londonderry” transport.’
“For a while he continued to stare at me with
those sightless eyes of his.
“‘Yes,’ he said slowly, at length; ‘yes; I remem-
ber your voice, sir. But what in the name of wonder
brings you to my garden just now?’
“‘Your son Harry, sir,’ said I, ‘some time ago
gave me a message from you. If ever (he said) I
found myself in the neighborhood of Minden Cottage
you would be pleased to receive a visit from me.’
“‘Yes,’ said he, but still with a something in his
voice between wonder and suspicion; ‘that's true
enough. I have always retained the highest respect
for Captain Branscome, and by your voice you are
he. But—but—’ He hesitated, and fired another
question pointblank at me: ‘You come from Fal-
mouth?’
“‘I do, sir.’
“‘Alone?”
“‘Yes, sir. I have walked all the way from Fal-
mouth, and without a companion.’
165


POISON ISLAND
Look here, my friend, he said, after seeming to
ponder for a moment, “if you mean ill, you must have
altered strangely from the Capain Branscome I used
to know, and if you mean well you have timed your
visit almost as strangely.” He paused again. “Either
you know what I mean, or you do not; if you do not,
you will have to forgive a great deal in this re-
ception; and you will, to begin with, forgive my ask-
ing you, on your word of honor, if on your journey
hither you have overtaken or met or recognized any
one hailing from Falmouth. You do not answer,” he
added, after yet another pause.
“‘Why, as to that, sir, 'said I, ‘since leaving Fal-
mouth I have neither met nor overtaken any one of
my acquaintance. But, since you put it to me pre-
cisely, I will not swear that I have not recognized
one. A few minutes ago, standing at the head of the
lane here, I saw a man cross it, presumably from this
garden, and take the path leading through the planta-
tion yonder. It certainly strikes me that I knew the
man, and I followed him down the lane here to make
sure.”
“‘Why?’ the Major asked me.
“‘Because, sir, said I, ‘it did not seem possible
to me that the man I mean could have any business
here; besides which, an hour or two before leaving
IFalmouth I had passed him in the street, and though
166


CAPTAIN BRANSCOME'S CONFESSION
he had, indeed, the use of his legs, he was too far
gone in liquor to recognize me.”
“‘His name?’ the Major asked.
“‘Coffin, sir,’ said I; “usually known as Captain
Coffin, or Captain Danny.”
“‘A drunkard ' ' he asked.
“‘A man given to liquor,’ said I, ‘by fits and
starts; but mild enough in any ordinary way. You
might call him the least bit touched in the upper
story; of a loose, rambling head, at all events, as I
can testify, who have taught him navigation—or
tried to.”
“The Major, though he could not see me, seemed
to study me with his blind eyes. He stood erect,
with the bundle clipped under his left arm; and the
bundle I made out to be a flag, rolled up and strapped
about with its own lanyard.
“‘One more question, Captain Branscome,” said
he. ‘This Captain Coffin, as you call him—is he, to
the best of your knowledge, an honest man?”
“I answered that I had heard question of Coffin's
sanity, but never of his honesty.
“‘His sanity, eh?” said the Major; and I could
see he was hung in stays, but he picked up his wind
after a second or two, and paid off on another tack.
“Well, well,” he said, “we’ll drop talking of this Cof-
fin, and turn to the business that brings you here.
167


POISON ISLAND.
What is it? For I take it you’ve walked all the way
from Falmouth for something more than the sake of
a chat over old times.”
“I remember, ladies, the words he used, though
not the tone of them. To tell the truth, though my
ears received ’em, I was not listening. I stood there,
wishing myself a hundred miles away; but his man-
ner gave me no chance to fob him off with an excuse,
or pretend I had dropped in for a passing call. There
was nothing for it but to out with my story, and into
it I plunged somehow, my tongue stammering with
shame. He listened, to be sure, but without offering
to help me over the hard places. Indeed, at the first
mention of my poverty, I saw all his first suspicions
—whatever they had been—return and show them-
selves in his blind eyes. His mouth was set like a
closed trap. Yet he heard me out, and, when I had
done, his suspicions semed to have faded again, for
he answered me considerately enough, though not
cordially.
“‘Captain Branscome,” he said, ‘I may tell you
at once that I never lend money; and my reason is
partly that good seldom comes of it, and partly that
I am a poor man—if you can call a man poor who is
by a few pounds richer than his needs. But I have a
great respect for you’—the ladies will forgive me for
repeating his exact words—‘ and your voice seems to
168


CAPTAIN BRANSCOME’S CONFESSION
tell me that you still deserve it; that you have suf-
fered more than you say before being driven to make
this appeal. I can do something—though it be little
—to help an old comrade. Will you oblige me by
stepping into the summer-house, here, and taking a
seat while I go to the house? I will not keep you
waiting more than a few minutes.”
“He picked up his walking-stick, which rested
against a chair, just within the doorway, and stood
for a moment while I stepped past him and entered
the summer-house; and so, with a nod of the head,
turned and walked towards the house, using his stick
very skillfully to feel his path between the bushes,
and still keeping the flag tucked under his left
arm.
“So I sat and waited, ladies, on no good terms
with myself. The way of the borrower was hard, I
found — hard even beyond expectation — and the
harder because the Major's manner had not been un-
kindly, but — if you’ll understand my meaning—
only just kind enough. In short, I don’t know but
that I must have cut and run rather than endure his
charity; had not my thoughts been distracted by this
mystery over Captain Coffin. For the Major had
said too much, and not enough. The man I had
seen crossing the lane was certainly Coffin, but to con-
nect him with Minden Cottage I had no clew at all
169


POISON ISLAND
beyond the faint one, Harry, that you and he were
acquaintances. Besides, I had seen him, the morn-
ing before, in the crowd around the prisoners, and
could have sworn he was then—saving your presence,
ladies—as drunk as a fiddler. If vehicle had brought
him, it could not be any that had passed me on the
road, or for certain I should have recognized him.
Well, here was a riddle, and I had come no nearer to
guessing it when the Major returned.
“He had left his bundle in the house, and in place
of it he carried a cashbox, which he set on the table
between us, but did not at once open. Instead, he
turned to me with a complete change of manner, and
held out his hand very frankly. -
“‘I owe you an apology, Captain,” said he. “To
be plain with you, at the moment you appeared, I
was half expecting a different kind of visitor, and I
fear you received some of the welcome prepared for
him. Overlook it, please, and shake hands; and, to
get our business over'—he unlocked the cashbox—
“here are ten guineas, which I will ask you to accept
from me. We won’t call it a gift; we will call it an
acknowledgment for the extra pains you have put
into teaching my son. Tut, man!” said he, as I pro-
tested. ‘Harry has told us all about that. I assure
you the youngster came near to wearying us, last holi-
day, with praise of you.’” -
170


CAPTAIN BRANSCOME'S CONFESSION
“And so he did,” Plinny here interrupted. “That
is to say, sir—of course, if you will understand—we
were only too glad to listen to him.”
“I thank you, ma'am.” Captain Branscome bowed
to her gravely. “I will not deny that the Major's
words gave me pleasure for the moment. He, for his
part, appeared to be quite another man. 'Twas as
if between leaving me and returning to the summer-
house a load had been lifted from his mind. He
counted out the guineas, locked the cashbox again, lit
his pipe, and then, seeming to recollect himself,
reached down a clean one from a stack above the door-
way, and insisted upon my filling and smoking with
him. 'Twas a long while since I had tasted the
luxury of tobacco. We talked of old days on the
‘Londonderry,’ of Sir John Moore's last campaign,
of Falmouth and the packets, of the peace and the
overthrow of Bonaparte's ambitions; or rather, 'twas
he that talked and questioned, while for me 'twas
pleasure enough, and a pleasure long denied me, to
sit on terms with a well-bred gentleman and listen
to talk of a quality which 22
“Which differed from that of the Rev. Philip
Stimcoe's,” suggested Miss Belcher, as he hesitated.
“Proceed, sir.”
“I shall add, madam, that the Major very kindly
invited me to sleep that night under his roof. I could
171


POISON ISLAND
pick up the coach in the morning (he said). But this
I declined, professing that I preferred the night for
travelling, and maybe, before tiring myself, would
overtake one of Russell's wagons and obtain a lift—
the fact being that, grateful though I found it to sit
and converse with him, my conscience was accusing
me all the while.
“Towards the end of our talk he had let slip by
accident that he was by no means a rich man. The
money from that moment began to burn in my
pockets, and I had scarcely shaken hands with him
and taken my leave—which I did just as the sun
was sinking behind the plantation across the lane—
before his guineas fairly scorched me. I held on my
way for a mile or more. You may have observed,
ladies, that I limp in my walk? It is the effect of an
old wound. But, I declare to you, my limp was noth-
ing to the thought I dragged with me—the recollec-
tion of the Major's face and the expression that had
come over it when I had first confessed my errand.
All his subsequent kindness, his sympathy, his hos-
pitality, his frank and easy talk, could not wipe out
that recollection. I had sold something which for
years it had been my pride to keep. I had forced it
on an unwilling buyer. I had taken the money of
a poor man, and had given him in exchange—what?
You remember, ladies, those words of Shakespeare—
172


CAPTAIN BRANSCOME'S CONFESSION
good words, although he puts them into the mouth of
a villain—that
“. . . He who filches from me my good name
Robs me of that which not enriches him
And makes me poor indeed.’
“No one had filched my honor—I had sold it to
a good man, but yet without enriching him, while in
the loss of it I knew myself poor indeed. At the sec-
ond milestone I turned back, more eager now to find
the Major again and get rid of the money than ever
I had been to obtain it.
“My face was no sooner turned again towards the
cottage than I broke into a run, and so good pace I
made between running and walking that it cannot
have been more than an hour from my leaving the
garden before I arrived back at the head of the lane.
The evening was dusking in, but by no means dark
as yet, even though a dark cloud had crept up from
the west and overhung the plantation to the right. I
looked down the lane as I entered it, and again—
yes, ladies, as surely as before—I saw a man cross it
from the garden gate and step into the plantationſ
“Who the man was I could not tell, the light being
so uncertain. Although he crossed the lane just
where Coffin had crossed it and disappeared in just
the same manner, I had an impression that he was
173


POISON ISLAND
not Coffin, and that his gait, for one thing, differed
from Coffin's. But I tell you this for what it is
worth: I was startled, you may be sure, and hurried
down the lane after him even quicker than I had hur-
ried after the first man; but when I came to the stile,
he, like the first man, had vanished, and within the
plantation it was impossible by this time to see more
than twenty yards deep.
“Again I turned and crossed the lane to the gar-
den gate. A sort of twilight lay over the turf be-
tween me and the summer-house, and beneath the
apple-trees skirting my path to it on the left you
might say that it was night; but the water at the foot
of the garden threw up a sort of glimmer, and there
was a glimmer, too, on the vane above the flagstaff. I
noted this and that, though my eyes were searching
for Major Brooks in the dark shadow under the pent
of the summer-house.
“Towards this I stepped; but in the dark I must
have walked a few feet wide of the straight line. I
remember brushing against a low-growing branch of
one of the apple-trees, and this must have caught in
my eyeglass-ribbon and torn it, for when I came to
fumble for them a few seconds later to help my sight,
the glasses were gone.
“By this time I had reached the summer-house
and come to a halt, three paces, maybe, from the door-
174


CAPTAIN BRANSCOME'S CONFESSION
“You may bet ten thousand to one!” I cried. “It
was never in the cashbox at all. It was wrapped up
in the flag my father carried into the house.”
“Bless the boy,” said Miss Belcher; “he’s not
half a fool, after all! Yes, yes—where is the flag”
“On the flagstaff,” said I. “I hoisted it there
this morning.”
44 Eh 2 »
“And here,” I panted, jumping up in my excite-
ment,” “here is Captain Coffin's map !”
I heard Miss Belcher breathing hard as I lugged
out the oilskin packet, tore open the knotted string
which bound it, and, drawing forth the parchment,
spread it, with shaking fingers, on the table.
177


a
CHAPTER XVII
THE CHART OF MORTALLONE
WHILE the others drew their chairs closer, and
while I spread flat the parchment—which was
crinkled (by the action of salt water, maybe)—I had
time to assure myself that this was the selfsame chart
of which Captain Coffin had once vouchsafed me a
glimpse. I remembered the shape of the island, the
point marked “Cape Alderman,” the strange, whisk-
ered heraldical monster depicted in the act of rising
from the waves off the northwestern coast, the
equally impossible ship, decorated with a sprit-top-
mast and a flag upon it, and charging up under full
sail for the southern entry, the name of which
(“Gow's Gulf") I must have missed to read in the
short perusal Captain Coffin had allowed me. At
any rate, I could not recall it. But I recalled the
three crosses which showed (so he had told me)
where the treasure lay. They were marked in red
ink, and I explained their meaning to Miss Belcher,
who had pounced upon them at once.
“Fiddlestick-end l’” said that lady, falling back
178


THE CHART OF MORTALLONE
on her favorite ejaculation. “Great clumsy crosses
of that sizel How in the world could any one find a
treasure by such marks, unless it happened to be
two miles long?”
She pointed to the scale at the head of the chart,
which, to be sure, gave six miles to the inch. By the
same measurement the crosses covered, each way,
from half a mile to three-quarters. Moreover, each
had patently been dashed in with two hurried strokes
of the pen and without any pretence of accuracy. The
first cross covered a “key’’ or sandbank off the north-
ern shore of the island; the second sprawled athwart
what appeared to be the second height in a range of
hills running southward from Cape Alderman, and
down along the entire eastern coast at a mean dis-
tance of a mile, or a little over, from the sea; while
the third was planted full across a grove of trees at
the head of the great inlet—Gow's Gulf—to the
south, and, moreover, spanned the chief river of the
island, which, running almost due south from the
back of the hills or mountains (their size was not
indicated) below Cape Alderman, discharged itself
into the apex of the gulf.
“Without bearings of some sort,” said Miss
Belcher, “these marks are merely ridiculous.”
“You may well say so, ma'am,” Captain Brans-
come answered, but inattentively. “Mortallone—
- 179


POISON ISLAND
Mortallone,” he went on, muttering the word over
as if to himself. “It is curious, all the same.”
“What is curious?” demanded Miss Belcher.
“Why, ma'am, I have never myself visited the
Gulf of Honduras, but among seamen there are al-
ways a hundred stories floating about. In a manner
of speaking, there is no such shop for gossip as the
sea. In every port you meet 'em, in taverns where
sailors meet, drink, and brag—the liquor being in
them—and one man talks and the rest listen, not
troubling themselves to believe. It is good to find
oneself ashore, you understand? And a good, strong-
flavored yarn makes the landlord and all the shore-
»
keeping folk open their eyes
“Bless the man!” Miss Belcher rapped her
knuckles on the table. “This is not a 'long-shore
tavern.”
“No, ma'am.”
“Then why not come to the point?”
“The point, ma'am—well, the point is that every
one—that is to say, every seaman—has heard tell of
treasure knocking about, as you might put it, some-
where in the Gulf of Honduras.”
“What sort of treasure ?”
“Why, as to that, ma'am, it varies with the story.
Sometimes 'tis bar silver from the isthmus, and some-
times 'tis gold plate and bullion that belonged to the
180


THE CHART OF MORTALLONE
old kings of Mexico; but by the tale I’ve heard often-
est, 'tis church treasure that was run away with by a
shipful of logwoodmen in Campeachy Bay. But there
again you no sooner fix it as church treasure and ask
where it came from than you have to choose between
half a dozen different accounts. Some say from the
Spanish islands—Havana for choice; others from
the Main, and I’ve heard places mentioned as far
apart as Vera Cruz and Caracas. The dates, too—if
you can call them dates at all—vary just as surpris-
ingly.”
“The date on this chart is 1776,” said Miss
Belcher, who had been peering at it while the Cap-
tain spoke. -
“Then, supposing there's something in poor Cof-
fin's secret, that gives you the year to start from.
We’ll suppose this is the very chart used by the man
who hid the treasure. Then it follows the treasure
wasn’t hidden before 1776, and that rules out all the
yarns about Hornigold, Teach, Bat Roberts, and
suchlike pirates, the last of whom must have been
hanged a good fifty years before; though here's evi-
dence”—Captain Branscome laid a forefinger on the
chart—“that these gentry had dealings with the
island in their day. ‘Gow's Gulf,’ ‘Cape Fea’—
Gow was a pirate and a hard nut at that; and Fea,
if I remember, his lieutenant or something of the
181


POISON ISLAND
sort; but they had gone their ways before ever this
was printed, and consequently before ever these
crosses came to be written on it. You follow me,
ma'am!”
Miss Belcher gave a contemptuous sniff which, I
doubt not, would have prefaced the remark that an
unweaned child would arrive unaided at the same
conclusions; but here I interposed.
“Captain Coffin,” said I, “told me that a part of
the treasure was church plate, and that he had seen
it. He showed me a coin, too, and said it came from
the island.”
“Hey, lad? What sort of coin}”
But to this I could give no answer, except that it
was a piece of gold, and in size perhaps a trifle
smaller than a guinea.
“That's a pity, lad. The coin might have helped
us. You’re sure now that you can’t remember? It
hadn't a couple of pillars engraved on it, for in-
stance?”
I shook my head. I had taken no particular heed
of the stamp on the coin.
Captain Branscome sighed his disappointment.
“The church plate don’t help us at all,” he said,
“ or very little. Why, I’ve heard this Honduras
treasure dated so far back as Morgan's time, when he
sacked Panama. The tale went that the priests at
182


THE CHART OF MORTALLONE
Panama or Chagres, or one of those places, on fright
of Morgan's coming, clapped all their treasure aboard
ship under a guard of militia—soldiers of some sort,
anyway—and that the seamen cut the soldiers’
throats, slipped cable, and away-to-go. But Morgan!
Eſe must have died before Queen Anne was born—
well, not so far back as that maybe, but then or then-
abouts. I tell you, ma'am, this story hangs around
every port and every room where seamen gather and
drink and take their ways again. 'Tis for all the
world like the smell of tobacco-smoke, that tells
you some one has come and gone, but leaves you noth-
ing to get hold of. Hallo 22
As the exclamation escaped him, Captain Brans-
come, who had casually picked up a corner of the
parchment between finger and thumb, with a nervous
jerk drew the whole chart from under my outspread
palms and turned it over face-downwards.
“Eh! But see here!”
He fumbled with his glasses, while Miss Belcher
and I, snatching at the chart, almost knocked our
heads together as we bent over a corner of it—the
left-hand upper corner—and a dozen lines of writing
scrawled there in faded ink. They ran thus:
1. Landed by cuttar when wee saw a sail. Lesser Kay N.
of Gable. Get open water between two kays S.W. and W.
by S., and N. inner point of Gable (where is green patch, good
183


FOISON ISLAND
have been that I was the traitor—that the blow he
took was from the hand he had filled with gold—that
I had returned to kill him in his blindness!”
Captain Branscome bowed his head upon his
hands. I saw Plinny—who all this while had sat
silent, content to listen—rise, her face twitching, and
put out a hand to touch the Captain's shoulder. I saw
her hand hesitate as her sense of decorum overtook
her pity and seemed to reason with it. And with
that I heard the noise of wheels on the road.
“Hallo!” Miss Belcher pricked up her ears.
“Here's that nuisance Jack Rogers turning up
again!”
186


POISON ISLAND
and was embracing the corner-cupboard as though he
had parted from it for an age, instead of for fifty
seconds at the farthest.
“Carry it indoors, but don’t open it till I’m
ready,” commanded Mr. Rogers, stooping under the
filly to loosen her belly-band. “I’m a magistrate, re-
member, and these things must be done in order.
You come along with me, Harry—that is, if you
have the key in your pocket.”
“I have, sir.”
“Right! Then come along with me, and you’ll
be out of harm’s way.”
So, while Mr. Goodfellow carried the cupboard
into the house, Mr. Rogers and I attended to the
filly.
This took, maybe, twenty minutes; but Mr. Rog-
ers was a sportsman, and thought of his horse before
himself. Not till all was done, and well done, did
he announce again that he was devilishly peckish;
nor did I guess how devilishly peckish he was until,
returning to the breakfast-room where Mr. Good-
fellow sat devouring bread and cream, he helped
himself to a plateful of veal pie, fit for a giant, and
before attacking it drained a tankard of cider at a
single pull, while he nodded over the rim to Captain
Branscome, to whom Plinny introduced him.
“Jack,” said Miss Belcher, with a jerk of her
188


POISON ISLAND
that night so far as Probus, and there sleep and wait
for Russell's wagon.”
“But his road,” I objected, “wouldn't lie through
Gerrans village, unless he went by the short cut
through the field beyond St. Mawes, and took the
ferry at Percuil.”
“Right, lad; and that is precisely what he did, for
—to push ahead a bit—we overran his track on the
main road, and, learning of that same short cut,
drove back along the other side of the creek to Per-
cuil, and had a talk with the ferryman. The ferry-
man told us that at ten o’clock, or thereabouts, he
was going to bed, having closed the ferry, when a
voice on the other shore began bawling ‘Over!’ He
slipped on his boots again, rowed across, and took
over a man who was certainly Coffin.”
“He was alone?” I asked.
“He came across the ferry alone,” said Mr.
Rogers, “and I dare say he had no idea of being fol-
lowed. But back at St. Mawes, while he was drink-
ing gin-and-water in the taproom, another man came
to the door of the Lugger. This man sent for the
landlord—Bogue by name—and asked to be shown
into a private room. He was dressed in odds-and-
ends of garments, including a soiled regimental coat
and dirty linen trousers.”
“The French prisoner!” said I.
190


CONTENTS OF THE CORNER CUPBOARD
“That's the man. He told Bogue, fair and
straight, he was an ex-prisoner, and off the ‘Wellin-
boro’’ transport, arrived that day in harbor. He
had money in his pocket—in Bogue's presence he
pulled out a fistful of gold—and he pitched a tale
that he was bound for his home, a little this side of
Saltash, but couldn’t face the road in the clothes he
wore. You'll admit that this was reasonable when
you’ve seen 'em, for I brought the suit along in the
tail of the tilbury. For a pound, Bogue fitted him
up with an old suit of his own—coat and waistcoat
of blue sea-cloth, not much the worse for wear, duck
trousers, a tarpaulin hat, and a flannel shirt marked
J. B. (Bogue's Christian name is Jeremiah). The
fellow had no shirt when he presented himself, noth-
ing between the bare buff and the uniform coat
that he wore buttoned across his chest; and that's
where our luck comes in. He was shy of stripping
in Bogue's presence, and, on pretence of feeling
chilly, sent him out of the room for a glass of hot
grog. As it happened, Bogue met the waiting-maid
in the passage, coming out of the bar with a tray and
half a dozen hot grogs that had been ordered by
customers in the taproom. He picked up one, and,
sending the maid back to fetch another to fill up
her order, returned at once to the private room. My
gentleman there was standing with his back to the
191


CONTENTS OF THE CORNER CUPEOARD
hadn’t time to make out the design, but his recollec-
tion is there were several small ones—ships, foul-
anchors, and the like — besides a large one that
seemed to be some sort of map.”
“You haven’t done so badly, Jack,” Miss Belcher
allowed. “Only I doubt your scent is a cold one.
You sent word on to Plymouth at once?”
“By express rider, and with orders to leave a de-
scription of the man at all the ferries. But there's
more to come. The man, that had seemed at first in
a desperate hurry, was no sooner in Bogue's clothes
than he took a seat, made Bogue fetch another glass
of grog and drink it with him, and asked him a score
of questions about the best road eastward. It struck
Bogue that, for a man whose home was Saltash, he
knew very little about his native county. All this
while he appeared to have forgotten his hurry, and
Bogue was thinking to make him an excuse to go
off and attend to other customers, when of a sudden
he ups and shakes hands, says good-night, and
marches out of the house. Bogue told me all this in
the very room where it happened. It opens out on
the passage leading from the taproom to the front
door. I asked Bogue if he could remember at what
time Coffin left the house, and by what door; also,
if the prisoner-fellow heard him leave; but at first
he couldn’t tell me anything for certain except that
193


POISON ISLAND
Coffin went out by the front door—he remembered
hearing him go tapping down the passage. The old
man, it seems, had a curious way of tapping with his
stick.”
Here Mr. Rogers looked at me, and I nodded.
“Where was the landlord when he heard this?”
asked Miss Belcher.
“That, my dear Lydia, was naturally the next
question I put to him. “Why, in this very room,”
said he, “now I come to think of it.” “Well, then,”
said I, ‘how long did you stay in this room after the
prisoner (as we'll call him) had taken his leave?”
“Not a minute,’ said he; ‘no, nor half a minute.
Indeed, I believe we walked out into the passage to-
gether, and then parted, he going out to the door,
and I up the passage to the taproom.” “Was Coffin
in the taproom when you reached it?’ I asked.
‘No,' says Bogue; ‘to be sure he wasn't.” “Why,
then, you thickhead,” says I, “he must have left while
you were talking with the prisoner; and since you
heard him go, the odds are the prisoner heard him,
too.” That's the way to get at evidence, Lydia.”
“My dear Jack,” said Miss Belcher, “you’re an
Argus!”
“Well, I flatter myself it was pretty neat,” re-
sumed Mr. Rogers, speaking with his mouth full;
“but, as it happens, we don’t need it. For when, as
194


CONTENTS OF THE CORNER CUPBOARD
I’ve told you, we drove around to the ferry at Per-
cuil, and the ferryman described Coffin and how he'd
put him across, the first question I asked was: “Did
you put any one else across that night?” He said,
* Yes; and not twenty minutes later.’ ‘Man or
d
drunk one '—saving your presence, ladies. I pricked
woman?’ I asked. ‘Man,” said he, “and a d
up my ears. “Drunk?' I asked. ‘How drunk?’
* Drunk enough to near-upon-drown himself,’ said
the ferryman. “It was this way, sir: I’d scarcely
finished mooring the boat again, and was turning to
go indoors, when I heard a splash, t'other side of
the creek, where the path comes down under the
loom of the trees, and, next moment, a voice as if
some person was drowning and guggling for help.
So I fit and unmoored again, and pushed across for
dear life, just in time to see a man scrambling ashore.
He was as drunk as a fly, sir, even after his wetting.
Said he was a retired seaman living at Penzance, had
come around to Falmouth on a lime-barge bound for
the Truro river, and must get back to St. Austell in
time to attend his sister's wedding there next morn-
ing. Told me his sister's name, but I forget it.
Said he’d fallen in with some brave fellows at Fal-
mouth just returned from the French war-prisons,
and had taken a glass or two. Gave me half-a-crown
when I brought him over and landed him,” said the
195


POISON ISLAND
ferryman, “and too far gone in liquor to understand
the mistake if I’d explained it to him, which I didn't.”
He was dressed in what appeared to be a dark cloth
jacket, duck trousers of seagoing cut, and a tarpaulin
hat. ‘There was just moon enough,” said the ferry-
man, “to let a man take notice of his trousers, they
being white; and maybe I took particular notice of
his legs, because they were dripping wet. As for his
face, by the glimpse I had of it, he was a middle-aged
man that had seen trouble.” I asked if he would
know the man again. He said “Yes,’ he was pretty
sure he would. So there, Lydia, you have the vil-
lain dogging Coffin, tracking him to Percuil, and
shamming drunk to get carried over the ferry in pur-
suit. On Bogue's testimony he was as sober as a
judge at St. Mawes, and drank but one glass of grog
there, and from St. Mawes to Percuil is but a step,
mainly by footpath over the fields, with no public-
house on the way.”
“H’m,” said Miss Belcher; “and yet he couldn't
have been following the man to murder him, or he
must have taken more care to cover up his traces.
All his concern seems to have been to follow Coffin
without being seen by him. Is that all?”
“My dear Lydia, consider the amount of time I’ve
had! Almost before I’d finished with Bogue, and
certainly before the filly was well rested, Mr. Good-
196


CONTENTS OF THE CORNER CUPBOARD
fellow here had crossed to Falmouth and was back
again, bringing the cupboard 22
“Yes, Jack; you have done very well—surpris-
ingly well. But I’ll not hand over my guinea until
we’ve examined the cupboard. Here, Mr. Good-
fellow ’’—she cleared a space amid the breakfast
things—“be so good as to lift it on to the table.
Barry, where's the key?”
I produced it.
“A nice bit of work; and Dutch, by the look of
it,” she commented, pausing to admire the inlaid pat-
tern as she inserted the key. She turned it, and the
door fell back, askew on its broken hinges.
Mr. Goodfellow had carried the cupboard with in-
finite care, but the contents, I need not say, had
mixed themselves up in wild disorder, though noth-
ing was broken—not even the pot of guava-jelly.
They included a superannuated watch in a loose
silver case, a medal (in bronze) struck to commemo-
rate Lord Howe's famous victory of the First of
June, two pieces-of-eight and a spade guinea (much
clipped); a small china mug painted with libellous
portraits of King George III. and his consort; a
printed pamphlet on Admiral Byng, two strings of
shells, a mourning-ring with a lock of hair set be-
tween two pearls under glass; another ring with a
tiny picture of a fountain and urn, and a weeping
197


POISON ISLAND
willow; a paper containing a baby’s caul and a sam-
pler worked with the A.B.C. and the Lord's Prayer
and signed “A. C., 1785; ” a gourd, a few glass
beads, and a Chinese opium-pipe; and lastly, a thick
paper roll bound in yellow-stained parchment. The
roll was tied about with string, and the string was
sealed, in coarse wax without imprint.
Miss Belcher dived a hand into a fold of her skirt,
and drew forth a most unladylike clasp-knife.
“Now for it!” said Miss Belcher.
198


POISON ISLAND
Ode to W. Bate
To bacca .. ... 9%
Haircutt - 1
Bliddin” . . ... 18d.
To more bacca Oct. 10th do.
Ditto and shave ditto ditto
Mem. do. to him .. 2s. 6d.
The fly-leaf started bravely with “D. Coffin, His
Book.” After this the captain had fallen to prac-
tising his signature by way of start. “D. Coffin,”
“Danl. Coffin,” “Danyel Coffin,” over and over,
and once “D. Coffin, Esq.” followed by “Steal not
this Book for fear of shame.”
Danl. Coffin is my name
England is my nation
Falmth “ “ dwelling-place
And hopes to see Sallvation.
After these exercises came a blank page, and then,
half-way down the next, abruptly, without title, be-
gan the manuscript which I will call Captain Coffin's
Statement.
“Pass it to Lydia,” said Mr. Rogers. “She reads
like a parson.”
“Better than most, I hope,” said Miss Belcher,
taking the book; and this—I omit the faults of spell-
ing—is what she read aloud:
* Qy. “Bleeding.”
200


CAPTAIN DANNY'S LOG
Mem. Began this August 15th, 1812.
Mem. Am going to tell about the treasure, and
what happened. But it will be no use without the
map. If any one tries to bring up trouble, this is the
truth and nothing else. Amen. So be it. Signed,
D. Coffin.
My father followed the sea, and bred me to it.
He came from Devonshire, near Exmouth. N.B.-
He used to say the Coffins were a great family in
Devonshire, and as old as any; but it never did him
no good. He was an only son, and so was I, but I
had an older sister, now dead. She grew up and
married a poultryman in Quay Street, Bristol. I re-
member the wedding. Died in childbed a year later,
me being at that time on my first voyage.
We lived at Bristol, at the foot of Christmas
Stairs, left-hand side going up, two doors from the
bottom. My mother from Stonehouse, Gloster,
where they make cloth, specially red cloth for sol-
diers' coats. Her maiden name Daniels. She was a
religious woman, and taught me the Bible. My
father was lost at sea, being knocked overboard by
the boom in half a gale, two miles S.W. of Lundy.
I was sixteen at the time, and apprentice as cabin-
boy on board the same ship, the “Caroline,” bound
from Hayle to Cardiff with copper ore. I went home
and broke the news to my mother; and she told me
201


POISON ISLAND
then what I didn’t know before, that she was very
poorly provided for. I will say this, that I made her
a good son; and likewise, that I never had no luck
till I struck the Treasure.
I was born in the year 1750. My father's death
happened 1766. From that time till my twenty-
seventh year, I supported my mother. She died of
a seizure in 1777, and is buried by St. Mary’s Red-
clif—we having moved across the water to that par-
ish. Married next year, Elizabeth Porter, in service
with Soames Rennalls, Esquire, Alderman of the
City. She had been brought up an orphan by the
Colston Charity; a good pious woman, and bore me
one child, a daughter—a dear little one. Child lived
and throve up to the year 1787, me all the time com-
ing and going on voyages, mostly coasting, too nu-
merous to mention. Then the smallpox carried her
off with my affectionate wife, the both in one week.
At which I cursed all things, and for several years
ran riot, not caring what I said or did.
Was employed, from 1790 on, in the slave trade,
by W. S., merchant of Bristol; must have made as
many as a dozen passages before leaving him and
shipping on the “Mary Pynsent,” Pink, Bristol—
owned by a new company of adventurers. She was
an old boat, and known to me, but not the whole
story of her. I signed as mate. We were bound for
202


CAPTAIN DANNY'S LOG
says. “I am Melhuish, of the Poison Island Treas-
ure.” “I never heard of it,” said I. “There's
others call it the Priests’ Treasure,” says he; “and
if you have never heard of it, you cannot have sailed
anywheres near the Bay of Honduras.” “Never in
my life,” I said. “My business has lain along this
coast. But what of it?” “What of it?” he says,
sitting up, his eyes all shining with the fever, “why,
nothing, except that I am one of the richest men in
the world.” I set this down to raving. “You don't
believe me?” he asks. “Why,” I answers, “this is
a funny sort of place for a nabob, and that you must
allow; and that from here to Honduras is a long
step,” I say. “You fool!” said he, “that is the
very reason of it. I don’t believe in a hell on the
t’other shore of this life, whatever your views may
be. You go to sleep and have done with it—that's
my belief. But I believe in hell upon earth, be-
cause I have lived in it. And I believe in a devil
on earth, because I lived months in his company;
but he can’t be as clever as the priests make out,
because I came here to hide from him, and hidden
I have.”
With that he fell into cursing and raving, but
after a time he grew quiet, and said he: “Daniel
Coffin, if that is your name, there's hundreds of
thousands of men walking this world would envy you
205


POISON ISLAND
at this moment. And why? Because I can make
you richer than any Lord Mayor in his coach; and,
what's more, I will.”
He said no more that evening, but next day woke
up towards the middle of the afternoon, seemingly
very clear in his wits, and asked me to slip a hand
under his pillow and take out what I found there.
Which I took out a piece of parchment. He said:
“Coffin, I am going to be as good as my word. That
there which you hold in your hand is a map of the
Island of Mortallone, where the treasure lies. I will
tell you how I come by it. -
“My home,” he said, “was St. Mary's, in New-
foundland, which is but a small harbor and a few
wood houses gathered about a factory. The factory
belonged to a firm at Carbonear, and employed, one
way and another, all the people in the place, in num-
ber less than two hundred. The women worked at
the fish-curing, along with the children and some old
men, but the able-bodied men belonged mostly to the
Labrador fleet, or manned a two-three small vessels
that made regular voyages to the Island of St. Jago
to fetch home salt for the pickling. My mother, be-
sides working at the factory, kept a boarding-house
for seamen. In this she was helped by my only sis-
ter, a middle-aged woman and single. My mother
was a widow. She kept her house very respectable,
206


CAPTAIN DANNY’S LOG
but the business was slight, the town being empty of
men most of the year.
“In the autumn of 'ninety-eight, arriving home
with salt as usual from St. Jago, I found a stranger
lodging in the house. He had come over from Car-
bonear with a party of clerks, and had taken a fancy
to the place—or so he said—besides which, it had
been recommended to him for his health, which was
delicate. He was a common-spoken man, aged be-
tween fifty and sixty, and looked like a skipper that
had hauled ashore; but he never talked about the sea
in my hearing, and he never mixed with the other
lodgers. He rented a separate room and kept to it.
His habits were simple, and his manner very quiet
and friendly, though he spoke as little as he could
help, unless to my sister. My mother liked him be-
cause he paid his way and seemed to like whatever
food was put before him. The only thing he com-
plained about was the cold.
“I had been at home for three weeks and a little
more when one evening, as I was passing downstairs
from my bedroom in the attic, this Mr. Shand—that
was the name he gave us—called me into his room
and showed me a small bird he had picked up dead
on the sands. He did not know its name, and I was
too ignorant to tell him. We stood there looking at
it under the lamp when my sister came upstairs with
207


POISON ISLAND
a note and word that the messenger was waiting out-
side for an answer. Mr. Shand took the note and
read it under the lamp. Then he turned to the fire,
and stood with his back to us for a moment. I saw
him drop the note into the fire. He faced round to
us again and said he to my sister: “Mary, my dear,
here is something I want you to keep for me. Do not
look at it to-night; and when you do, show it to no
one but your brother here.” With that he gave her
the very packet you have in your hand, shook hands
with us both, and went downstairs. We never saw
him again. The weather was thick, with some snow
falling, and the Snow got worse towards midnight.
We waited up till we were tired, but he did not re-
turn that night, nor the next day. Three days later
his body was found in a drift of snow, half-way down
a cliff to the west of the town. The right leg and
arm were broken and two ribs on the same side.”
I asked: “Who was the man that brought the mes-
sage?” Melhuish said: “My sister could not tell, ex-
cept that he was a stranger. She supposed he be-
longed to one of two ships that had arrived in harbor
the day before. She saw nothing of his face to re-
member, his jacket-collar being turned up against the
snow, and the flaps of his fur cap pulled down over
his ears.”
I asked: “Did the man's chest tell nothing when
208


CAPTAIN DANNY’S LOG
you came to examine it?” Melhuish said: “Noth-
ing at all. It was full of new clothes, and very good
clothes; but they had no mark upon them, and, be-
sides the clothes, there was not so much as a scrap
of paper.”
He went on: “About two weeks later there called
a clerk from the factory to claim the chest, the firm
having acted as Mr. Shand’s agents. He was a for-
eign-looking man, and older than most of the clerks
employed by Davis and Atchison—which was the
firm's name. He gave his own name as Martin. He
had been sent over from Carbonear about ten days
before to teach the factory a new way of treat-
ing seal-pelts by means of chemicals. We learned
afterwards that he earned good wages. He had
brought two hands from the factory to carry the
chest, which we gave up to him as soon as he pre-
sented a letter from Mr. Hughes, the firm's chief
agent. He said: ‘Is this all you have 8' And we
said “Yes.” We kept quiet about the map, which we
had examined, but could not make head nor tail of
it. He went away with the chest, and we heard no
more of the matter. The winter closing in, I took
service in the factory. I used to run against this
Martin almost every day, but being my superior he
never got beyond nodding to me.
“So it went on, that winter. The next spring I
200


POISON ISLAND
sailed with the salting fleet as usual. I was mate by
this time, and had learned to navigate. I came back,
to find Martin seated in the parlor and talking, and
my mother told me he had asked my sister to marry
him. They had met at the factory and fixed it up
between them. He appeared to be very fond of my
sister, who was usually reckoned a plain-featured
woman, and there couldn’t be a doubt she was fond
of him. Later on, I heard that she had told him all
about the chart. -
“He opened the subject himself about a week
later, during which I had become very thick with
him. He said that, in his belief, there was money in
it, and I was a fool not to take it up. I answered,
What could I do? He said there was ways and
means that a lad of spirit ought to be able to discover.
With that he dropped talking of it for that day, but
it cropped up again, and by little and little he so
worked on me that I took to dreaming of the cursed
thing.
“This went on for another fortnight, during
which time he told me a deal about himself, very
frank—as that he was the son of an English sea-
captain and a Spanish woman, and was born in
Havana; that he had been educated by the Jesuits,
who had meant to make a priest of him; that, not
|being able to abide the Spaniards, he had crossed
210


CAPTAIN IDANNY’S LOG
over to Port Royal and studied chemistry in the col-
lege there. It was there, he said, he had discovered
a preparation for curing the hides of animals so
that the hair never dropped off, but remained as firm
and fresh as life. He told me that for this secret
Davis and Atchison paid him better than any of
their clerks.
“At the end of a fortnight he sailed for Carbo-
near. He returned as I was making ready for the
summer trip, and laid a scheme before me that took
my breath away. He had spoken to Mr. Atchison,
the junior partner, and engaged a schooner, the
‘Willing Mind’; likewise a crew. I was to com-
mand her, being the only one of the lot that under-
stood navigation. For the crew he had picked up a
mixed lot at Carbonear and St. John's—good sea-
men, but not natives and mostly unknown to one
another. They were the less likely, he said, to smell
out our game until we reached the island, and for
the rest I might trust to him. He had laid our plans
before Mr. Atchison, who approved. If I listened to
him without arguing, he would make my fortune and
my sister's as well.
“I had never met a man of his quality before. I
was a young fool, yet not altogether such a fool but
I had persuaded my sister to hand the map over to
me and wore it always about me. She told me that
211


POISON ISLAND
she had shown it twice to Martin, but never for more
than two minutes at a time, and had never let it go
out of her hands. I wonder now that he didn't mur-
der her for it; and the only reason must be that he
reckoned to use me for navigating the ship, and then
to get rid of me.
“A fool I was even to the extent of letting him
talk me over when I found he had engaged twelve
hands for the cruise. There was no reason on earth
for this number except that these were the gang after
the treasure, and that he was playing with the lot of
them, same as with me.
“The upshot was that we said good-by to my
mother and sister, and crossed over to Carbonear,
where I made acquaintance with my crew. The
number of them raised no suspicion in the port, be-
cause it was taken for granted the ‘Willing Mind,”
an old salt ship, was bound for St. Jago, where ten
or a dozen hands are nothing unusual to work the
salt; and this was the argument he had used to make
me carry so many. Our pretence was we were all
bound for St. Jago, and the crew seemed to take this
for understood. I didn’t like their looks. Martin
said they were an ignorant lot, and chosen for that
reason. All I had to do was to run south, and he un-
dertook to give them the slip at the first point we
touched.
212


CAPTAIN DANNY'S LOG
“He had a wonderful command over them, con-
sidering that he was but one plotter in a dozen; and
for reasons of his own he kept them off me and the
map. On our way he proposed to me that I should
teach him a little navigation; helped me to take the
reckonings; and picked it up as easy as a child learns
its letters. But his keeping watch over me and the
map was what broke up the crew's patience. I was
holding the schooner straight down for the Gulf of
Bonduras, and by my reckoning within a few hours
of making a landfall, wondering all the while that
they took the courses I laid without grumbling—
though by this time our course was past all explain-
ing—when the quarrel broke out.
“I was standing by the wheel with a seaman, Dick
Hayling by name, a civil fellow and more to my
liking than the most of them, when we heard a racket
in the forecastle, and by and by Martin—he was too
fond, to my taste, of going down into the forecastle
and making free with the men—comes up the hatch-
way, very serious, with half a dozen behind him.
“‘Melhuish,” says he, “there's trouble below.
The men will have it that we are steering for treas-
ure. I tell them that, if you are, they are bound to
know as soon as we sight it, and neither you nor I—
being two to twelve—can prevent their having the
game in their own hands. I have told them, over
213


POISON ISLAND
and above this,” he went on, pitching his voice loud
—but having his back towards them he winked at
me—‘ that by your reckoning we shall sight land in
a few hours at farthest, and are willing to serve out
a double lot of rum; that, as soon as ever land is
sighted, you will call all hands aft and tell them our
intention, as man to man; and that then, if they
have a mind, they can elect whatever new captain
they choose.”
“The impudence of this took me fair between
wind and water. I saw, of course, that I was
trapped, and naturally my first thought was to sus-
pect the man speaking to me. I looked at him, and
he winked again, not seeming one bit abashed.
“‘You may tell them,” said I, with my eyes on
his face, ‘ that as soon as we sight land I shall have
a statement to make to them.’ I wondered what it
would be; but I said it to gain time. “As for the
rum,' I went on, “they can drink their fill. If we
sight land, I will steer the ship in.”
“‘Better go and draw the liquor yourself,’ said
he, and, picking up a ship's bucket, came aft to me.
“The second barrel in the after-hold,” he whispered.
‘And don't drink any yourself.”
“I nodded, as careless as I could. It seemed a
rash thing to go down to the after-hold, where any
one might batten me down. But, there being no help
214


CAPTAIN DANNY'S LOG
for it, I took the bucket and went. I filled it well
up to the brim from the second cask, returned to
deck, and handed it to the man who stood behind
Martin. They took it pretty respectfully, and went
below, Martin still standing amidships, where he had
stood from the first.
“‘And now,” said I, turning back to him, “per-
haps you will explain.”
“‘Reep your eye on the helmsman,’ was his an-
swer, “and pistol him if he gives trouble.”
“And with that he walked forward and stood lean-
ing over the forehatch, seeming to listen.” . . .
215


CAPTAIN DANNY'S LOG
below. I never done it, tell them! And take his
grinning face out of the way, or you'll never get it
clear! Tisn’t Christian burial—look at their fins !
Blast them, Hayling, look at their fins ! Three feet
of sand, or they’ll never stay covered. Who says as
I poisoned them? Hayling knows. Where is Hay-
ling ? 22
I am writing down all I can remember; but there
was a heap more I didn’t catch, being kept busy
enough holding him down till the strength went out
of him and he lay quiet; which it did in time, the
shivers running down through him between my
hands, and his voice muttering all the same.
I hoped he would fall asleep; for his voice weak-
ened little by little, and by and by he just lay and
stared up at the roof, with only his lips moving.
After that I must have dropped off in a doze; for I
came to myself, thinking that I heard him speak to
me. It was the rattle in his throat, belike. He lay
just the same, with his eyes staring; but, putting out
a hand to him, I knew at once that the man was dead
as a nail.
I had now to think of myself, for I knew that the
niggers in the kraal had not spared me out of kind-
ness, but only that I might tend on the white man,
who was their friend. They were even ignorant
enough to believe I had killed him. I worked out my
217


POISON ISLAND
plan: (1) I must run for it; (2) the village was
asleep, and the sooner I ran the better; (3) they had
met me heading for Cape Corse Castle, and would
hunt me that way—so I had best go straight back on
my steps; (4) they were less likely to chase me that
way because it led into the Popo country, and Mel-
huish had told me that these men were Alampas, and
afraid of the Popo tribes. True, if I headed back,
there was the river between me and Whydah, the
nearest station to eastward; but to get across it I
must trust to luck.
I crept out of the hut. The night was black as my
hat, almost, and no guard set. At the edge of the
kraal I made a dash for it, and kept running for
three miles. After that I ran sometimes, and some-
times walked. The sun was up and the day growing
hot when I came to the shore by the river; and there
in the offing lay the “Mary Pynsent” at anchor, just
as if nothing had happened, and the boat made fast
alongside as I had left her. If I could swim out and
get into the boat, my job was done. I had not
thought upon sharks while swimming ashore, but
now I thought of them, and it gave me the creeps. I
dare say I sat on the shore for an hour, staring at the
boat, before I made up my mind to risk it. There
was a plenty of sharks, too. When I reached the
boat and climbed aboard of her, I took a look around
218


CAPTAIN DANNY’S LOG
and saw their fins playing about in the shallows,
being drawn off there by the dead bodies the gun-
powder had blown into the water.
The boat had a mast and spritsail belonging to
her. I reckoned that I would wait until sunset, then
hoist sail and hold on past the river and along shore
towards Whydah. I counted on a breeze coming off-
shore towards evening, which it did, and blew all
night, so stiff that at two miles' distance, which I
kept by guess, I could smell the stink of swamps. I
ought to say here that, before starting, I had climbed
aboard the “Mary Pynsent” and provisioned the
boat. The niggers had left a few stores, but the mess
on board made me sick.
The breeze held all night, and towards daybreak
freshened so that I reckoned myself safe against any
canoe overtaking me if any should put out from
shore; for my boat, with the wind on her quarter,
was making from six to seven knots. She measured
seventeen feet.
The breeze dried up as the day grew hotter, and
in the end I downed sail and rowed the last few
miles. I knew Whydah pretty well, having had deal-
ings there. It is a fine place, with orange-trees grow-
ing wild and great green meadows, and rivers chock
full of fish, and the whole of it full of fever as an egg
is of meat. The factory there was kept by an old
219 -


POISON ISLAND
man, an Englishman, who pretended to be Dutch and
called himself Klootz, but was known to all as Bris-
tol Pete. The building stood on a rise at the back of
the swamps. It had a verandah in front, with a tier
of guns which he loaded and fired off on King
George's birthday, and in the rear a hell of a bar-
racks, where he kept the slaves, ready for dealing.
He was turned sixty and grown careless in his talk,
and he lived there with nine wives and ten strapping
daughters. Sons did not thrive with him, somehow.
In the matter of men he was short-handed, his habit
being to entice seamen off the ships trading there to
take service with him on the promise of marrying
them up to his daughters. It looked like a good
speculation, for the old man had money. But every
one of the women was a widow, and the most of them
widowed two-deep. The climate never agreed with
the poor fellows, and just now he had over four hun-
dred slaves in barracks, and only one son-in-law, an
Englishman, to look after them.
The old man made me welcome. A father couldn’t
have shown himself kinder, and when I told him
about the “Mary Pynsent’’ he could hardly contain
himself.
“If there's one thing more than another I enjoy
at my age,” said he, “it’s a salvage job.”
He actually left the agent—A. G.-in charge of
220


CAPTAIN DANNY’S LOG
the slaves for three days, while he and I and three of
the women took boat and went after the vessel. We
found her still at her moorings, and brought her
round to Whydah, he and me working her with the
youngest of the three (Sarah by name), while the
two others cleaned ship. I cannot say why exactly,
but this woman appeared superior to her sisters, be-
sides being the best looking. The old man—he had
an eye lifting for everything—took notice of this al-
most before I knew it myself, and put it to me that
I couldn’t do better than to marry her. The woman,
being asked, was willing. She had lost two husbands
already, she told me, but the third time was luck.
Her father read the service over us, out of a Testa-
ment he always carried in his pocket. As for me,
since my poor wife's death I had thoroughly given
myself over to the devil, and did not care. Old
IClootz was first-rate company; though living in that
forsaken place he seemed to be a dictionary about
every ship that had sailed the seas for forty years
past, and to know every scandal about her. He lis-
tened, too, though he seemed to be talking in his full-
hearted way all the time. And the end was that I
told him about Melhuish, and showed him the map.
He had heard about Melhuish, as about everything
else; but the map did truly surprise him. We stud-
ied it together, and he wound up by saying:
221


POISON ISLAND
“There's a clever fellow somewhere at the bottom
of this, and I should like to make his acquaintance.”
Said I: “Then you believe there is such a treas-
ure hidden?”
“Lord love you,” said he, “I know all about that!
It happened in the year '86 at Puerto Bello. A
Spaniard, Bartholomew Diaz, that had been flogged
for some trouble in the mines, stirred up a revolt
among the niggers and half-breeds, and came march-
ing down upon the coast at the head of 14,000 or
15,000 men, sacking the convents and looting the
mines on his way. He gave himself out to be some
sort of religious prophet, and this brought the blacks
like flies round a honey-pot. The news of it caught
Puerto Bello at a moment when there was not a sin-
gle Royal ship in the harbor. The Governor lost
his head and the priests likewise. Getting word that
Diaz was marching straight on the place, and not five
leagues distant, they fell to emptying the banks in a
panic, stripping the churches, and fetching up treas-
ure from the vaults of the religious houses. There
happened to be a schooner lying in the harbor—the
‘Rosaway,’ built at Marblehead—lately taken by the
Spaniards off Campeachy, with her crew, that were
under lock and key ashore, waiting trial for cutting
logwood without license. The priests commandeered
this vessel and piled her up with gold, the Governor
222


CAPTAIN IDANNY’S LOG
sending down a guard of soldiers to protect it, but in
the middle of the night, on an alarm that Diaz
had come within a mile of the gates, the dunderhead
drew off half of this guard to strengthen the garrison.
On their way back to the citadel these soldiers were
met and passed in the dark by the ‘Rosaway's 'crew,
that had managed to break prison, and in the confu-
sion had somehow picked up the password. Sparke
was the name of ‘Rosaway’s ’ skipper, a Marblehead
man; the mate, Griffiths, came from somewhere in
Wales, the rest, five in number, being likewise mixed
English and Americans. They picked up a shore-
boat down by the harbor, rowed off to the ship, got
on board by means of the password, and within
twenty minutes had knocked all the Spaniards on the
head, themselves losing only one man. Thereupon,
of course, they slipped cable and stood out to sea.
Next morning the ‘Rosaway’ hadn't been three
hours out of sight before two Spanish gunships came
sailing in from Cartagena, having been sent over in a
hurry to protect the place, and one of them started in
chase. The ‘Rosaway,’ being speedy, got away for
the time, and it was not till three weeks later that the
Spaniards ran down on her, snug and tight at anchor
in a creek of this same island of Mortallone. She was
empty as a drum, and her crew ashore in a pretty
state of fever and mutiny. The Spaniards landed
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POISON ISLAND
and took the lot, all but the mate Griffiths, that was
supposed to have been knifed by Sparke, but two of
the prisoners declared that he was alive and hiding.
They hanged four, saving only Sparke, keeping him
to show where the treasure was hidden. He led them
half-way across the island, lured them into a swamp,
and made a bolt to escape, and the tale is he was get-
ting clear off when one of the Spanish seamen let fly
with his musket into the bushes and bowled him over
like a rabbit. It was a chance shot, and of course it
put an end to all hope of finding the treasure. They
ransacked the island for a week or more, but found
never a dollar; and before giving it up some inclined
to believe what one of the prisoners had said, that the
treasure had never been buried in Mortallone at all,
but in the island of Roatan, some leagues to the east-
ward. But, if you ask my opinion, the stranger that
took lodgings with Melhuish was the mate Griffiths,
and no other. There has always been rumors that he
got away with the secret.
“Know about it?” said old Klootz. “Why, there
was even a song made up about it: -
“‘O, we threw the bodies over, and forth we did stand
Till the tenth day we sighted what seemed a pleasant land,
And alongst the Kays of Mortallone!”
From the first the old man had no doubt but we
had struck the secret. All the way home he was
224 -


CAPTAIN DANNY’S LOG
A. G.; and we allowed that, for all his heartiness, the
old man was enough to madden a saint. The slaves
we landed fetched about £19 on an average. They
cost at starting, from £2 to £3; but the ones that had
died at sea knocked a hole in the profits.
At Barbadoes Klootz left the womenfolk in a kind
of boarding-house, and hired a pinnace, twenty tons,
to take us across to the main, pretending he wanted
to inquire into the market there. Klootz and I made
the whole crew, with A. G., who could not navigate.
January 17th, late in the afternoon, we ran down
upon Mortallone Island and anchored off the Kays,
north of Gable Point. Next morning we out with
the boat and landed. Time, about three-quarters of
an hour short of low water.
The Kays are nothing but sand. At low water, and
for an hour before and after, you can cross to Gable
Point dryshod. We spent that day getting bearings;
dug a little, but nothing to reward us. Next day we
got to work early. Had been digging for two hours,
when we turned up the first body. It turned A. G.
poorly in the stomach, and he sat down to watch us.
Half an hour later we struck the first of the chests.
It did not hold more than five shillings' worth, and
we saw that somebody had been there before us.
The third day we turned up three more bodies, be-
sides two chests, empty as before, and a full one. We
227


POISON ISLAND
stove it in, turned the stuff into the boat, and made
our way back to the ship.
The fourth day we had scarcely started to dig be-
fore Klootz struck on a second chest that sounded like
another full one—
Here Miss Belcher turned a page, glanced over-
leaf, and came to a full stop.
“For pity’s sake, Lydia ” protested Mr.
Rogers, who sat leaning forward, his elbows on the
table.
“There's no more,” Miss Belcher announced.
“No more ?”
“Not a word.” She fumbled quickly through the
remaining blank leaves. “Not a word more,” she
repeated.
“Death cut short his hand,” said Captain Brans-
come, his voice breaking in upon a long silence.
“Cut short his fiddlestick-end l’” snapped Miss
Belcher. “The man funked it at the last moment—
started out promising to tell the whole truth, but re-
fused the fence. Look back at the story, and you can
see him losing heart. Just note that when he comes
to A. G.-that's the man Aaron Glass, I suppose—he
dares not write down the man's name. There has
been foul work, and he's afraid of it. That's as plain
as the nose on my face.”
228


CAPTAIN DANNY'S LOG
“But what’s to be done?” asked Mr. Rogers, pick-
ing up the manuscript and turning its pages irritably.
“Dear me,” said a voice, “there is surely but one
thing to be done! We must go and search for our-
selves.”
We all turned and stared at Plinny.
229


CHAPTER XXI
IN WHICH PLINNY SURPRISES EVERY ONE
EveRYBody stared; and this had the effect of mak-
ing the dear, good creature blush to the eyes.
“I beg your pardon, ma'am?” said Mr. Jack
Rogers.
“It-it was not for me to say so, perhaps.” Her
voice quavered a little, and now a pair of bright tears
trembled on her lashes, but she kept up her chin
bravely and seemed to take courage as she went on.
“I am aware, sir, that in all matters of hazard and
enterprise it is for the gentlemen to take the lead. If
I appear forward—if I speak too impulsively—my
affection for Harry must be my excuse.”
Mr. Rogers stared at Captain Branscome, and
from Captain Branscome to Mr. Goodfellow, but
their faces did not help him.
“That's all very well, ma'am. But an expedition
to the other end of the world—if that's what you sug-
gest ?—at a moment's notice—on what, as like or not,
may turn out to be a wild-goose chase—Lord bless
230


PLINNY SURPRISES EVERY ONE
my soul!” wound up Mr. Rogers incoherently, fall-
ing back in his chair.
“I was not proposing to start at a moment's no-
tice,” replied Plinny with extreme simplicity.
“There will, of course, be many details to arrange;
and I do not forget that we are in the house of
mourning. The poor dear Major claims our first
thoughts, naturally. Yes, yes; there must be a hun-
dred and one details to be discussed hereafter—at a
fitting time; and it may be many weeks before we
find ourselves actually launched—if I may use the
expression—upon the bosom of the deep.”
“We 2° gasped Mr. Rogers, and again gazed
around; but we others had no attention to spare for
him. “We? Who are ‘we ??”
“Why, all of us, sir, if I might dare to propose
it; or at least as many as possible of us whom the
hand of Providence has so mysteriously brought
together. I will confess that while you were talk-
ing just now, discussing this secret which, properly
speaking, belongs to Harry alone, I doubted the
prudence of it 22
“And, by Jingo, you were right!” put in Miss
Belcher.
“With your leave, ma'am,” Plinny went on, “I
have come to think otherwise. To begin with, but
for Captain Branscome the map would never have
231


POISON ISLAND
found its way to the Major's room, where Harry dis-
covered it; but might—nay, probably would—have
been stolen by the wicked man who committed this
crime to get possession of it. Again, but for Mr.
Goodfellow this written narrative would undoubtedly
have been lost to us, and the map, if not meaningless,
might have seemed a clew not worth the risk of fol-
lowing. In short, ma’am’—Plinny turned again to
Miss Belcher—“I saw that each of us at this table
had been wonderfully brought here by the hand of
Providence. And from this I went on to see, and
with wonder and thankfulness, that here was a secret,
sought after by many evil-doers, which had yet come
into the keeping of six persons, all of them honest—
as I will dare to say—and wishful only to do good.
Consider, ma'am, how unlikely this was, after the
many bold, bad hands that have reached out for it.
And will you tell me that here is accident only, and
not the finger of Providence itself? At first, indeed,
we suspected Captain Branscome and Mr. Good-
fellow: they were strangers to us, and, as if that we
might be tested, they came to us under suspicion.”
Here Mr. Goodfellow put up a hand and dubiously
felt his nose, which was yet swollen somewhat from
his first encounter with Mr. Rogers. “But they have
proved their innocence; Harry gives me his word for
them; and I do not think,” said Plinny, “that you,
232


PLINNY SURPRISES EVERY ONE
ma'am, can have heard Captain Branscome's story
without honoring him.”
Miss Belcher, thus appealed to, answered only
with a grunt, at the same time shooting from under
her shaggy eyebrows an amused glance at the Cap-
tain, who stared at the tablecloth to hide his confu-
sion, which, however, was betrayed by a pair of very
red ears.
“All this,” pursued Plinny, “I saw by degrees
and that it was marvellous; but next came something
more marvellous still, for I saw that if one had gone
forth to choose six persons to carry out this business,
he could not have chosen six better fitted for it.”
From the effect of this astounding proposition
Miss Lydia Belcher was the first to recover herself.
“Thank you, my dear,” she murmured; “on be-
half of myself and the company, as they say. It is
true that in all these years I have overlooked my
qualifications for a buccaneering job; but I’ll think
them out as you proceed.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Plinny, “I wasn’t counting on
you, ma'am, to accompany this expedition; nor on
Mr. Rogers. You are, if I may say so, great folks
as compared with us, and have public duties—a stake
in the country—great wealth to administer. Yet I
was thinking that, while we are abroad, there may
happen to be business at home requiring attention,
233


POISON ISLAND
and that we may perhaps rely on you—who have
shown so much interest in this sad affair.”
“Meaning that we-or I, at any rate—have been
dipping our fingers pretty deep into this pie. Well,
and so I have; and thank you again, my dear, for
putting it so delicately.”
“But I meant nothing of the sort—indeed I
didn't!” protested Plinny.
“Tut, tut! Of course you didn't; but it's the
truth, nevertheless. Well, then, it appears that Jack
Rogers and I are to be the spotsmen” for this little
expedition, and that you and Captain Branscome,
and Mr. Goodfellow, and—yes, and Harry, too, I
suppose—are to be the Red Rovers and scour the
Spanish Main. All right; only you don’t look it, ex-
actly.”
“But is not that half the battle?” urged the in-
domitable Plinny. “They’ll be so much the less
likely to suspect us.”
“They—whoever they may be—will certainly be
so far deluded.”
“And really—if you will consider it, ma'am—
what I am proposing is not ridiculous at all. For
what is chiefly wanted for such an adventure? In
* Miss Belcher was here employing a smuggling term. A
“spotsman” is the agent who arranges for a run of goods, and
directs the operation from the shore, without necessarily taking
a part in it.
234


PLINNY SURPRISES EVERY ONE
the first place, a ship—and thank God I have means
to hire one—that will be my contribution; in the sec-
ond place, a trustworthy navigator—and here, by the
most unexpected good fortune, we have Captain
Branscome; in the third place, a carpenter, to pro-
vide us with shelter on the island and be at hand in
case of accident to the vessel—and here is Mr. Good-
fellow; while as for Harry—” Plinny hesitated,
for the moment at a loss; then her face brightened
suddenly. “Harry can climb a tree, and the instruc-
tions on the back of the map point to this as neces-
sary. Harry will be invaluable!”
I could have wrung her hand; but Plinny, having
finished her justification of the ways of Providence,
had taken off her spectacles and was breathing on
them and polishing them with a small silk handker-
chief which she ever kept handy for that purpose.
“Captain Branscome,” said Miss Belcher sharply,
“will you be so good as to give us your opin-
ion ?”
Captain Branscome lifted his head.
“My mind, if you’ll excuse me, ma'am, works a
bit slowly, and always did. But there's no denying
that Miss Plinlimmon has given the sense of it.”
&&. Hey ? 35
“To be sure,” said the Captain, tracing with his
finger an imaginary pattern on the tablecloth, “her
235


POISON ISLAND
courage carries her too far—as in this talk about hir-
ing a ship. A ship needs a crew; a crew that could be
trusted on a treasure-hunt is perhaps the most diffi-
cult to find in the whole world; and when you’ve
found one to rely upon, your troubles are only just
beginning. The main trouble is with the ship, and
that's what no landsman can ever understand. A
ship's the most public thing under heaven. You think
of her, maybe, as something that puts out over the
horizon, and is lost to sight for months. But that
helps nothing. She must clear from a port, and to a
port sooner or later she must come; and in both ports
a hundred curious people at least must know all about
her business.
“I don’t say that a ship, once out of sight, cannot
be made away with—though even that, with a crew to
tell tales, has beaten some of the cleverest heads; but
to take out a ship and fill her up with treasure, and
bring her home and unload her without any one's
knowing — that’s a feat that (if you’ll excuse me)
I’ve heard a hundred liars discuss at one time
and another; and one has said it can be done in
this way, and another in that, but never a one in
my hearing has found a way that would deceive a
child.”
“Yet you said, a moment since, that Miss Plinlim-
mon had given the sense of it?”
236


POISON ISLAND
all to the island is easy enough; and, once landed,
you can explore for the treasure without a soul to sus-
pect you. Make sure it is there, and after that, 'twill
go hard with us if we cannot hit on a scheme for
bringing away the stuff.”
“To be sure,” said Plinny, “yours is the wisest
plan. First let us ascertain that the treasure exists
(though for my part I have no doubt of it), and what
is the amount. What further steps we may take will
naturally depend on this.”
“Jack,” said Miss Belcher sharply, as Mr. Rogers
put up a hand to his face to hide a grin, “don’t make
a fool of yourself, but take a lesson in the beauty of
common-sense. It will help you on the bench.”
Her own face was grave as a judge's. As for Cap-
tain Branscome, he sat gazing as though, like the girl
in the fairy tale, Plinny spoke in rubies and dia-
monds.
“But I do not see,” she confessed, with a small
puckering of the brows, “that I have suggested any-
thing so very clever.”
“Why, ma'am, as the lady puts it, you have been
talking common sense — the heavenliest common
sense—and once you’ve started us upon common sense
there's no such thing as a difficulty. “Let us go to
the island,' you said; and with that at a stroke you
get rid of the worst danger we have to fear, which is
238


PLINNY SURPRISES EVERY ONE
suspicion. For who's to suspect such a company as
this present, or any part of it, of being after treasure?
“Let us make it a pleasure trip,’ said you, or words
to that effect; and what follows but that the whole
journey is made cheap and simple? We book our
passages in the Kingston packet. Peace has been
declared with France; and what more natural than
that a party of English should be travelling to see
the West Indies? Or what more likely than that,
after what has happened, the doctor has advised a
sea voyage, to soothe your mind? As for me, I am
Harry's tutor: every one in Falmouth knows it, and
thinks me lucky to get the billet. It won’t take five
minutes to explain Mr. Goodfellow here, just as
25
easily
“And as for me,” struck in Miss Belcher, “I’m
an old madwoman, with more money than I know
what to do with. And as for Jack Rogers, I’m elop-
ing with him to a coral island.”
Mr. Rogers checked himself on the edge of a
guffaw.
“But, I say, Lydia, you’re not serious about
this?” he asked.
“I don’t know, Jack. I rather think I am,” she
said, after a moment's pause. “I’m getting an old
woman, mad or not; and the hours drag with me
sometimes up at the house. But ’’—and here she
239


PLINNY SURPRISES EVERY ONE
or until lately residing in St. Kitts, who has made no
less than eleven such voyages to the Delaware—when-
ever, in short, her daughter was expecting an ad-
dition to her family.”
“Good,” said Miss Belcher. “I have found some
one to impersonate; and that settles it.”
“I really think, ma'am,” said Captain Brans-
come, “that, once in Jamaica, we shall have no diffi-
culty in finding, at the western end of the island,
just the ship we require.”
241


CHAPTER XXII
A STRANGE MAN IN THE GARDEN
I CANNot think why it should be, but quite a
number of persons acquainted by hearsay with my
story have confessed that nothing in it has astonished
them so much as this decision of ours to sail in quest
of the treasure. I repeat, Why? That Plinny—gen-
tle, romantic soul—should have been the first to sug-
gest it; that she should have urged it so hardily; this,
to be sure, surprised me for the moment, as with more
excuse it may surprise those who never had the privi-
lege to know her. Aware of this, I have always, in
telling the tale, taken care that this credit shall go to
her. But really, when you think it over, what else
could we have done? What was her advice but (as
Miss Belcher at once called it) the purest common
sense?
“Bless my soul!'” she added. “Except for the
sea voyage, it might be a middle-aged jaunt in a po'-
shay!”
There remained, to be sure, the risk that on our
passage to Jamaica we might be waylaid by an Ameri-
242


A STRANGE MAN IN THE GARDEN
can privateer; but this was a danger incident to all
who sailed on board his Majesty's Post Office packets
in the year 1814. That anything might be feared
from the man Glass, none of us (I believe) stopped
to consider. We thought of him only as a foiled
criminal, a fugitive from justice, and speculated only
on the chance that, with the hue-and-cry out and the
whole countryside placarded, the Plymouth runners
would lay him by the heels.
Undoubtedly he had made for Plymouth. From
Torpoint came news that a man answering to his de-
scription had crossed the ferry there on the morning
after the murder. The regular ferryman there had
stepped into a public-house for his regular morn-
ing glass of rum-and-water; and in his absence the
small boy who acted as substitute had ferried a stran-
ger across. The stranger, who appeared to be in a
sweating hurry, had rewarded the boy with half a
crown; and the boy, rowing back to the Torpoint side
and finding his master still in the tavern, had kept
his own counsel and the money. Now the hue-and-
cry had frightened him into confessing; and his de-
scription left no doubt that the impatient passenger
was Aaron Glass.
Such a man had been observed, about two hours
later, mingling in a fish auction on the Barbican; and
had actually bidden for a boatload of mackerel, but
243


POISON ISLAND
without purchasing. From the auction he had
walked away in the direction of Southside Street.
And from that point all trace of him was lost. Mr.
Rogers, who had posted straight to Plymouth from
the inquest, spent a couple of days in pushing in-
quiries here, there, and everywhere. But not even the
promise of a clew rewarded him. Two foreign-going
vessels and four coasters had sailed from the port on
the morning after the murder. The coasters were
duly met, boarded, and searched at their ports of ar-
rival—two at Liverpool, one at Milford, and one at
Gravesend—but without result. If, as seemed
likely, the man had contrived to ship himself on board
the “Hussar” brig, bound for Barcelona, or the
“Mary Harvey,” a full-rigged ship, for Rio, the
chances of bringing him to justice might be consid-
ered nil–or almost nil; for Mr. Rogers had some
hope of the “Hussar” being overtaken and spoken
by a frigate which happened to be starting, two days
later, to join our fleet in the Mediterranean.
During the week or two that followed my father's
funeral little was said of our expedition, although I
understood from Plinny that the start would only be
delayed until she and the lawyers had proved the will
and put his estate in order for me. My father's pen-
sion had, of course, perished with him; but he left
me a small sum in the Funds, bearing interest be-
244


POISON ISLAND
take his inamorata into his confidence; and this was
conceded after Miss Belcher had used the opportunity
of a day's marketing in Plymouth to call at the dairy-
shop in Treville Street and make the lady's acquaint-
ance. -
“A very sensible young person,” she reported;
“ and of the two I’d sooner trust her than Goodfellow
to keep a still tongue. There's no danger in that
quarter!”
Nor was there, as it proved. Mr. Goodfellow told
us that he could hardly contain himself whenever he
thought of his prospects; “for,” said he, “I was
born a parish apprentice—in place of which here I
be at the age of twenty with two fortunes waiting for
me, one at each end of the world.”
At length, in the last week of July, Messrs. Hard-
ing and Whiteway announced that all formalities
were completed; and three days later a bill appeared
on the whitewashed front of Minden Cottage an-
nouncing that this desirable freehold residence with
two and a half acres of land would be sold by public
auction on August 6th, at 1.30 o'clock P.M., in the
Royal Hotel, Plymouth. Any particulars not men-
tioned in the bills would be readily furnished on ap-
plication at the office of the vendor's solicitors; and
parties wishing to inspect the premises might obtain
the keys from Miss Belcher's lodgekeeper, Mr. Pol-
246


A STRANGE MAN IN THE GARDEN
glaze—that is to say, from the nearest dwelling-house
down the road.
Plinny, with the help of half a dozen of Miss Bel-
cher's men and a couple of wagons, had employed
these three days in removing our furniture to the
great cricket-pavilion above the hill—an excellent
storehouse—where, for the time, it would remain in
charge of Mr. Saunders, the head keeper. We our-
selves removed to the shelter of Miss Belcher's lordly
roof, as her guests; and Ann, the cook, to a cottage
on the home farm, where that lady—who usually su-
perintended her own dairy—had offered her the post
of locum tenens until our return from foreign travel.
By the morning when the bill-poster came and affixed
the notice of sale, Minden Cottage stood dismantled, a
melancholy shell, inhabited only by memories for us,
and for our country neighbors (I should add) by
ghostly terrors.
This was one of the many grounds on which we
agreed that the Lord Chancellor had acted foolishly
in insisting upon a public auction. His lordship, to
be sure, could not be expected to know that recent
events had utterly depreciated the selling value of
Minden Cottage over the whole of south-east Corn-
wall; that the homeward trudging laborer would
breathe a prayer as he neared it along the highroad
in the dark, and would shut his eyes and run by it,
247


POISON ISLAND
nor draw breath until he reached the lodge, down
the road; that quite a number of Christian folk who
had been used to envy my father the snuggest little
retreat within twenty miles would now have refused
a hundred pounds to spend one night in it. So it was,
however; and the chance of an “out”-bidder might
be passed over as negligible. On the other hand, Miss
Belcher had offered Messrs. Harding and Whiteway
a handsome and more than sufficient price for the
property. She wanted it to round off her estate, out
of which, at present, it cut a small cantle and at an
awkward corner. Moreover, if Miss Belcher had not
come forward, Plinny was prepared to purchase.
That Miss Belcher would acquire the place no one
doubted. Still, a public sale it had to be.
Early in the afternoon of the 5th, she left us for
Plymouth, to make arrangements for the bidding. I
did not see her depart, having been occupied since five
in the morning in a glorious otter-hunt, for which
Mr. Rogers, the night before, had brought over his
hounds. The heat of the day found us far up-stream,
and a good ten miles from home; and by the time Mr.
Rogers had returned his pack to Miss Belcher's hos-
pitable kennels the sun was low in the west. I know
nothing that will make a man more honestly dirty
than a long otter-hunt, followed by a perspiring
tramp along a dusty road. From feet to waist I was
248


A STRANGE MAN IN THE GARDEN
a cake of dried mud overlaid with dust; I had dust
in my hair, in the creases of my clothes, in the pores
of my skin. I needed ablution far beyond the re-
sources of Miss Belcher's establishment, which, to
tell the truth, left a good deal to seek in the apparatus
of personal cleanliness; and, snatching up the clean
shirt and suit of clothes, which the ever-provident
Plinny had laid out on the bed for me, Iran down
across the park to the stream under the plantation.
Little rain had fallen for a month past, and, arriv-
ing at the pool on which I had counted for a bath, I
found it almost dry. While I stood there, in two
minds whether to return or to strip and make the best
of it, I bethought me that—although I had never
bathed there in my life—the stream would be better
worth trying where it ran through the now deserted
garden of Minden Cottage, below the summer-house.
The bottom might be muddy, but the dam which my
father had built there secured a sufficiency of water
in the hottest months. I picked up my clothes again,
and, following the stream up to the little door in the
garden wall, pushed open the rusty latch and entered
the garden.
The hour, as I have said, was drawing on to dusk;
and, as perhaps I ought to say, I am by nature not
inclined to nervousness (or I had not ventured so
near that particular spot); but scared enough I was,
249


POISON ISLAND
as I stepped onto the little foot-bridge, to see a man
standing by the doorway of the summer-house.
For an instant a terror seized me that it might be a
ghost, or, worse, the man himself, Aaron Glass. But
a second glance, as I halted on a hair-trigger—so to
speak—to turn and run for my life, assured me that
the man was a stranger.
He wore a suit of black, and a soft hat of Panama
straw with a broad brim, and held in his hand a some-
thing strange to me, and, indeed, as yet almost un-
known in England—an umbrella. It had a dusky
white covering, and he held it by the middle, as
though he had been engaged in taking measurements
with it when my entrance surprised him.
It appeared to me for a moment that I had not
only surprised him but frightened him, for the face
he turned to me wore a yellowish pallor like that of
old ivory. Yet when he drew himself up and spoke,
I seemed to know in an instant that this was his
natural color. The face itself was large and fleshy,
with bold, commanding features; a face, on second
thoughts, impossible to connect with terror.
“Hallo, little boy! What are you doing in this
garden?”
I answered him, stammering, that I was come to
bathe; and while I answered I was still in two minds
about running, for his voice, appearance, bearing, all
250


A STRANGE MAN IN THE GARDEN
alike puzzled me. He spoke genially, with some-
thing foreign in his accent. I could not determine
his age at all. At first glance he seemed to be quite
an old man, and not only old but weary; yet he
walked without a stoop, and as he came slowly across
the turf to the bridge-end I saw that his hair was
black and glossy, and his large face unwrinkled as a
child’s.
“Not after the plums, eh?”
“No, sir; and besides,” said I, picking up my
courage, “there's no harm if I am. The garden
belongs to me.”
“So 2° He regarded me for some seconds, his
hands clasping the umbrella behind his back. The
sight of the bundle of black clothes I carried appar-
ently satisfied him. “Then you have right to ask
what brings me here. I answer, Curiosity. What
became of the man who did it?” he asked, with a
glance over his shoulder towards the summer-house.
“Nobody knows, sir,” I answered, as soon as I
had recovered myself from the thrust of this point-
blank question.
“Disappeared, hey?”
“Yes, sir.”
“I fancy I could put my hand on him,” he said
very coolly, after a pause. And I began to think I
had to deal with a madman.
251


* POISON ISLAND
“Suppose, now, that I do catch him,” he went on
after a pause. “What shall I do with him? In my
country—for I live a great way off—we either choke
a murderer or cut off his head with a knife.”
I told him—since he waited for me to say some-
thing—how in England we disposed of our worst
criminals.
“No, you don’t,” said he quietly. “You let some
of the worst go, and the very worst (as you believe)
you banish to an island, treating them as the old
Romans treated theirs. Now, I’m a traveller; and
where do you suppose I spent this day month?”
I could not give a guess.
“Why, on the island of Elba. I’m curious, you
know, especially in the matter of criminals; so I
came—oh, a tremendous way!—to have a look at
Napoleon Bonaparte, there. Now I'll tell you
another thing: he's going to escape in a month or
two, when his plans are ready. I had that from his
own lips; and, what's more, I heard it again in
Paris a week later. From Paris I came across to
London, and from London down to Plymouth, and
from Plymouth I was to have travelled straight to
Falmouth, to take my passage home, when I heard
of what had happened here, and that the house was
for sale. So I stopped to have a look at it, for I am
curious, I tell you.”
252


A STRANGE MAN IN THE GARDEN
He went on to prove his curiosity by asking me a
score of questions about myself: my age, my choice
of a profession, my relatives (I told him I had
none), and my schooling. He drew me (I cannot re-
member how) into a description of Plinny, and
agreed with me that she must be a woman in a thou-
sand; asked where she lived at present, and regretted
—pulling out his watch—that he had not time to
make her acquaintance. Oddly enough, I felt when
he said it that this was no idle speech, but that only
time prevented him from walking up the hill and
paying his respects. I felt also, the longer we talked,
I will not say a fear of him, for his manner was
too urbane to permit it, but an increasing respect.
Crazed he might be, as his questions were discon-
nected, and now and again nearly bewildering, as
when he asked if my father had travelled much
abroad, and again if I really preferred to remain
idle at home instead of returning to finish my educa-
tion with Mr. Stimcoe; but his manner of asking
compelled an answer. I could not tell myself if
I liked or disliked the man, he differed so entirely
from any one I had ever seen in my life. His ques-
tions were intimate ones, yet inoffensive. I answered
them all, with a sense of talking to some one either
immensely old or divided from me by hundreds of
miles.
253


POISON ISLAND
In the midst of our talk, and while he was press-
ing me with questions about Mr. and Mrs. Stim-
coe, he suddenly lifted his head, and stood lis-
tening.
“Hallo! ” said he. “Bere's the coach.”
I had heard nothing, though my ears are pretty
sharp. But sure enough, though not until a couple
of minutes had passed, the wheels of the Highflyer,
our evening coach to Plymouth, sounded far along
the road.
The stranger pulled out a bunch of keys from his
pocket.
“I will ask you as a favor,” said he, “to return
these to the lodge-keeper, from whom I borrowed
them. Will you be so kind?”
I said that I would do so with pleasure.
“I have been over the house. It appears—the
lodge-keeper tells me—that I have been almost the
only visitor to inspect it. That’s queer, for I should
have thought that to an amateur in crime—with a
taste for discovery — it offered great possibilities.
But never mind, child,” said this strange man, and
shook hands. “I have great hopes of finding the
scoundrel, and of dealing with him. Eh? ‘How 2°
Well, if we get him upon an island, he shan’t get
away, like Napoleon.”
With these words, which I did not understand in
y
254


A STRANGE MAN IN THE GARDEN
the least, he turned and left me, passing out into the
lane by the side-gate. A minute later I heard the
coach pull up, and yet a minute later roll on again,
conveying him toward Plymouth. I stole a glance at
the water, at the summer-house and the tree behind
it. Somehow in the twilight they all wore an un-
canny look. On my way home—for I decided to
return and take my bath in the house, after all—my
mind kept running on a story of Ann the cook's,
about a man (a relative of hers, she said) who had
once seen the devil. And yet the stranger had tipped
me a guinea at parting, nor was it (except metaphori-
cally) red hot in my pocket.
Next evening Miss Belcher rode back to us from
Plymouth with the announcement that Minden Cot-
tage was hers. She had not attended the sale in per-
son, but Maddicombe, her lawyer, had started the
bidding (under her instruction) at precisely the sum
which she had privately offered Messrs. Harding and
Whiteway. There was no competition. In fact,
Maddicombe reported that, apart from the auction-
eers and himself, but six persons attended the sale.
Of these, five were local acquaintances of his whom
he knew to be attracted only by curiosity. Of the
sixth, a stranger, he had been afraid at first; but the
man appeared to be a visitor, who had wandered into
255


CHAPTER XXIII
IHOW WIE SAILED TO THE ISLAND
THE business of the sale concluded, we had noth-
ing to detain us, and an order was at once sent to
Captain Branscome to book our passages in the next
packet for the West Indies. Meanwhile we held long
discussions on details of outfit, for since our impedi-
menta included two moderately heavy chests—the
one of guns and ammunition, the other of spades,
picks, hatchets, and other tools—and since on reach-
ing Jamaica we must take a considerable journey on
muleback, it was important to cut our personal lug-
gage down to the barest necessities. We did not for-
get a medicine-chest.
On the 28th of August we received word from
Captain Branscome that he had taken berths for us
on the “Townshend’” packet, commanded by an old
friend of his, a Captain Harrison. She was due to
sail on the 1st. Accordingly, on August 30th we
travelled down by Royal Mail to Falmouth, Mr. Rog-
257


POISON ISLAND
ers following that same noon by the Highflyer; spent
a busy day in making some last purchases, and a
sleepless night in the noisiest of hotels; and went on
board soon after breakfast, to be welcomed there by
Mr. Goodfellow, who had got over his parting three
days before, at Plymouth, and professed himself to
be in the very jolliest of spirits. At the head of the
after-companion Captain Branscome met us and con-
ducted us below, to introduce us to our quarters and
be complimented on the thought and care he had be-
stowed in choosing them and fitting them up—for
the ladies' comfort especially. He himself lodged
forward, in a small double cabin which he shared
with Mr. Goodfellow.
I will spare the reader a description of our de-
parture and of the passage to Jamaica, not only be-
cause they were quite uneventful (we did not even
sight a privateer), but because they have been cele-
brated in verse by Plinny, in a descriptive poem of
five cantos and some four thousand lines, entitled
“The Voyage: with an Englishwoman's Reflections
on her Favorite Element,” a few extracts from which
I am permitted to quote:
We sailed for Kingston in the “Townshend” packet.
The day auspicious was, and calm the heavens:
Not so the scene on board—oh, what a racket!
And everything on deck apparently at sixes and sevens.
258


HOW WB SAILED TO THE ISLAND
Mail-bags and passengers mixed up in every direction,
The latter engaged with their relatives in fond farewells;
On the one hand the faltering accents of affection,
On the other the unpolisht seamen emitting yells,
With criticisms of a Custom House official
Whose action for some reason they resented as prejudicial.
At length the last farewell is said,
The anchor tripped, the gangway clear'd;
"Twas five P.M. ere past Pendennis Head
Forth to th’ unfathomable deep we steer'd.
The bo'sun piped (he wore a manly beard);
And while th’ attentive crew the braces trimm'd
(Alluding to the ship's), and while from observation
The coast receded, we with eyes bedimm'd
Indulged in feelings natural to the situation.
Albion! My Albion! So called from the hue
Thy cliffs wear by the Straits of Dover—
Though darker in this neighborhood—still adieu!
Albion, adieu! I feel myself a rover.
Thy sons instinctively take to the water,
And so will I, albeit but a daughter.
A page later, in more tripping metre (which re-
flects her gayety of spirits), she describes the ship:
The “Townshend” packet is a gallant brig
Of one hundred and eighty tons;
'Tis the Postmaster-General's favorite rig,
And she carries six useful guns.
As she sails, as she sails
With his Majesty's mails,
Hurrah for her long six-pounders!
They relieve our fear
Of a privateer,
But what shall we do if she founders?
259


POISON ISLAND
I prefer not to think of any such contingency.
She has excellent sailing qualities,
And her captain appears to rule with stringency
And to be averse from minor frivolities.
With the late Admiral Nelson he may not provoke comparison
But one and all place confidence in Captain Harrison.
While Plinny cultivated the Muse—and with the
more zest as, to her pride and delight, she found her-
self immune from sea-sickness—I kept up, through
the long mornings, the pretence of studying mathe-
matics with Captain Branscome, and regularly at
noon received a lesson in taking the ship's bearings.
Our fellow-voyagers were mostly merchants and
agents bound for Jamaica, the trade of which had
revived since the restoration of peace; and among
them we passed for a well-to-do family travelling
partly for pleasure to visit the island, but partly also
with an idea of buying a plantation and settling
there—which explained the presence of Mr. Good-
fellow.
Our captain justified the confidence so poetically
expressed above. He sailed his ship along steadily,
taking no risks, and after a pleasant passage of
thirty-six days brought her to anchor in Carlisle Bay,
Barbadoes, where we were due to deliver some bags
of mails. I have said that the trip was uneventful:
it was even without incident save for some fooleries
260


HOW WB SAILED TO THE ISLAND
on reaching the Line, and such trifling distractions
as an unsuccessful attempt to shoot an albatross, and
the sighting of some flying-fish and sundry long-
tailed birds which the sailors called boatswains,
But, as Plinny wrote:
Life at sea has a natural monotony
Of which 'twere irrational to complain:
You cannot, for instance, study botany
As in an English country lane.
But the mind is superior to distance
With its own reminiscences stored,
Not to mention the spiritual assistance
We derived from a clergyman on board.
(He was a sallow young man of delicate constitu-
tion, and, partly for his health’s sake, had accepted
the pastorate of a Genevan church in Kingston.)
From Barbadoes we beat up for Jamaica, and an-
chored in Kingston Harbor just forty-five days from
home. The next morning we said farewell to the
ship, and were rowed ashore to a good hotel, where
we spent a lazy week in small excursions, while Cap-
tain Branscome busied himself in hiring a mule-train
and holding consultations with a firm of merchants,
Messrs. Cox and Roebuck, to whom Miss Belcher
came recommended with a letter of credit. These
gentlemen, understanding that we desired to cross
over to the Main to visit some relations of Miss
261


POISON ISLAND
Belcher, resident in Virginia (for that was our pre-
tence), opined that the matter was not difficult of
management, but that we must needs travel to the ex-
treme west of the island if we would hire a vessel for
the purpose, and they mentioned an agent of theirs
at Savannah-la-Mar—Jacob Paz by name—as the
likeliest man for our purpose.
Armed with a letter of introduction to this man,
in the early morning of October 22d we started on
muleback, and, travelling without haste through the
exquisite scenery of Jamaica (the main roads of
which put ours of Cornwall to shame), arrived at
Savannah-la-Mar on the 27th, a great part of the
way having been occupied by Miss Belcher (who
hated the sight of a negro) in rebuking Plinny's sen-
timental objections to slavery, and by Mr. Rogers in
bagging a collection of humming-birds.
It took (I believe) some time at Savannah-la-Mar
to convince Mr. Paz, a subtle half-breed, that we
were actually fools enough to wish to purchase one
of his vessels, and mad enough to propose work-
ing her alone. He had three boats idle, including
a pretty little fore-and-aft schooner of thirty tons,
the “Espriella,” which Captain Branscome had no
sooner set eyes upon than he decided her to be the
very thing for our purpose. She was fitted with a
large ladies' cabin aft of the companion, a saloon,
262


HOW WIF SAILED TO THE ISLAND
and a small single-berth cabin between it and the
fo'c's'le, which would house three men comfortably.
We ended by purchasing her for £370; and into the
fo'c's'le I went with Mr. Goodfellow and Mr. Jack
Rogers, who insisted on resigning the spare cabin
to Captain Branscome, henceforward, or until we
should reach the island, by consent the leader of the
expedition.
So on October 30th, at six in the morning, having
been commended to God by Mr. Paz, we worked out
of Savannah-la-Mar, and having gained an offing
with a light breeze, hoisted all her bits of canvas,
even to a light jib-topsail we found on board —
chiefly, I think, to impress her late owner, whom we
could descry on the shore, watching us. He had
steadily refused to believe us capable of handling a
boat, whereas of our party Plinny and Mr. Good-
fellow were the only landlubbers. Miss Belcher could
take the helm with the best of us; and indeed it was
reported of her that she had on more than one occa-
sion played helmswoman to a run of goods upon her
own Cornish estate. Mr. Jack Rogers had once
owned a yacht and suffered from tedium; now, as a
foremast hand, he was enjoying himself amazingly.
But the pride above all prides was Captain Brans-
come's. After many years he trod a deck again, com-
mander of his own ship; and the bearing of the man
263


POISON ISLAND
was that of a prince after long exile restored to his
kingdom. Courteous as ever to the ladies, to the rest
of us he suddenly became a master, noble but severe,
unwearied in explaining the least minutiae of sea-
manship, inexorable in seeing that his smallest in-
struction was obeyed. Mr. Rogers at the end of the
first day confided to me that he had much to do to
refrain from touching his forelock whenever he
heard the skipper's voice.
I shall not be believed if I say that in all the
five days of our voyage Captain Branscome never
snatched a wink of sleep. Doubtless he did sleep,
between whiles, but doubtless also no one could guess
when he did it.
It was daybreak or thereabouts on the morning of
November 5th—and a faint light coming through the
decklight over the fo'c's'le—when I, that had kept
the middle watch and was now snoring in my bunk,
sat up at a touch on my shoulder, and stared, rub-
bing my eyes, into the dim face of Mr. Goodfellow.
“Skipper wants you on deck,” he announced.
“We’ve lifted something on the starboard bow, and
he swears 'tis the Island.”
264


POISON ISLAND
tion. “We are running straight down upon the
northern end of it, and our best anchorage (if I may
suggest) lies to the south'ard—in Gow's Creek, as
they call it.” -
He laid a finger on the chart.
“We rely upon you, sir, to choose.”
“I thank you, ma'am. If (as I doubt not) we find
plenty of water there, it will be the best anchorage
in this breeze; not to mention that this Gow's Creek
runs up, as we are directed, to within a mile and a
half of the No. 3 cache. If you agree, ma'am, I have
only to ask your instructions whether to coast down
the east or the west side of the island. The wind, you
perceive, serves equally well for both.”
Miss Belcher considered for a moment.
“The Keys lie to the west of Gable Point, here. By
taking that side we can have a look at them on our
way.”
“Right, ma'am. Harry”—he turned to me—
“bring her nose round to sou’-west and by south, and
stand by for the gibe.” He hauled in the main-
sheet and eased it over. “Now, see here, lad,” he
called to me sharply as the little vessel yawed,
“where were your eyes just then?”
“I was taking a look at the landfall, sir,” I an-
swered truthfully.
“Then I'll trouble you to fix your mind on the lub-
266


WE ANCHOR OFF THE ISLAND
ber's-mark and hold her straight. That's discipline,
my boy, and in this business you may want all you
can learn of it.”
It was not Captain Branscome's habit to speak
sharply. I turned my attention to the card, conscious
of a pair of red ears. -
The sky brightened, and within an hour, as we ran
down upon it at something like eight knots, the island
began to take shape. A wisp of morning fog floated
horizontally across it, dividing its shore-line from the
hills in the interior, which, looming above this cloudy
base, appeared considerably higher than in fact they
were. The shore itself along the eastern side showed
almost uniformly steep — a line of reddish rock
broken with patches of green, which we mistook for
meadows (but they turned out to be nothing more
or less than sheets of green creepers matted together
and overhanging the cliffs). At its northern ex-
tremity, upon which we were closing down at an
acute angle, the land dropped to a low-lying, sandy
peninsula with a backbone of rock almost bare of
vegetation, and beyond this we saw the white surf
glittering around the Keys.
Our course gave them a fairly wide berth; and at
first I took them for a continuous line of sandbanks
running in a rough semicircle around the low spit
which the chart called Gable Point; but as we drew
267


POISON ISLAND
level they broke up into islets, with blue channels be-
tween, and at sight of us thousands of sea-birds rose
in cloud upon cloud, with a clamor that might have
been heard for miles. One of these banks—the
northernmost — showed traces of herbage, gray in
color and dull by contrast with the verdure of the
Island. The rest were but barren sand.
We rounded them at about three cables' length and
stood due south, giving sheet again. Southward from
the neck of the peninsula this western side of the
Island differed surprisingly from the other. Here
were no cliffs, but a flat shore and long stretches of
beach, gradually shelving up to green bush, with here
a palmetto grove and there a lagoon of still water
within the outer barrier of sand. Mr. Jack Rog-
ers had relieved me at the helm, and with the Cap-
tain's permission I had stepped below to the saloon,
where Plinny was waiting to give me breakfast, and
persuaded the good soul not only to let me carry it on
deck and eat it there, but to postpone washing-up for
a while and accompany me. To this she would by no
means consent until I had brought her the Captain’s
leave.
“You may take her my leave,” said he, with a
sudden flush on his face, “and my apologies for hav-
ing neglected to request the honor of her company.
The fact is,” he added, with a hard glance at me,
268


WE ANCHOR OFF THE ISLAND
“Miss Plinlimmon's sense of discipline is so rare a
thing that I am always forgetting to do justice to it.
Were it possible to find a whole crew so conscientious
I would undertake to sail to the North Pole.”
I conveyed this answer to Plinny, and it visibly
gratified her. She retired at once to the ladies' cabin
to indue her poke-bonnet with coquelicot trimmings.
Her apron she retained, observing that on an expedi-
tion of this sort one should never be taken at una-
wares, and that when at Rome you should do as the
Romans did. “By which, my dear Harry,” she ex-
plained, “you are not to understand me to refer to
their Papist observances, such as kissing a man’s toe.
Were such a request proffered to me, even at the can-
non's mouth, I trust my courage would find an an-
Swed. ‘No, no,' I would say.”
:: ‘I will not bow within the House of Rimmon:
Yours faithfully, Amelia Plinlimmon.’”
As we reached the head of the companion-ladder
Captain Branscome, who was standing just aft of the
wheel, behind Mr. Rogers's shoulder, and scanning
the shore through his glass, made a motion to step
forward and hand her on deck. is was ever his
courteous way, and I turned a moment later in some
surprise to find that, instead of closing the glass, he
had lifted it, and was holding it again to his eye, at
269


POISON ISLAND
the same time keeping his right shoulder turned to
uS.
While we looked he lowered it and made his bow,
yet with something of a preoccupied air.
“Good-morning, ma'am. You are very welcome
on deck, and I trust that Harry conveyed the apology
I sent by him.”
“I beg you will not mention it, sir. It is true that
I suffered from the curiosity which outspoken critics
have called the bane of my sex; yet, believe me, I
was far from accusing you, knowing how many re-
sponsibilities must weigh on the captain of an expe-
dition, even though it fare as prosperously as ours.”
“True, ma'am.” Captain Branscome tapped his
spyglass absent-mindedly, and seemed on the point of
lifting it again. “Though, with your permission, I
will add ‘D. W.’”
“Yes—yes”—Plinny smiled a cheerful approval
—“we are ever in the Divine Hand; not more really,
perhaps, in the tropics than in those more temperate
latitudes where, though the wolf and lion do not howl
for prey, an incautious step upon a piece of orange-
peel has before now proved equally fatal.”
Captain Branscome bowed again.
“You call me the leader of this expedition, Miss
Plinlimmon; and so I am, until we drop anchor.
With that, in two or three hours at farthest, my chief
270


WE ANCHOR OFF THE ISLAND
responsibility ends, and I think it time ’’—he turned
to Mr. Rogers—“that we make ready to appoint my
successor. I shall have a word to say to him.”
“Nonsense, man!” answered Mr. Rogers, look-
ing up from the wheel. “If you mean me, I de-
cline to act except as your lieutenant. You have cap-
tained us admirably; and if I decline the honor, you
will hardly suggest promoting Harry, here, or Good-
fellow !”
“I was thinking that Miss Belcher, perhaps 33
“Hallo!” said Miss Belcher, turning at the sound
of her name, and coming aft from the bows, whence
she had been studying the coastline. “What's the
matter with me?”
“The Captain,” exclaimed Mr. Rogers, “has been
tendering us his resignation.”
“Now, why, in the world?”
“Mr. Rogers misunderstands me, ma'am,” said
Captain Branscome. “I merely said that, so far as
we have agreed as yet, my authority ceases as soon as
we cast anchor. If you choose to re-elect me, I shall
not say ‘No’—though not coveting the honor; but I
can only say ‘Yes’ upon a condition.”
“Name it, please.”
“That I have every one's implicit obedience. I
may—nay, I shall—give orders that will be irksome,
and at the same time hard to understand. I may be
271


POISON ISLAND
unable to give you my reasons for them; or able to
give you none beyond the general warning that we are
after treasure, and I never yet heard of a treasure-
hunt that was child's play.”
He spoke quietly, but with an impressiveness not
to be mistaken, though we knew no cause for it. Miss
Belcher, at any rate, did not miss it. She shot him
a keen glance, turned for a moment, and seemed
to study the shore, then faced about again, and she
said:
“I am not used to be commanded. But I can com-
mand myself, and am not altogether a fool.”
The Captain bowed.
“I was thinking, ma'am, that might be our diffi-
culty. But if I have your word to tr 32
“You have.”
“I thank you, ma'am, and will own that my mind
is relieved. It may even be that, from time to time,
I may do myself the honor of consulting you. Never-
theless 22
“I mustn't count on it, eh? Well, as you please;
only I warn you that, while in any case I am going to
be as good as my word, if you treat me like a sensible
person I shall probably be a trifle better.”
For five seconds, maybe, the pair looked one an-
other in the eyes; then the Captain bowed once more,
and apparently this invited her to step forward with
272


WE ANCHOR OFF THE ISLAND
him to the bows, where they halted and stood conning
the coast, the Captain through his spyglass.
As they left us, Plinny and I moved to the waist
of the ship, where we paused by consent and I re-
sumed my breakfast, munching it as I leaned against
the port bulwarks. We were now rapidly opening
Long Bay (as the chart called it), a deep recess run-
ning out squarely at either extremity, the bight of it
crossed by a beach and a line of tumbling breakers,
that extended for close upon three miles. Above the
beach a forest of tall trees, in height and color at once
distinguishable from the thick bush we had hitherto
been passing, screened the bases of a range of hills
which obviously formed the backbone of the island;
and as the whole bay crept into view we discerned in
the north (or, to be accurate, N. N. E.) corner of this
long recess a flat, marshy valley dividing the scrub
from the forest. The mouth of this valley, where it
widened out upon the beach, measured at least half a
mile across. The chart marked it as Misery Swamp,
and indicated a river there. We could detect none,
or, at any rate, no river entrance. If river there were,
doubtless it emptied its waters through the fringe of
gray-green weeds, and dispersed over the flat-looking
foreshore; but even at two miles' distance it looked
to be a dismal, fever-haunted spot. *
By contrast, the noble range of woodland to south-
273


POISON ISLAND
ground, and in another fifty yards brought us up
standing.
“Hallo!” Miss Belcher scanned the shore.
“You’re giving the boat a long trip, Captain.”
“I take my precautions, ma'am,” answered Cap-
tain Branscome, almost curtly.
276


CHAPTER XXV
I TAKE FRENICH I,EAVE ASHORE
IN a sweating hurry I helped Mr. Rogers and Mr.
Goodfellow to furl sail, coil away ropes, and tidy up
generally. After these tedious weeks at sea I was
wild for a run ashore, and, with the green woods in-
viting me, grudged even an hour's delay.
We had run down foresail and come to our anchor
under jib and half-lowered mainsail. I sprang for-
ward to take in the jib and carry it, with the fore-
sail, to the locker abaft the ladies' cabin, when Cap-
tain Branscome sang out to me to be in no such
hurry, but to fold and stow both sails neatly with-
out detaching them—the one along the bowsprit, the
other at the foot of the fore-stay, when they could be
re-hoisted at a moment's notice.
These precautions were the more mysterious to me
because a moment later he sent me to the locker to
fetch up a tarpaulin cover for the mainsail, which he
snugged down carefully, to protect it (as he ex-
plained) from the night dews—so carefully that he
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POISON ISLAND
twice interrupted Mr. Goodfellow to correct a piece
of slovenly tying. The sail being packed at length
to his satisfaction, we laced the cover about it like a
lady's bodice.
Our next business was to get out the boats. The
“Espriella” possessed three—a gig, shaped some-
what like a whaleboat; a useful, twelve-foot dinghy;
“punt” (to use our West
Country name), capable, at a pinch, of accommodat-
and a small cockboat, or
ing two persons. This last we carried on deck; but the
larger pair were at the foot of the rigging on either
side, whence we unlashed and lowered them by their
falls. The punt we moored by a short painter under
the bowsprit, so that she lay just clear of our stern.
This small job had fallen to me by the Captain's
orders, and I clambered back, to find him and Mr.
Rogers standing by the accommodation ladder on the
port side, and in the act of stepping down into the
dinghy. Indeed, Mr. Rogers had his foot on the lad-
der, and seemed to wait only while the Captain gave
some instructions to Mr. Goodfellow, who was listen-
ing respectfully.
“Are we all to go ashore in the dinghy : " I asked.
The Captain turned on me severely, and I ob-
served that he and Mr. Rogers had armed themselves
with a musket apiece, each slung on a bandolier, and
that Mr. Rogers wore an axe at his belt.
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POISON ISLAND
over me, he'll find out his mistake. Why, look you,
whose is the treasure, properly speaking? Who
found it 2 ”
“Nobody yet.”
Mr. Goodfellow drew forth a pipe and rubbed the
bowl thoughtfully against his nose.
“Well, then, who found the chart? Who put you
all on the scent? Who was it first heard the secret
from Captain Coffin' And this man doesn’t even
consult me—doesn’t think me worth a civil word 1
I’ll be shot if I stand it!” I wound up, pacing the
deck in my rage.
Just then Plinny’s voice called up to us from the
cabin, announcing that dinner was ready.
“But,” said she, “one of you must eat his portion
on deck while he keeps watch; that was Captain
Branscome's order.”
“More orders!” I grumbled; and then, with a
sudden thought, I nodded to Mr. Goodfellow, who
was replacing his pipe in his pocket. “You go.
Hand me up a plate and a fistful of ship biscuit, and
leave me to deal with 'em. I’m not for stifling down
there under hatches, whatever your taste may be.”
“”Tis a fact,” he admitted, “that a meal does me
more good when I square my elbows to it.”
“Down you go, then,” said I; “and when you’re
wanted I'll call you.”
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I TAKE FRENCH LEAVE ASHORE
He descended cheerfully, reappeared to pass up a
plate, and descended again. I gobbled down enough
to stay my appetite, crammed my pocket full of ship
biscuit, and, after listening for a moment at the
hatchway, tiptoed forward and climbed out upon the
bowsprit. Then, having unloosed the cockboat's
painter, I lowered and let myself drop into her, and,
slipping a paddle into the stern-notch, sculled gently
for shore. -
The “Espriella,” of course, lay swinging head-to-
tide, and the tide by this time was making strongly—
so strongly that I had no time to get steerage-way on
the little boat before it swept her close under the open
porthole, through which I heard Miss Belcher invit-
ing Mr. Goodfellow to pass his plate for another
dumpling. Miss Belcher's voice—as I may or may
not have informed the reader—was a baritone of sin-
gularly resonant timbre. It sounded through the
porthole as through a speaking trumpet, and I ducked
and held my breath as the boat's gunwale rubbed
twice against the schooner's side before drifting
clear.
Once clear, however, I worked my paddle with a
will, though noiselessly; and, the tide helping me,
soon reached and rounded the first bend. Here, out
of sight of the ship, I had leisure to draw breath and
look about me.
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POISON ISLAND
Ahead of me lay a still reach, close upon half a
mile in length and narrowing steadily to the next
bend, where the two shores overlapped and mingled
their reflections on the water. On my right the red
cliffs, their summits matted with creepers, descended
sheer into water many fathoms deep, yet so clear that
I could spy the fish playing about their bases where
they met the firm white sand. On my left the chan-
nel shoaled gradually to a beach of this same white
sand, which followed the curve of the shore, here and
again flashing out into broad sunshine from the blue
shadow cast by the overhanging forest.
Between these banks the breeze could scarcely be
felt, yet, though the sun scorched me, the heat was
not oppressive. The woods, dense and tangled
though they were, threw up no exhalations of mud
or rotting leaves, but a clean, aromatic odor. It
seemed to give them a substance without which
they had been but a mirage, a scene painted on a
cloth, so motionless and apparently lifeless they
stood, with the long vines hanging from their
boughs, and the hot, rarefied air quivering above
them.
At first their silence daunted me; by and by I felt
(I could hardly be said to hear) that this silence was
intense, and held a sound of its own, a murmur as of
millions of flies and minute winged things—or per-
282


I TAKE FRENCH LEAVE ASHORE
haps it came from the vegetation itself, and the sap
pushing leaf against leaf and ceaselessly striving for
room.
With scarcely more noise than the forest made in
growing, I let the cockboat float up on the tide, cor-
recting her course from time to time with a touch of
the paddle astern; and so, coming to the second bend,
began to search the shoer for a convenient landing.
The Captain and Mr. Rogers, no doubt, had rowed
up to the very head of the creek, and would by this
time be prospecting for the clump of trees which were
the key to unlock No. 3 cache. To escape—or, at
any rate, delay—detection, I must land lower down,
and preferably at some point where I could pull up
the boat and hide it.
With this in my mind, scanning the woods on the
north bank for an opening, I drifted around the
bend, and with a shock of surprise found myself in
full view of the end of the creek. Worse than this,
I was bearing straight for the “Espriella’s” dinghy,
which lay just above water on the foreshore, with her
painter carried out to a tree above the bank. Worst
of all, some one at that instant stepped back from the
bank and under the shadow of the tree, as if to await
me there. Mr. Rogers, or the Captain ' Mr. Rogers
certainly; for I remembered that the Captain wore
white duck trousers, and, by my glimpse of him, this
283


POISON ISLAND
man's clothes were dark. His height and walk, too!
Yes; no doubt of it he was Mr. Rogers.
I stood—a culprit caught red-handed—and let the
boat drift me down upon retributive justice. A
while ago I had been mentally composing a number
of effective retorts upon Captain Branscome for his
tyrannical behavior. Now, of a sudden, all this elo-
quence deserted me: I felt it leaking away and knew
myself for a law-breaker. One lingering hope re-
mained that the Captain had pushed ahead into the
woods, and that as yet Mr. Jack Rogers (whose good
nature I might almost count upon) had alone de-
tected me and would pack me home to the ship with
nothing worse than a flea in my ear.
His silence encouraged this hope. Half a minute
passed and still he forebore to lift his voice and sum-
mon me. He stood, deep in the shadow, his face
screened by the boughs, and made no motion to ad-
vance to the bank.
Then suddenly—at, maybe, two hundred yards'
distance—I saw him take another pace backwards
and slip away among the trees.
“Good man!” thought I, and blessed him (after
my first start of astonishment). “He has pretended
not to see me.”
At any rate he had given me a pretty good hint to
make myself scarce unless I wished to incur Captain
284


I TAKE FRENCH LEAVE ASHORE
Branscome's wrath. I slipped my paddle forward
into a rowlock, picked up the other, and, dropping
upon the thwart, jerked the cockboat right-about-face
to head her back for the schooner.
But after a stroke or two I eased and let her drift
back stern-foremost while I sat considering. Mr.
Rogers had behaved like a trump; yet it seemed mean
to deceive the old man, and, moreover, it amounted
to striking my colors. I had broken orders deliber-
ately and because I denied his right to give such
orders. I might be a youngster; but, to say the least
of it, I had as much interest in the success of this
expedition as any member of the company. The
shortest way to dissuade Captain Branscome from
treating me as a child was to assert myself from the
beginning. I had started with full intent to assert
myself, and—yes, I was much obliged to Mr. Rogers,
but this question between me and Branscome had
best be settled, though it meant open mutiny. I felt
pretty sure that Miss Belcher would support the
tyrant; almost equally sure that Plinny would ac-
quiesce though her sympathy went with me; and
strangely enough, and unjustly, I felt the angrier
with Plinny. But even against Miss Belcher I had
a card to play. “Captain Branscome may be an ex-
cellent leader,” I would say; “but I beg you to re-
member that you gave me no vote in electing him. I
285


I TAKE FRENCH LEAVE ASHORE
palmetto-trees, to the entrance of a narrow gorge
through which the stream came tumbling in a series
of cascades, spraying the ferns that overhung it.
The forest with its undergrowth pressed so closely
upon either bank that after scrambling up beside the
first waterfall I was forced to take off shoes and
stockings and work my way up the irregular bed,
now wading knee-deep, now clambering or leaping
from boulder to boulder; and, even so, to press from
time to time through the meeting boughs, shielding
my face from scratches. So, for at least a mile, I
climbed as through a narrow green tunnel, and by the
end of it found myself wet to the skin. Five water-
falls I had passed, and, beside the fourth, where the
bank was muddy, had noted a long, smooth mark,
and recent, such as a man's foot might make in slip-
ping; so that I felt pretty confident of being on my
companions’ track, though I wondered how the Cap-
tain with his lame leg could sustain such a climb.
But above the fifth waterfall the stream divided
into two branches, and at the fork of them I stood
for a while in doubt which to choose. So far as vol-
ume of water went, there was, indeed, little or noth-
ing to choose. If direction counted, the main stream
would be that which came rushing down the gorge
straight ahead of me, a gorge which, however, as my
eye followed the V of its tree-tops up to the sky-line,
287


POISON ISLAND
promised to grow steeper and worse tangled. On the
other hand the tributary (as I shall call it), which
poured down from a lateral valley on my left, ran
with an easier flow, as though drawing its waters
from less savage slopes. I could not see these slopes
—a bend of the hills hid them; but I reasoned that
if a clump of trees, separate and distinguishable,
stood anywhere near the banks of either stream, it
might possibly be found by this one. The other
showed nothing but a close mass of vegetation.
Accordingly I turned my steps up the channel to
the left, and was rewarded, after another twenty
minutes' scramble, by emerging upon a break in the
forest. On one side of the stream rose a reddish-
colored cliff, almost smooth of face and about seventy
or eighty feet high, across the edge of which the last
trees on the summit clutched with their naked roots,
as though protesting against being thrust over the
precipice by the crowd behind them. The other bank
welled up, from a little above the water's edge, to a
fair, green lawn, rounded, grassy, and smooth as a
glade in an English park. At its widest I dare say
that, from the stream's edge back to the steep slope
where the forest started again and climbed to a tall
ridge that shut in the glen on the south side, it meas-
ured something over two hundred yards.
“Here,” thought I, glancing up the glade towards
288


I TAKE FRENCHI LEAVE ASHORE
the westering sun, “is the very spot for our clump
of trees”; and so it was—only no clump of trees hap-
pened to be in sight. The glade, however, stretched
away and around a bend of the stream, and I was
moving to the bank to explore it to its end when my
eyes were arrested by something white not ten paces
away. It was a piece of paper caught against one
of the large boulders between which, as through a
broken dam, the water poured into the ravine. I
waded towards it and stooped, steadying myself
against the current.
It was a paper boat.
289


CHAPTER XXVI
THE WOMEN IN THE GRAVEYARD
ITURNED it over in my hand. Yes; it was a boat
such as children make out of paper, many times
folded, and, “What on earth,” thought I, “put such
childishness into the head of Captain Branscome or
Mr. Jack Rogers?”
Then it occurred to me that they might be caught
in some peril higher up the stream, and had launched
this message on the chance of its being carried down
to the waters of the creek. A far-fetched explana-
tion, to be sure! But what was I to think? If it
were the explanation, doubtless the paper contained
writing, and, carrying it to the bank, I seated myself
and began to unfold it very carefully, for it was sod-
den, and threatened to fall to pieces in my hands.
Then I reflected that the two men carried no writing
materials, or, at the best, a lead pencil, the marks of
which would be obliterated before the paper had been
two minutes in the water.
Yet, as I parted the folds, I saw that the paper
290


THE WOMEN IN THE GRAVEYARD
had indeed been scribbled on, though the words were
a smear, and that, moreover, the writing was in ink!
In ink! My fingers trembled and involuntarily
tore a small rent in the pulpy mess. I laid it on the
grass to dry in the full sunshine, seated myself beside
it, and looked around me with a shiver.
A paper boat — the paper written on — and the
writing in ink! I could be sworn that neither Cap-
tain Branscome nor Mr. Rogers carried an inkbottle.
The paper, too, was of a kind unfamiliar to me—
thin, foreign paper, ruled with faint lines in water-
mark. Certainly no one on board the “Espriella”
owned such writing-paper or the like of it. But
again, the paper could not have been long in the
water, and the writing seemed to be fresh. As the
torn edges crinkled in the heat and curled themselves
half open, I peered between them and distinguished
a capital “R,” followed by an “i,” but these letters
ran into a long smear, impossible to decipher.
I had flung myself prone on the grass, and so lay,
with chin propped on both palms, staring at the thing
as if it had been some strange beetle—staring till my
eyes ached. But now I took it in my fingers again
and prised the edges a little wider. Below the smear
came a blank space, and below this were five lines
ruled in ink with a number of dotted marks between
them—a smudged stave of music? Yes, certainly it
291


POISON ISLAND
was music. I could distinguish the mark of the
treble clef. Lastly, at the foot of the page, as I un-
wrapped it at length, came a blurred illegible signa-
ture.
But what mattered the sense of it? The writing
was here, and recent. No one on board the “Es-
priella” could have penned it. The island, then, was
inhabited—now, at this moment inhabited, and the
inhabitants, whoever they might be, at this moment
not far from me.
I crushed the paper into my pocket, and stood up,
slowly looking about me. For a second or two panic
had me by the hair. I turned to run, but the dense
woods through which I had ascended so light-heart-
edly had suddenly become a jungle of God knows
what terrors. I remembered that from the first cas-
cade upward I had scarcely once had a view of more
than a dozen yards ahead, so thickly the bushes closed
in upon me. I saw myself retracing my steps through
those bushes, in every one of which now lurked a pair
of watching eyes. I glanced up at the cliff across the
stream. For aught I knew, eyes were watching me
from its summit.
Needless to say, I cursed the hour of my transgres-
sion, the fatal impulse that had prompted me to break
ship. I knew myself for a fool; but how might I win
back to repentance?—as repent I certainly would and
292


THE WOMEN IN THE GRAVEYARD
acknowledge my fault. Could I keep hold on my
nerve to thread my way back and over those five sepa-
rate and accursed waterfalls? If only I were given
a clear space to run!
At this point in the nexus of my fears it occurred
to me, glancing along the green lawn ahead, that the
ridge on its left must run almost parallel with the
creek; that it was sparsely wooded in comparison
with the ravine behind me, and that from the summit
of it I might even look straight down upon the “Es-
priella’s” anchorage. Be this as it might, I felt sure,
considering the lie of the land, that here must be a
short cut back to the creek; and once beside its waters
I could head back along the beach and regain my boat.
Down there I might dismiss my fears. The upper por-
tion of the beach, if I mistook not, remained uncov-
ered at the top of any ordinary tides, and it wanted
yet a good two hours to high-water; so that I had not
the smallest doubt of being able to reach the creek-
head, no matter at what point of the foreshore I might
descend. From the bank where I stood I had the
whole ridge in view above the dense foliage, and could
select the most promising point to make for; but this
would sink out of sight as I approached the first belt
of trees, and beyond them I must find my way by
guesswork.
I now observed a sharp notch breaking the line of
293


POISON ISLAND
the ridge, about a mile to the westward, and walked
some few hundred yards forward on the chance that it
might widen as I drew more nearly abreast of it, and
open into a passage between the hills. Widen it did,
but very gradually—the stream curving away from
it all the while; and by and by I halted again, in
two minds whether to break straight across for it or
continue this slow process of making sure.
I had now reached a point where the tall cliff on
the opposite shore either ended abruptly or took a
sharp turn back from the stream. I could not deter-
mine which, and walked forward yet another two
hundred yards to satisfy myself. This brought me in
view of a grove of palmettos, clustering under the
very lee of the rock—or so it appeared at first, but
a second look told me that here the stream again di-
vided, and that the new confluent swept by the base
of the rock, between it and the palmettos, three or
four of which (their roots, maybe, sapped by by-
gone floods) leaned sideways and almost hid the
junction.
I was turning away, resolved now to steer straight
for the notch in the hills, when a gleam of something
white arrested me, and I stood still, my heart in my
mouth. The white object, whatever it was, stood
within the circle of the palmetto stems, yet not very
deep within it—a dozen yards at farthest from the
294


POISON ISLAND
sant buzzing added to the horror of the place a hint of
something foul, sinister, obscene.
I had a mind to creep away on all-fours, but sud-
denly forgot my ankle and sprang erect, on the de-
fensive, at the sound of voices. A grassy path led
through the enclosure, between the graves, and at the
end of it appeared two figures.
They were two women; the first a negress, mon-
strously ugly and tall, and a grenadier, wearing a
frock of the gaudiest yellow, and for headdress a scar-
let handkerchief bound closely about her scalp and
tied in front with an immense bow; the other—but
how shall I describe the other?
She was white, and she wore a dress of fresh white
muslin; a short dress, tied about the waist with a
pale blue sash, and above the shoulders with narrow
ribbons of the same color. Her figure was that of a
girl; her ringlets hung loose like a girl's. She walked
with a girlish step; and until she came close I took
her for a girl of sixteen or seventeen.
Then, with a shock, I found myself staring into
the face, which might well belong to a woman be-
tween sixty and seventy, so faded it was and retic-
ulated with wrinkles; and into a pair of eyes that
wavered between ingenuousness and a childish cun-
ning; and from them down to her slim ankles and
a pair of dancing-shoes so fairy-like and dimin-
296


POISON ISLAND
volubly. The words were unintelligible to me, but
her tone, full of angry remonstrance, could not be
mistaken.
“I am not sorry,” said the white woman, speaking
in English, with a glance at me. “No, I do not care
for his orders. It was by this that you came to me?”
she asked, turning to me again, and pointing minc-
ingly at the paper.
“I found it in the stream,” I replied; “almost a
mile below this.”
“Yes, yes; you found it in the stream. And you
opened it, and read the writing?”
I shook my head. “The writing, ma'am, was blot-
ted—I could read nothing.”
“Not even my little song?” She peered into the
paper, threw up her head and piped a note or two, for
all the world as a bird chirrups, lifting his bill, after
taking a drink. “La-la-la-you did not understand,
hey? But, nevertheless, you came, and of your own
will. He did not bring you?” I shook my head
again, having no clew to her meaning.
“So best,” she said, changing her tone of a sudden
to one of extreme gravity. “For if he found you
here—here of all places—he would kill you. Yes”
—she nodded impressively—“for sure he would kill
you. He kill all these.”
She waved a hand, indicating the grave-mounds.
298


THE WOMEN IN THE GRAVEYARD
Her voice, at these dreadful words, ran up to an al-
most more dreadful airiness; and still she continued
nodding, but now with a sort of simpering pride.
“All these,” she repeated, waving her hand again
towards the mounds.
“Did you see him kill them?” I asked, wondering
who “he” might be, and scarcely knowing what I
said.
“Some,” she answered, with a final nod and a
glance of extreme childish cunning. “But why you
not talking, Rosa!” she demanded, turning on the
negress. “You speak English; it is no use to pre-
tend.”
The black woman stared at me for a moment from
under her loose-hanging lids.
“You go 'way,” she said slowly. “You get no
good in these parts.”
“Very well, ma'am,” said I, steadying my voice,
“ and the sooner the better, if you will kindly tell me
the shortest cut back to the creek.”
“And,” the woman went on, not seeming to heed
the interruption, “you tell the same to your friends,
that they get no good in these parts. But of us—and
of this?’—she pointed to the sodden paper which she
had snatched from her mistress's hands—“you will
say nothing. It might bring mischief.”
“Mischief?” I echoed.
299


THE WOMEN IN THE GRAVEYARD
I plunged knee-deep into the stream. The cool touch
of the water brought me to my senses. I splashed
across, waded up the bank, and set off running
towards the gap.
301


CHAPTER XXVII
THE MAN IN BLACK
BEFORE ever I gained the gap I was panting, and
as I panted the blood ran into my mouth from a deep
scratch across the eyebrows. I tasted it as Iran.
My shirt hung in strips, and one stocking flapped
open on a rip from knee to ankle. But from the gap
I caught a glimpse of the shining waters of the creek.
I flung myself and fell through the matted ferns that,
veiling the trough of a half-dry watercourse, now
checked my descent as I clutched at them, now parted
and let me drop and bruise myself on the rocky bot-
tom. In the end I slid over a low cliff and lay pant-
ing on the soft sand of the foreshore; bloodied indeed
—for I had taken a hard knock on the bridge of the
nose—but with a wrenched shoulder and a jarred
knee-pan for the worst of my hurts. I valued them
nothing in comparison with the terrors left behind
in the woods. The schooner lay in sight, scarcely
half a mile below, and I sobbed with gratitude as I
rose and dipped my face in the tide and washed off
its bloodstains.
302


THE MAN IN BLACK
The tide was still at flood, and wanted (as I
guessed) less than an hour of high water; but it left
an almost continuous stretch of sand between me and
the creekhead, and I found that the short intervals
where it narrowed to nothing could be easily waded.
At first, the curve of the foreshore and the overhang-
ing woods concealed the spit of beach where I had
made fast my punt beside the dinghy; but at the
corner which brought the boats in sight I was aware
of two figures standing beside them—Captain Brans-
come and Mr. Rogers.
I walked forward hardily enough; I had drunk my
fill of terror, and could have faced the captain cheer-
fully, had he been thrice as formidable. He did not
help me at all, either, but stood with a thunderous
frown, very quiet and self-restrained, while I plodded
my way up to him, over the sand.
I think that, as I drew close, my battered appear-
ance must have shocked him a little. But his frown
did not relax, and the muscles of his mouth grew, if
anything, tenser.
“You appear to have been in the wars,” he said
quietly. “Has anything happened to the schooner?”
“No, sir; at least not to my knowledge,” was my
answer; and he must have expected it, or he would
have shown more perturbation. “I saw her, not five
minutes ago, lying at her moorings,” I added, with a
303


POISON ISLAND
nod towards the bend of the creek which hid her
from us.
“Then why has Miss Belcher sent you?”
“She did not send me, sir.”
“In other words, you have chosen to disobey
orders ?”
I suppose he read some sullenness in my attitude,
for he repeated the words sharply, in a tone that de-
manded an answer.
“I am sorry, sir; but all the same, it didn’t seem
fair to me to be left on board without being con-
sulted.”
I heard him take a short breath, as though my
impudence hit him in the wind. For full half a
minute he eyed me slowly up and down.
“Get into your boat, sir, and return to the ship
at once! Mr. Rogers, this child is impossible. I
must do what I would gladly have avoided, and ask
the ladies to give me more authority over him, since
they will not exercise it themselves.”
At the implied sneer—and perhaps even more at
the tone of it, so foreign to the Captain Branscome
that I knew—I blazed up wrathfully.
“If you mean by that,” said I, “to threaten me
with the rope's-end, I advise you to try it. And if
you mean that I’m child enough to be tied to the
apron-strings of a couple of women. that's just of a
304


THE MAN IN BLACK
piece with the whole mistake you're making. No
one's disputing your right to give orders 37
“Thank you,” he put it sarcastically.
“—to those,” I went on, “who appointed you
captain. But I wasn’t consulted, and until that hap-
pens, I shall obey or not, as I choose.”
Now this, no doubt, was extremely childish, even
wickedly foolish, and the more foolish, perhaps, be-
cause a few minutes ago I would have given all I
possessed, including my prospective share in the
treasure, for Captain Branscome's protection. But
somehow, since sighting the island, I had lost hold of
myself, and my temper seemed to be running all
askew. Strange to tell, the Captain appeared to be
affected in much the same way.
“Why, you little fool,” said he, “are you mis-
taking this for a picnic * *
“No,” I retorted; “I am not. And if you’ll re-
member, it wasn’t I who led the ladies to look for-
ward to one.”
He planted himself before me, and said he, looking
at me sternly: “See here, my boy, I don’t want to
make unpleasantness, and if you force me to appeal
to the whole ship's company, you know very well you
will find yourself in a minority of one.”
“I don’t care for that, sir. You'll be acting un-
fairly, all the same.”
305


POISON ISLAND’
“We'll let that pass. You tell me, here in the act
of breaking ship, that you're of an age to be con-
sulted. Well, you shall have the benefit of the doubt.
You want to know, then, why I'm careful about let-
ting you run ashore? What would you say, if I told
you the island has people upon it?”
“Why, first of all, sir, that if you found it out
before dropping anchor, it seems strange — your
going ashore with Mr. Rogers and leaving the rest
to take care of themselves. But if you’ve discovered
it since—”
“I have not. But as we were running down the
coast I saw something through my glasses—a coil of
smoke beyond the hills on the eastern side. Now if,
as seems certain, this fire was lit by human beings,
it almost stands to reason they must have sighted our
ship. Next comes the question: Why did I go ashore
and take Mr. Rogers? Well, in the first place, we
didn't come here to lie at anchor and sail away again;
and if the island happened to be inhabited (which
seems certain), and by people who don't want us
(which is by no means so certain, though we must
remember that it holds treasure), why, then, the
sooner we nipped ashore and prospected, the better.
For the spot where I sighted the smoke must lie
a good five miles from here as the crow flies, and by
the shape of the hills and the amount of scrub be-
306


THE MAN IN BLACK
tween 'em, those five miles must be equal to fifteen.
But why (say you) did I take Mr. Rogers? I took
Mr. Rogers, after consulting with Miss Belcher 22
“Does she know there are people on the island?”
“She does. I took Mr. Rogers because, if danger
there be, it seemed likelier we should find it ashore
than on board the schooner; and because, as the
shortest way to make sure if these strangers were
after our treasure, we had agreed to make straight for
the clump of trees described on the back of the chart
and examine whether the ground thereabouts had
been visited lately or disturbed; and, further, be-
cause our search might require more strength and
agility than I alone, with my lame leg, could com-
mand. I felt pretty easy about the schooner. She
can only be attacked by boat, and I searched the coast
pretty narrowly on our way down without sighting
one. If these men possess a boat, she probably lies
somewhere on the eastern side, not far from their
camp fire. If she lies nearer, it must be somewhere
under the cliffs to the south, in which case her own-
ers would have a long journey to reach her, and that
journey must take them around the head of the creek
here. But (say you) there may be two parties on
the island—one by the camp fire northward, and
another under the south shore. I’ll grant this,
though I think it unlikely; but even so, to attack the
307


POISON ISLAND
schooner they must bring their boat up the whole
length of the entrance, where our people would have
her in view for at least two miles. This would give
ample time for a signal to recall us, and on the
chance of it I left Goodfellow in charge of two rock-
ets with instructions to touch them off at a hint of
danger.”
“Oh, oh!” said I. “So Mr. Goodfellow, too,
knew of this? And Plinny, I suppose? And, in
fact, you told every one but me?”
“No, sir,” said Captain Branscome gravely; “I
did not trouble Miss Plinlimmon with these perhaps
unnecessary fears. To a lady of her sensitive na-
ture »
“Oh, well, sir,” I interrupted and, turning aside
pettishly, began to haul my cockboat down to the
water, “since you choose to treat me like a baby of
six, I suppose it's no wonder you take Plinny for a
timorous old fool.”
“Sir!” exploded Captain Branscome, and glanc-
ing back over my shoulder I saw him leaning on his
stick and fairly trembling with wrath. “This disre-
spectful language! And of a lady for whom—for
25
whom -
“Disrespect?”—I whistled. “Is it worse to
speak disrespect or to act it? I have known Plinny
for years—you for a month or two; and one of these
308


POISON ISLAND
“Eh!” said Mr. Rogers. “My warning? What
in thunder is the boy talking about?”
“When you saw me sculling for shore, here, about
an hour ago,” I explained, “you pretended not to see
me, and went after Captain Branscome; but I saw
you, fast enough, standing on the bank yonder, under
the trees.”
“For a certainty the child is mad!” Mr. Rogers
stared at me round-eyed. “I saw you? I pretended
not to ? Why, man alive, from the time we left the
ship I never set eyes on you (how should I?), nor
ever guessed you were ashore till we came back and
found your boat beside the dinghy. And as for
standing under those trees, I was never on the bank
there for one second—no, nor for the half of one.
The Captain and I walked around the spit together—
the tide has covered our footmarks or I could show
'em to you.”
“At any rate there was a man,” I persisted.
“And he couldn't have been the Captain either, for
22
he was wearing dark clothes
“The devil! I say, Branscome, listen to
this 32
“I am listening,” answered the Captain gravely,
taking, as he stepped forward, a long look at the bank
above us and at the dense forest to right and left.
“Did you see the man’s face, Harry?”
310


THE MAN IN BLACK
“No, sir, or I should not have mistaken him for
Mr. Rogers. He was standing there, under the
boughs, and seemed to be looking through them and
watching me. I was sculling the boat along with a
paddle slipped in the stern notch, and he let me come
pretty close — I couldn’t have been two hundred
yards away—when he slipped to the back of the trees,
and I lost him.”
“You didn't see him again?”
“No, sir; I didn’t land just at once. I had a
mind at first to put about and row to the schooner,
thinking that Mr. Rogers had meant it for a hint.
When I brought the boat ashore, five minutes later,
he was gone.”
“Which way did you take, then?”
“I didn't mean any longer to hide from you, sir.
I went straight after you, up the waterfalls, but
couldn’t find any trace of you except at one spot just
beside a waterfall—the fourth, it was—where some
one had slipped a foot »
“Mr. Rogers,” the Captain interrupted, “we had
best get back to the “Espriella’ with all speed. I
may tell you, Harry, that we never went up by the
waterfalls at all. It was a climb, and my half-pay
leg didn't like the look of it. In fact we’ve spent our
afternoon in a wild-goose chase among the woods to
the right. But jump into your boat, boy, and pull
311


THE MAN IN BLACK
come stared about him. “A gentleman, did you
say?”
“Yes, and such distinguished manners! He left
a message for you—and, dear me, you should have
heard how he praised my coffeel”
313


CHAPTER XXVIII
THE MASTER OF THE ISLAND
BUT here, as Captain Branscome leaned back and
caught feebly at the main rigging for support, there
appeared above the after-companion (like a cogni-
zance above an escutcheon) a bent forearm, the hand
grasping a beaver hat. It was presently followed by
the head of Miss Belcher, who nodded cheerfully,
blinking a little in the level light of the sunset.
“Hallo!” said she, addressing Plinny, while she
adjusted the hat upon her brow. “Have you been
telling the Captain about our visitor?”
“Miss Plinlimmon, ma'am, has given me a shock,
and I won’t deny it,” answered the Captain, recover-
ing himself.
Miss Belcher continued to nod like a china man-
darin. “I don’t wonder,” she agreed. “For my
part, you might have knocked me down with a
feather. The fellow came down the creek, cool as
you please, and pulling a nice easy stroke, in Harry's
314


THE MASTER OF THE ISLAND
cockboat. Where is Harry, by the way?”—her eyes
lit and fastened upon me—“Good Lord! what have
you been doing to the child?”
“Nothing, ma'am. He has been exploring, and
lost his way; that's all.”
“H’m he seems to have lost it pretty badly. Well,
he deserved it. But, as I was saying, along comes my
gentleman, pulling with just the easy jerk which is
the way to make a boat of that sort travel. Good-
fellow was keeping watch. They say that a sailor will
recognize a boat half a mile farther off than he’ll
recognize the man in it; but Goodfellow isn’t a sailor,
so that explanation won’t fit. We’ll say that he was
prepared for the boat returning, but not to find an
entire stranger pulling her. At all events, he let her
come within a couple of gunshots before calling down
to the cabin and giving the alarm. I had my legs up
on a locker, and was taking a siesta over a book—
* Parkinson. On The Dog’—and, by the way, we
were a set of fools not to bring a dog; but Iran up the
companion in a jiffy, and had the sense to catch up
your spyglass as I went. Goodfellow by this time had
begun to dance about the deck in a flutter. He had
the tinder-box in his hand, and wanted to know if he
should touch off a rocket. I ordered him to drop it,
and fetch me a musket, which he did. By this time
I could see that the man in the boat was unarmed,
315


POISON ISLAND
so I put up the musket at the ‘present,’ got the sight
on him, and called out to know his business.
“The man jerked the cockboat round with her
stern to the schooner—these boats come right-about
with a single twist—and says he, very politely lifting
his hat, “You’ll pardon me, ma'am, but (as you see)
I have borrowed your young friend's boat. My own
was not handy, and this seemed the quickest way to
pay my respects.” “Indeed?” said I, ‘ and who may
you be '' ‘My name, ma'am,” said he, “is Beaure-
gard—Dr. Beauregard.’ ‘I never heard of you,” said
I. ‘That, ma'am, is entirely my misfortune,’ said
he, lifting his hat again; “but allow me to say that I
am the proprietor of this island, and very much at
your service.”
“Well, this was a facer. It never occurred to any
of us—eh?—that this island might have an owner.
To tell the truth, I’m stickler enough for the rights of
property at home; but somehow the notion of an
island like this belonging to any one had never en-
tered my head. Yet the thing is reasonable enough
when you come to think it over; and, of course, I
saw that it put an entirely different complexion upon
our business here.”
“My dear Lydia,” put in Mr. Rogers, impatiently,
“the man's claim must be absurd. Why, the island
is right in the tropics!”
316


POISON ISLAND
Manner charming, voice charming, bearing fit for a
grand seigneur; and that's what he is, or something
like it, unless, as I rather incline to suspect, he's the
biggest scoundrel unhung.”
“Oh, Miss Belcher!” protested Plinny. “When
you agreed with me that he might have sat for a por-
trait of a gentleman of the old school!”
“Tut, my dear! When I saw that you had lost
your heart to him as soon as he set foot on deck! Did
I say ‘of the old school' ' Yes, indeed, and of the
very oldest; and, in fact, quite possibly the Old Gen-
tleman himself.”
Now, either I had spoiled Captain Branscome's
temper for the day, or something in this speech of
Miss Belcher's especially rasped it.
“But who is this man?” he demanded, in a sharp,
authoritative voice.
Miss Belcher stepped back half a pace. I saw her
chin go up, and it seemed to grow square as she an-
swered him with a dangerous coldness. -
“I beg your pardon. I thought I told you that he
gave his name as Dr. Beauregard.”
“You had no business, ma'am, to allow him on
board this ship.”
“No business 2 °
“No business, ma'am. I have just been having
words with young Harry, here, over his disobedience
318


TOISON ISLAND
“I forget, sir, if I believed him; but he certainly
knows that we are here in search of treasure, for I
told him so myself.”
Captain Branscome gasped. “You—you told him
so?” he echoed.
“I did, and he replied that it scarcely surprised
him to hear it, that of the few vessels which found
their way to Mortallone, quite an appreciable pro-
portion came with the same idea of discovering treas-
ure. The proportion, he added, had fallen off of late
years, and the most of them nowadays put in to water,
but there was a time when the treasure-seekers threat-
ened to become a positive nuisance. He said this with
a smile which disarmed all suspicion. In fact, it was
impossible to take offence with the man.”
But at this point Plinny, frightened perhaps by
the warnings of apoplexy in Captain Branscome’s
face, laid a hand gently on Miss Belcher's arm.
“Are we treating our good friend quite fairly 2”
she asked.
Miss Belcher glanced at her and broke into a ring-
ing laugh.
“You dear creature! No, to be sure, we are
not; but from a child I always turned mischievous
under correction. Captain Branscome, I beg your
pardon.”
“It is granted, ma'am.”
320


POISON ISLAND
pretty certainly connects you with the treasure. He
didn’t seem to have met Goodfellow before. Well,
now, if he lives alone here—which, I admit, is not
likely—we ought to be more than a match for him.
If, on the other hand, he has men at his call—and I
ask your particular attention here, Captain—it was
surely no folly at all, but the plainest common sense,
to admit him on board. He will go off and report that
our ship's company consists of two middle-aged
maiden ladies (I occupied myself with tatting a
chair-cover while he conversed); a boy; Mr. Good-
fellow (whatever he may have made of Goodfellow);
and two gentlemen ashore to whose mental and physi-
cal powers I was careful to do some injustice. You
will pardon me, Captain, but I laid more than war-
rantable stress on your lameness; and as for you,
Jack, I depicted you as a mere country booby”—here
Mr. Rogers bowed amiably—“ and added by way of
confirmation that I had known you from childhood.
He will go back and report all this, with the certain
consequence that he and his confederates will mistake
us for a crew of crack-brained eccentrics.”
When she had done, the Captain stood considering
for a moment, rubbing his chin.
“Yes,” he admitted slowly, “there seems reason
in that, ma'am; reason and method. But 'tis a kind
of reason and method outside all my experience, and
322


THE MASTER OF THE ISLAND
I forebore to tell him that if the ladies had forced
his hand his accepting full responsibility was simply
quixotic.
“She’s a wonderful woman,” said I, by way of
filling up the pause.
“And so womanly l’’ assented Captain Branscome,
to my entire surprise.
“Indeed, sir?” I stammered. “Well, I have
heard people say—Mr. Rogers for one—that Miss
Belcher ought to have been born a man.”
“Miss Belcher? Why, heavens alive, boy, I was
referring to Miss Plinlimmon l’”
He dismissed me with a wave of the hand, but
called back as I turned to the door.
“Oh, by the way,” said he, “I had almost for-
gotten the reason why I sent for you. This man—
have you any notion who he can be '''
“None, sir.”
“You’ve thought over every possible person of
your acquaintance? Well” — as I nodded — we
shall know to-morrow morning, if he keeps his word.
Mr. Rogers has kindly undertaken to stay and look
after the schooner. He has a sense of discipline, by
the way, has Mr. Rogers.”
“If you wish me, sir, to stay with him
“Thank you,” he interrupted dryly, “but we shall
need you ashore; in the first place to identify this
73
325


POISON ISLAND
mysterious stranger, and also to help protect the
ladies. Their escort, Heaven knows, is not exces-
sive. We take the gig, and if the man fails to appear,
or brings even so much as one companion, I give the
word to return.”
But these apprehensions proved to be groundless.
As we rowed around the bend next morning into view
of the creek-head the man stood there alone, awaiting
us. He saw us at once and lifted his hat in welcome.
“Do you know him, Harry?” asked Miss Belcher.
“No,” said I, pretty confidently, and then —
“But, yes—in the garden, that evening—the day you
went up to Plymouth for the sale!”
“Eh! The garden at Minden Cottage? What on
earth was he doing there?”
“Nothing, ma’am—at least, I don’t know. He
seemed to be taking measurements, and he gave me a
guinea. I rather think, ma'am, he was the man that
attended the auction.”
“You never saw him until that evening?”
« No.”
“Nor afterwards 2 ”
“Only that once, ma'am.”
“Oh!” said Miss Belcher.
326


CHAPTER XXIX
A BOAT ON THE BEACH
As we drew to shore the stranger stepped down
the beach and lifted his hat again.
“Welcome, ladies; and let me thank you and all
your party for this confidence. The boy here—bless
my soul, how he has grown in these few months —
the boy and I have had the pleasure of meeting
before. Eh, Harry Brooks? You remember me?
To the Captain I must introduce myself. Shake
hands, Captain Branscome. I am proud to make
your acquaintance. Eh! But what is the meaning
of these baskets? You have brought your own pro-
visions? Come, Miss Belcher, that is unkind of you
when we agreed—yes, surely we agreed ?—that you
were to be my guests.”
“We were not sure, sir ” began Miss Belcher.
“That I should keep my word? Worse and
worse ! Or possibly you distrusted the entertain-
ment of a solitary bachelor on a desert island? But
I must prove that you did me an injustice.” He
327


A BOAT ON THE BEACH
the waterfall, I would suggest that we row round to
the eastern side, where, if I may guide you, you will
find choice of a dozen delightful spots for a picnic.
In this way, too, we shall cover more ground and get
a more general view of the beauties of the island,
which, as I dare say my friend Harry discovered yes-
terday, is somewhat too thickly overgrown for easy
travelling.”
The man's manner—at once frank, chatty, and
easily polite — completely disconcerted me, and I
could see it disconcerted the Captain. It seemed to
reduce the whole expedition to an ordinary picnic;
and (more astonishing yet) the ladies accepted it for
that. They fell in, one on each side of him, as he
led the way to the waterfall, and for a climax Miss
Belcher shook out a parasol which she had been car-
rying under her arm and spread it above her beaver
hat!
At the waterfall our host surpassed himself. The
landscape hereabouts (he declared) always reminded
him of Nicholas Poussin. He would like Miss Plin-
limmon's opinion on the rock-drawing of Salvator
Rosa, a painter whom he gently depreciated. Had
Miss Plinlimmon ever visited the Apennines? He
plucked a few of the ferns growing in the spray and
discoursed on them, comparing them with the com-
mon European polypody. He turned to music and
329


POISON ISLAND
challenged his fair visitors to guess the note made by
the falling water: it hummed on E natural, rising
now and then by something less than a semitone.
With all this it was not easy to suspect him of act-
ing, as it was next to impossible to mistake him for
a trifler. His tall figure, his carriage, the fine pose
of his head, his resonant manly voice, all forbade it
no less than did the wild scenery to which he drew
our attention with an easy proprietary wave of the
hand. I observed that Captain Branscome listened
to him with a puzzled frown.
The waterfall having been duly admired, we re-
traced our steps to the shore. The gig carried a small
mast and lugsail and, the faint wind blowing fair
down the creek, the Captain suggested our hoisting
them. I think it annoyed him to find himself ap-
pealing to Dr. Beauregard.
“By all means,” said the Doctor affably. “It
will save labor till we reach open water, when I will
ask you to lower them. We had best use the paddles
after rounding the point to eastward, and keep close
inshore. I have my reasons for recommending this
—reasons which I shall be happy to explain to you,
sir, at the proper time.” Here he bowed to Captain
Branscome.
Accordingly we hoisted sail, and in a few minutes
opened the view of the lower reach, with the “Es-
330


A BOAT ON THE BEACH
priella” swinging softly at her hawsers, her masts
reflected on the scarcely rippled water. Miss Belcher
broke into a laugh at sight of Mr. Rogers wistfully
eying us from the deck. Dr. Beauregard echoed it,
just audibly. -
“Well, well, ma'am; it is hard upon Mr. —
Rogers, did you tell me? But we must not blame the
Captain for taking precautions. A very neat craft,
Captain, and Jamaica-built, by the look of her.”
“We picked her up at Savannah-la-Mar,” an-
nounced Miss Belcher.
“After burning your boats, madam? Pardon me,
but I find your frankness as admirable as it is
unexpected. Moreover, though Captain Branscome
deprecates it, no policy could be wiser.”
“I see no reason, sir, for being less than candid
with you,” said Miss Belcher. “You know whence
we come and you know why we are here. How we
came is a trifling matter in comparison.”
“Believe me, ma'am, your frankness is all in your
favor. I may repeat what I told you yesterday, that
several expeditions have come to this island seeking
treasure; crews of merely avaricious men, mad with
greed, whom I have made it my business and my
amusement to baffle. You, on the contrary, may
almost count on my help; though whether the treas-
ure will do you much good when you have found it
331


CHAPTER XXX
THE SCREAM ON THE CLIFF
“A BoAT’’ said Captain Branscome, staring
again, and slowly rubbing the back of his head. .
He took a step forward, to descend to the beach
and examine her, but Dr. Beauregard laid a hand on
his arm.
“Not so fast, my friend! Qui dit canot dit cano-
tier—a glance will assure you that she did not beach
herself in that position, above high-water mark, still
less furl her own sail and stow it. Further, if you
study the country behind us, you will see that, while
we came unobserved and stand at this moment in ex-
cellent cover, by crossing the beach we expose our-
selves to observation and the risk of a bullet.”
“I take it, sir,” answered Captain. Branscome,
still puzzled, “you knew this boat to be here, and
have brought us with some purpose.”
“I knew it, to be sure, and my purpose is simple.
We cannot have a rival party of treasure-seekers on
the island. We have ladies in our charge—gentle,
334


THE SCREAM ON THE CLIFF
well-bred ladies—and of the crew of that boat, one
man to my knowledge is a pretty desperate ruffian.
The other two—”
“You have seen them, then 7°
Dr. Beauregard lifted his shoulders slightly, and
took snuff.
“My good friend,” he answered, “as lord proprie-
tor of Mortallone, I pay attention to all my visitors.
Well, as I was saying, to cross the beach just now
would be venturesome and foolish, to boot, seeing
that we hold all the cards and have only to wait.”
“What of the ladies?” asked the Captain. -
“We can return at once and join them at luncheon.
But the ladies, as you remind me, complicate the af-
fair. Before you arrived, I had laid my plans to let
these rascals have the run of the island and amuse me
by their activities. I had, in fact, prepared a little
deception for them—oh, a very innocent little trick!
I don’t know, my dear sir, if it has struck you how
much simpler our amusements tend to become as we
grow older. I had promised myself to watch them,
lying perdu, and in the end to dismiss them with a
quiet chuckle. You have read your ‘Tempest,” Cap-
tain Branscome? Well, I have no obedient Ariel to
play will-o'-the-wisp with such gentry; yet I would
have led them a very pretty dance. But the ladies—
the ladies, to be sure! We cannot expose them to
335


POISON ISLAND
dangers, nor even to alarms. We must use more
summary methods.” He stood for a moment or two
reflective, tapping his snuffbox. “Mr. Goodfellow is
a carpenter, I understand.”
“At your service, sir.”
Mr. Goodfellow's hand went halfway to his waist-
coat pocket, as if to produce his business card.
“I seem to remember, Mr. Goodfellow, that you
carry a bag of tools in the boat?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Including, no doubt, an auger, or, at any rate,
a fair-sized gimlet?”
“Both, sir.”
“You will greatly oblige me, then, Mr. Goodfellow
—always with Captain Branscome's leave—by re-
turning to the boat and fetching your auger; if pos-
sible, without attracting the ladies’ observation. With
this, instead of returning direct to us, you will make
your way to the left, towards the head of the beach,
keeping well under the rocks, which will serve you
from landward. At the head of the beach you will
bring us into sight a pace or two before you come
abreast of the boat. There, at a signal from me, you
will creep down to the boat—on hands and knees, or
on your stomach if you will—and bore me three small
holes close alongside her keelson, using as much ex-
pedition as may consist with neatness. You under-
336


POISON ISLAND
“Couldn't be bettered,” said Dr. Beauregard, smil-
ing cheerfully and smoothing his gun-barrel. “And
now I think we may rejoin the ladies and pray that
these rascals will put off disturbing us until after
luncheon. At one time I feared they might have
taken a panic yesterday morning at sight of your
schooner; but they calculated, maybe, that the
chances were all against your discovering their pres-
ence, which, of course, you never suspected.”
“I suspected something fast enough,” said Cap-
tain Branscome, “for in running along the coast I
caught sight of smoke rising among the hills—from
a camp-fire as I reckoned—and no doubt from here
or hereabouts, though I should have put it a mile or
two farther south.”
“The born fools!” said Dr. Beauregard, laughing.
“Well, it's even possible that in their furious pre-
occupation they let the schooner come close without
spying her. Ah, Captain, you can hardly imagine—
you, fresh from a civilized country, where folks must
keep up appearances, while they prey upon one an-
other—how this lust of gold brutalizes a man when,
as here, he pursues it without restraint. And what,
after all, will gold purchase?”
“Not happiness, I verily believe,” said the Cap-
tain, “though to the poor—and I speak as one who
has been bitterly poor—it may bring happiness for a
338


THE SCREAM ON THE CLIFF
while in the shape of relief from grinding discom-
fort.”
“Yes, yes; as pleasure lies in mere cessation from
pain. But that does not meet my question. We will
take Master Harry here, who seems a good, ordinary
healthy boy. We will suppose him in possession of
the treasure you are here to seek. What in the end
can he purchase with it better than the fun he is get-
ting out of this expedition? He can indulge all his
senses, but for a while only; in the end indulgence
brings satiety, dulls the appetite, takes the savor
from the feast, and so destroys itself. He can pur-
chase power, you say? But that again moves one
difficulty but a step further. For what will his power
give him when he has won it? These are questions,
Captain, which I have asked myself daily here on this
island. I have been asking them ever since, and while
I was yet a young man they came to wear for me a
personal application. “Vanity of vanities,” Captain
—what the preacher discovered long ago I discovered
again and of my own experience.”
“The Christian religion, sir—” began Captain
Branscome. But here our strange host laid a hand
on his arm.
“We forget our politeness,” he interrupted, yet
gently, and without suspicion of offence. “We keep
the ladies waiting.”
339


IPOISON ISLAND
“Captain Branscome and I,” said our host, as he
uncorked one of the green-sealed bottles, “ have been
talking platitudes, to which, however, our present
business lends a certain fresh interest. You are here,
many thousands of miles from home, on a hunt for
treasure. Now, Heaven forbid that I should criti-
cise your intentions, seeing that incidentally I am in
debt to them for this delightful picnic; but before
I help you—as, believe me, I am disposed to help-
may I ask what you propose to do with this wealth
when you get it?”
“Why, sir,” answered Miss Belcher candidly,
“we discussed that, you may be sure, before start-
ing. The bulk of it, after paying expenses, was
to go to young Brooks here. Circumstances had
given him, as we supposed—and for the matter
of that, as we still believe—the clew to the treas-
ure—”
“Pardon me, ma'am, for interrupting you; but
did that clew take the form of a map of the island?”
“It did, sir.”
“A map with three red crosses upon it and some
writing on the back. Nay, I will not press the ques-
tion. Your faces answer it.”
“I ought to tell you, Dr. Beauregard, in justice
to the boy, that he came by it honestly, though in very
tragic circumstances.”
340


THE SCREAM ON THE CLIFF
“Again, ma'am, your faces would answer for the
honesty of your business. As for the circumstances
you speak of, it may save time if I tell you that I
know the whole story. Why, truly,” he went on, as
we stared, “there is no mystery about it. I dare say,
ma'am, the boy has found an opportunity to whisper
to you that he and I have met before. It was at Min-
den Cottage, in his father's garden, and by the very
spot where his father was murdered. He found me
there taking measurements, for I had a theory about
the crime—a theory of which I need only say here
that, though right in the main, it missed certain de-
tails of which Harry’s engaging conversation put me
on the scent. I had read of the murder quite acci-
dentally; but it happened that I knew something of
Coffin—enough to explain his fate—and of the man
who had murdered him. But of Major Brooks I
knew nothing; and what I gathered by inquiry made
the whole affair more and more puzzling. At length
I hit on the explanation that Coffin—who had rea-
sons, and strong ones, for going in deadly terror of
Aaron Glass—had in some way chosen this Major
Brooks for his confessor, and journeyed to Minden
Cottage to deposit the secret with him; and that
Glass, following in pursuit, had surprised and mur-
dered the both of them. The exact catena of the two
crimes mattered less to me than the question: Had
341


THE SCREAM ON THE CLIFF
“Then our arrival, sir, did not altogether surprise
you?” said Miss Belcher.
“On the contrary, ma'am, though for reasons you
will not easily guess, it surprised me as I have never
been surprised in all my life before; it confounded
me, dumfounded me, made chaos of my plans, and—
and—I am delighted to welcome you, ma'am. I de-
sire to be allowed the honor of taking wine with you.”
“Willingly,” assented Miss Belcher, holding out
her glass to be replenished: “and the more so be-
cause I never drank better Rhine wine in my life.”
Dr. Beauregard stood up and bowed, his fine fea-
tures overspread with a flush of pleased astonish-
ment. “Madam—” began Dr. Beauregard, and I
have no doubt he had a compliment on his lips. But
at that moment the hills and the amphitheatre of cliff
behind us rang out—rang out and echoed—with two
terrible screams.
343


CHAPTER XXXI
AARON GLASS
THE second scream followed the first almost before
we could lift our faces to the cliff. Dr. Beauregard
had risen to his feet quickly, without fuss, and
was unstrapping his gun. But Miss Belcher was
quicker. A couple of muskets lay on the sand beside
the luncheon-cloth, and in a trice she had snatched up
one of them, and held our host covered.
“You have deceived us, sir,” she said quietly.
Dr. Beauregard looked along the barrel and into
her eyes with an admiring, half-quizzical smile.
“Good,” said he. “Good, but unnecessary. That
the island is inhabited I supposed you to know,
since Captain Branscome tells me he reported
catching sight of smoke yesterday as you neared
the western coast; but the fellows—there are, or
were, three of them, by the way—are no friends of
mine.”
“We have only your word for it,” said Miss
Belcher, without lowering her musket.
344


POISON ISLAND
these experts have fatally lacked. You have self-
command.”
“It appears to me that we need it, at any rate,”
said Miss Belcher tartly, “if we are to be favored
just now with a lecture.”
Dr. Beauregard smiled.
“The purport of my lecture, ma'am, was to pre-
pare you for a question which I have to put. When
these men arrive, Captain Branscome, Mr. Goodfel-
low, and I must deal with them. Are you ladies
prepared to exercise strong self-control? Will you,
with Harry Brooks, await us here until our business
is over ?”
“Excuse me, sir, but I must first know what your
business is.”
“That, ma'am, will depend upon circumstances;
but it is more than likely to be serious.”
“I must trouble you, now and always, to speak
to me definitely. If you propose to shoot these men,
kindly say so.”
“I do not, ma'am. But their boat lies on the next
beach, and as soon as they launch her they will dis-
cover us; and as soon as they discover us it will be
life for life.”
“But they need not discover us. In five minutes
we can embark ourselves and our belongings; in less
than fifteen we can round the point to the south'ard,
346


AARON GLASS
and beyond it lie two or three small coves where, as
I judged in passing, a boat can lie reasonably safe
from observation.”
“Admirably reasoned, ma'am. By all means take
the boat—take Harry Brooks with you, and Mr.
Goodfellow for protection. But Captain Branscome
and I must stay and see it out with these men.”
“For my part,” put in Plinny, “I cannot see why
these men have not as much right as we to the treas-
ure; and, in any case, if we let them go they leave us
a clear coast to hunt for the rest.”
“Captain Branscome” — Dr. Beauregard turned .
to him—“ do these ladies, as a rule, assert a voice in
your dispositions?”
“They do, sir,” answered the Captain, with a pa-
thetic smile; “and if you will take my advice, the
only way with them is to make a clean breast of
everything.”
“I will.” The Doctor faced about, with a smile.
“You must know then, ladies, that these two ruffians
—for by this time there are two only—will presently
be coming down to the next beach to launch their
boat and leave the island. How do I know this?
Because my study of treasure-hunters has given me
a kind of instinct; or because, if you prefer it, I have
observed that the moment—the crucial moment—
when these fellows quarrel is always the moment
347


POISON ISLAND
when, having laid hands on as much as they can
carry, they turn to retreat. You doubt my diagnosis,
ma'am!” he asked, turning to Miss Belcher. “Then
I can convince you even more simply. These men
are not camping here to-night; they will not return
to-morrow to fetch a second load; and for the suf-
ficient reason that there is no second load. I know
the amount of treasure hidden where they have been
searching. Two men can lift and carry it easily.”
“How do you happen to know this?” asked Miss
Belcher, eying him from under contracted brows.
“For the excellent reason, ma'am, that I put the
treasure there myself.”
The answer, staggering to the rest of us, seemed to
brace her together. She had lowered her musket at
the beginning of the discussion; but now, throwing
up her head with a sharp jerk, she levelled her eyes
on Dr. Beauregard's, as straight as though they
looked along a gun-barrel.
“Then it can hardly be for the sake of the treas-
ure, sir, that you propose to deal with these men.”
“It is not, ma'am.”
“Nor solely to protect us from them, since you
have brought us here, where we need never have
come.”
“No, ma'am. I brought you here because I can-
not be in two places at once, and it was necessary to
348


AARON GLASS
keep both parties under my eye. Having brought
you, I am bound to protect you; but my main busi-
ness here, and yours—or at any rate Captain Brans-
come's—is to punish.”
“To punish But why to punish **
Dr. Beauregard hesitated, with a glance at Plinny
and at me, who stood beside her.
“A word in your ear, ma'am—if you will allow
me?”
He stepped close to Miss Belcher, and spoke a sen-
tence or two which I could not catch. But my eyes
were on her face, and I saw it change color. The
next moment her square mouth shut like a trap.
“If that be so, I wait for him along with you,”
she announced. “Oh, you may trust me, sir. I have
a fairly strong stomach with criminals, and no sen-
timent.”
“It shall be as you please, ma'am. But, for the
others, I would suggest their taking the boat and
awaiting us around the point. See, the tide has
risen, and within five minutes she will float. Mr.
Goodfellow, will you accompany Miss Plinlimmon
and the boy? Wait, please, until completely afloat
before pushing off; for our friends must be near at
hand by this time, and the grating of her keel might
give them the alarm. For the same reason, ma'am,
unless you have any particular question to ask, we
349


AARON GLASS
blood; but the stomach gets accustomed. . . . By
this day week you’ll be lively as a flea in a rug, and
lookin' forward to drivin’ in your carriage-an’-pair.
I promise you that; but what you’ve to do at this mo-
ment is to stand up, and help me get down the boat.
For if he's anywhere on this island, God help the
pair of us!”
“He l’ quavered Jim Rogers.
“I shouldn’t wonder.”
“But you told me he was dead!”
“Did I? Well, perhaps I did. That was to keep
your spirits up. But now I don’t mind tellin' you
that I’m not sure. He ought to be dead by this time;
but ’tis a question if the likes of him ever die. He's
own cousin to the devil, I tell you; and if he's any-
where alive, like as not he's watching us at this
moment.”
Whatever this meant, it appeared to rouse Jim
Rogers, and start him in a panic. I heard him sob as
he helped to lower their burden upon the beach.
Now, all this time they had been standing immedi-
ately beneath me, and I dared not lift my head for
a look. But now, as they went staggering down the
beach, I parted the creepers, and stared in their wake.
They carried a heavy sea-chest between them, but my
eyes were neither for the chest nor for Jim Rogers,
but for his companion, the man he called Bill.
353


POISON ISLAND
I knew him before I looked; and as I had recog-
nized his voice, so now I recognized his narrow, foxy
head, and sloping shoulders.
It was Aaron Glass.
The two men carried the chest along at a rate that
perhaps came easily enough to Jim Rogers, who was
a young giant of a seaman, but was astonishing for
a thin, windlestraw of a man such as Glass. He
ploughed his way across the sands like a demon, and
had scarcely set down the chest, a little above the
water's edge, before he was tugging at the boat. I
heard him call to Rogers to help, and the pair
heave-y-ho’ed together as they strained at the gun-
wale to lift her and run her down.
From this ridge, as yet, came no sign.
Presently from the boat — they had pulled her
down to the water, and were both stooping over her
with their shoulders well inside, busy in arranging
her bottom-board—I heard a fearful oath; an oath
that rose in a scream as the two men faced each other,
scared, incredulous.
“Scuttled, by God!”
It was Glass who screamed it out, and with the
sound of it a host of sea-birds rose from the neigh-
boring rocks, whitening the sky. But Jim Rogers
cast up both hands and ran.
“Stop, you fool! Stop!”
354


CHAPTER XXXII
we comE To DR. BEAUREGARD's HousE
GLAss's arm fell limp by his side, as though Dr.
Beauregard had actually pulled the trigger and
winged him. He turned half-about as the pistol slid
from his fingers. He gave no cry; only there reached
us a loose, throttling sound such as a steam whistle
makes before fetching its note. It came to us in the
lull between two waves that broke and raced up the
sands to ripple around his feet.
“Both hands up, Mr. Glass!”
Dr. Beauregard advanced a step.
But instead of lifting his arms, the man curved
them before him, and held them so, as if to protect
his treasure, while he sank on his knees beside the
box. His face was yellow with terror.
“You fool!”—the doctor, still holding him cov-
ered, advanced step by step to the box, and bent over
it, staring down at him. The rest of us followed—
that is to say, Miss Belcher, Captain Branscome, and
I,-under I know not what compulsion, followed and
came to a halt a few paces behind him. Standing so,
356


DR. BEAUREGARD’S HOUSE
I felt, rather than saw, that Plinny and Mr. Goodfel-
low, attracted by the report of the pistol, were peer-
ing at us over the ridge of rocks on the right.
“You fool!” Dr. Beauregard repeated, and sud-
denly dropped the butt of his musket upon the loose
cover of the chest.
“You fool!” said he a third time, and tearing
aside a splintered board, dipped his hand and held
it up full of sparkling stones. Opening his fingers
slowly, he let a few jewels rattle back upon
the heap, and held out a moderate fistful towards the
cowering Glass. “Did you actually suppose, having
proved me once, that I would suffer such a common
cutthroat as you to march off with my treasure ? Look
up at me, man! I charge you with having murdered
Coffin, even as you have just murdered that other
poor blockhead who trusted you.” He nodded side-
ways—but still keeping his eyes upon Glass—towards
the body, which lay as it had fallen. “Answer me.
Are you guilty? Yes or no?”
The man’s mouth worked, but his tongue crackled
in his mouth like a parched leaf, and no words came.
“Yes, I know what you would say; that you had
some excuse—that Coffin in his time had stuck at
nothing to be quit of you; that he sold you to the
press-gang; that through Coffin you spent eight, ten
—how many years?—in the war prisons; that he be-
357


POISON ISLAND
lieved you dead, as he had taken pains to kill you.
Well, we'll grant it. As between two scoundrels I’ll
not trouble to weigh the rights against the wrongs.
But look at this boy, here. You recognize him, hey?
Very well, then; I charge you with having murdered
his father, Major Brooks, as you murdered Coffin.
You have run up a pretty long account, my friend,
for so clumsy a performer, but I think you have
reached the end of it.”
Aaron Glass looked at me and blinked. Terror of
the man confronting him had twisted his dumb mouth
into a kind of grin horrible to see. It lifted his lip,
like the snarl of a dog, over his yellow teeth. Dr.
Beauregard laughed softly.
“And all for what? For an imperfect chart—and
for these! He thrust his hand close up to Glass’s
face, and spread his fingers wide, letting the gems
drip between them, and rain back into the treasure-
chest. “What's wrong with them? That’s what
you’d be asking—eh?—if your poor tongue could
find the words. Why, only this, my friend—yes,
look well at them—that I hid them myself, and every
one of them is false.”
“False!” I could see the miserable creature's
mouth at work, his lips forming to the echo of the
word, as it struck across his terror like a whip. But
he achieved no articulate sound.
358


DR. BEAUREGARD’S HOUSE
tell you something of the other two, that at least you
may not attempt it unwarned.”
“You may spare yourself the pains, sir,” said Miss
Belcher decisively; “since our minds are made up.
You might, I doubt not, succeed in frightening us;
but since you certainly will not deter us, I suggest
that the less we hear the better.”
The doctor bowed.
“Ah, madam,” sighed he, “if only Fate had timed
your adventure two years ago; or if departing with
the treasure, you could even now leave me to regrets
—in peace!”
“My good sir,” said Miss Belcher sharply, “I
haven’t a doubt you mean something or other; but
what precisely it is, I cannot conceive.”
“You will go, madam, leaving my island twice
empty. That is Fate, and I consent with Fate. But
the devil of it is, ma’am—if I may use the expression
—your removing the treasure will not prevent others
coming to look for it, and annoying an old age which
has ceased to set store on wealth, or on anything that
wealth can purchase.”
She looked at him oddly.
“Well, now,” she confessed, “you are a mystery
to me in half a dozen ways; but if on top of all you
mean to turn pious 22
He laughed, and when the laugh was done, it
363


POISON ISLAND
there is money left. You shall take it and endow a
hospital if you choose, and that no doubt will increase
your happiness and make it thrive. But the root of
the plant lies within you. Pardon me, ma’am ”—
he looked towards Miss Belcher — “the question
sounds an impudent one, I know, but are you not,
even for England, a well-to-do lady?”
“I have a trifle more than my neighbors,” owned
Miss Belcher. “But it's almost more plague than
blessing; at least I call it so, sometimes, which is a
different thing from being ready to give it up.”
“And you, ma'am!” He turned to Plinny.
“I have enough for my needs, I thank God,” she
answered. “But I have known what it is to be poor.”
“Quite so,” he nodded. “And yet you have come
thousands of miles, you two, in search of treasure!”
At the entrance of Gow's Gulf we downed sail and
took to our paddles again. The tide helped us against
the breeze and within half an hour we came in sight
of the schooner lying peacefully at anchor as we had
left her.
So, at least, and at first glance, it seemed; but as we
drew near, Captain Branscome stood up suddenly, the
tiller-lines in his hands.
“Hallo! Where's the dinghy?”
It was gone; and—what was worse—our repeated
hails fetched no answering hail from the ship. But
366


POISON ISLAND
“I give you my word of honor, sir, that your ship
shall not be visited nor tampered with in any way.
Return when you will, you shall find her precisely as
she lies now. In another two hours even this faint
breeze will have died down, as you are seaman enough
to know. The anchorage is land-locked; the bottom
is perfect holding; and as for unwelcome visitors,
there can be none. I am the sole resident on this
island l’’
I looked up at Dr. Beauregard sharply; and so, it
seemed to me, did Mr. Rogers, who had fallen along-
side.
“That is to say,” continued the Doctor quietly
without regarding either of us, “the only male resi-
dent.”
“All the same I don’t like it,” persisted the Cap-
tain, and shook his head, at the same time lifting his
eyes towards Miss Belcher; and it’s clear against
my rule.”
“Stuff and nonsense!” said Miss Belcher. “We
ought to be grateful to Dr. Beauregard for taking
this creature Glass off our hands. I was thinking a
moment ago that for a thousand pounds I’d rather he
was anywhere than on board our ship. The least we
can do is to bear a hand with him; and if we don't
like the house we can come away.”
“And before nightfall, if you insist,” added Dr.
368


DR. BEAUREGARD’S HOUSE
Beauregard genially. “But the afternoon is young,
and between now and nightfall you may all have
made your fortunes. Who knows?”
Captain Branscome yielded, after a look at Plinny,
who backed up Miss Belcher, declaring herself ar-
dent for new adventures. I began to see that the
Captain was wax in the hands of these two, and it
puzzled me, who had some experience of him both in
school and on shipboard.
Instead, then, of heading for the ship, we rowed
past her and up the creek—Mr. Rogers following in
his dinghy—and disembarked at the landing-place
under the green knoll. While Dr. Beauregard and
Mr. Goodfellow lifted out Aaron Glass, and while
the Captain explained to Mr. Rogers where and how
we came by such a passenger, I stared about me, won-
dering where the Doctor's house might be and where
the approach to it. For I remembered the narrow
gorge leading up to the waterfalls and the thick, pre-
cipitous woods on either hand; and how such a party
as ours, including two ladies and a sick man, could
hope to penetrate those woods or climb those water-
falls was a puzzle to me.
In ten minutes Mr. Goodfellow had patched up a
fairly serviceable litter with the boat's sail and a cou-
ple of paddles. Dr. Beauregard bestowed the patient
in it carefully enough, and, when all was ready, led
369


POISON ISLAND
the way. The two carriers, Mr. Rogers and Mr.
Goodfellow, came next with the litter between them,
and at a nod from the former I fell in beside
him. The Captain and the two ladies brought up
the rear.
“Harry,” whispered Mr. Rogers, as we wound our
way round the knoll, “is this really the man
who—”
“This is Aaron Glass,” I said.
He stared down—for he carried the hinder end of
the litter—upon the villanous, unconscious face.
“He looks a pretty bad one,”
after a pause.
said Mr. Rogers,
“You should have seen him on the beach,” said I.
“I’ve seen something myself,” said he. “Closer,
boy—there was a woman came down to the shore just
now, waving to the ship and crying. At first I took
her for a child. She was dressed all in white—white
muslin and ribbons, you know—the sort of rig you
see at a children’s party; but when I rowed over close
to her 25
“I know her,” I said. “I met her in the woods
yesterday.” -
“That explains; though I call it an infernal shame
you didn’t tell. I rowed across to find out what ailed
her, she stood waving her arms so, and crying—like
a child in distress. When I came near she called out
370


DR. BEAUREGARD’S HOUSE
to me to stop. “Not you,” she said, ‘the little boy!
Where is the little boy?’ I told her that we had a
boy on board, but that just now you were off on a
cruise; and with that she turned right about, and ran
up through the woods and out of sight; but for some
way I could hear her crying and calling out just as
before: ‘The little boy!” It was, ‘Where is the little
boy?’—meaning you, I suppose.”
We were now come to the foot of the first water-
fall, an obvious cul de sac for a party which included
two ladies and a sick man on a litter. I stood gazing
up at the wet, slippery rocks by which I had made
my ascent yesterday, and searching in vain for a
more practicable path. Dr. Beauregard halted and
turned upon me with a smile.
“A moment,” said he, “and you will grant that
my privacy is rather neatly protected. But first"—
he pointed to the water pouring past us from the pool
beneath the fall—“you may remark that the stream
here has more than twice the volume of the stream
you see coming down the rocks.”
I looked. The difference was plain enough, and I
had been a fool in failing to observe it.
“The reason being,” he went on, “that a second
and larger stream flows into the pool under the very
stones on which you are standing. I myself laid that
channel for it, almost ten years ago, and Nature has
371


DR. BEAUREGARD’S HOUSE
“Faugh!” exclaimed Miss Belcher, looking about
her and sniffing suspiciously. “A pretty place
enough, but full of malaria, or I’m a Dutchwoman!
And what a horrible silence!”
This was true enough. The woods of Mortallone
are beautiful, but silent. The island has no birds
but the gulls and seafowl haunting its keys and
beaches, and these wheel and wheel about it but never
fly across the interior.
“Malaria?” said Mr. Rogers quietly. “There's
better scent than malaria in this valley, and we’re
hot on it. Here's the river, and What does the
chart say, boy? Five trees, a mile and a half from
the creek-head? We must have come a mile already.
Reep your eyes skinned, and give me a nudge if you
see such a clump.”
But there was no need to keep my eyes skinned.
At the next bend of the glade he and I caught sight
of it simultaneously—a clump of noble pines that
would have challenged notice even had we not been
searching for them. My heart stood still as I counted
them. Yes; there were five!
“I haven’t often wanted to put a knife into a
man's back,” grunted Mr. Rogers, with a gloomy
glance ahead at Dr. Beauregard.
For an instant I made sure the Doctor had over-
heard him. He halted suddenly, and turned to me
373


POISON ISLAND
by English law—which I suggest we follow—is
one-third.”
Dr. Beauregard bowed.
“I’m infinitely obliged to you, ma'am, and I make
no doubt that what you so generously promise you
will as honorably give—when I claim it. In truth,
I have something more than enough for my needs.
There was a time (I will confess) when I had sold
my soul, if I possessed such a thing, for a glimpse of .
what lies written on that parchment. But I am old;
and old age—” He broke off the sentence and did
not resume it; but went on presently, with a change
of tone: “However, I still keep a sporting interest
in the treasure, which has baffled me all these years,
the more so because I have a shrewd suspicion that
it has lain all the while within a mile or so of where
we sit at this moment.”
“It does, sir,” said Miss Belcher, unfolding the
chart and pointing.
Dr. Beauregard adjusted a pair of gold-rimmed
eyeglasses and bent towards it. The writing was in-
distinct, and he put out a hand as if to take hold of
the edge of the parchment and steady it. The hand,
I noticed, did not tremble at all.
“Stay a moment, sir.” Miss Belcher turned the
chart over. “The clew is given here, upon the back.
Listen.” And she translated:
378


WE FIND THE TREASURE
might reach the valley there below, and at least
cry my warning. I faced round again to my
companion.
She had vanished 1
My mouth grew dry of a sudden. Was she a
ghost? And her prattling talk—the voice yet sing-
ing in my brain—
“Little boy! Little boy!”
I parted the tall ferns. Beyond them a small hand
beckoned, and, following it, I came face to face with
a wall of naked rock from which she lifted aside the
creepers over a deep cleft — a cleft wide enough
to admit a man's body if he turned sideways and
stooped a little.
She clapped her hands at my astonishment.
“You like my bower?” she asked gleefully.
“Ah, but wait, and I will show you wonders! No
one knows of it, not even Rosa.”
She wriggled her way through the cleft. I peered
in, and went after her cautiously, expecting, as the
curtain of creepers fell behind me, to find myself in
a dark cave or grotto. Dark it was, to be sure, but
not utterly dark; and to my amazement, as my eyes
grew accustomed to the gloom, the faint light came
from ahead of me and seemed to strike upwards from
the bowels of the earth.
“Do not be afraid, little boy! But hold your
387


POISON ISLAND
sorrow. But—see here again!—there were boxes and
boxes, all heaped to the brim, and long robes sewn
all over with pearls. Take what you like, but—he
will not know. He gives me diamonds sometimes. I
adored them in the old days, in opera. And he re-
members and gives me a stone from time to time, to
keep me amused. I laugh to myself, then, when I
think of the store I keep, here in my bower. And he
so clever! But he does not guess. Ah, child, if I
had had but these to wear, when I used to sing
IEurydice!”
She held out two handfuls of diamonds, and be-
gan to sing in a high, cracked voice, while she let them
rain through her fingers.
“But listen!” I cried suddenly.
She ceased at once, and stood with her face half
turned to the darkness behind her, her arms rigid at
her sides, the gems dropping as her hands slowly un-
clasped them. Below, where the tunnel ran down
into darkness, a voice hailed:
“Metta! Is that Metta?”
It was the voice of Dr. Beauregard. The poor
creature gazed at me helplessly and ran for the stair-
way. But her feet sank in the loose heap of jewels;
she stumbled; and, as she picked herself up, I saw
that she was too late; for already a light shone up
from the tunnel below, and before she could gain the
390


CHAPTER XXXIV
DOCTOR BEAUREGARD
“GLAss? My dear madam, pardon my remiss-
ness: he is dead. Rosa brought me the news before
we sat down to table.”
I opened my eyes. In the words, as I came back
to consciousness, I found nothing remarkable, nor
for a few seconds did it surprise me that the dark gal-
lery had changed into a panelled, lighted room, with
candles shining on a long, white table, and on flowers
and crystal decanters, and dishes heaped with fruit.
The candles were shaded, and from the sofa where I
lay I saw across the cloth the faces of Miss Belcher
and Captain Branscome intent on the Doctor. He
was leaning forward from the head of the table and
speaking to Plinny, who sat with her back to me,
darkly silhouetted against the light. Mr. Rogers, on
Plinny’s left, had turned his chair sideways and was
listening too; and at the lower end of the board a tall
épergne of silver partially hid the form of Mr. Good-
fellow.
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DOCTOR BEAUREGARD
“Yes, indeed, I ought to have told you,” went
on the Doctor's voice. “But really no recovery
could be expected. The man's heart was utterly
diseased.”
His gaze, travelling past Plinny, wandered as if
casually towards me, where I lay in the penumbra. I
felt it coming, and closed my eyes; and on the instant
my brain cleared. -
Yes; Glass was dead, of course, poisoned by this
man as ruthlessly as these my friends would be poi-
soned if I cried out no warning. Or perhaps it had
happened already.
I opened my eyes again, cautiously, little by little.
The Doctor was filling Plinny’s glass. Having filled
it, he pushed the decanters towards Mr. Rogers,
and turned to say a word to Miss Belcher, on his
right. No; there was time. It had not happened—
yet.
I wanted to start up and scream aloud. But some
power, stronger than my will, held me down against
the sofa-cushion. I had lost all grip of myself—of
my life and of my limbs alike. I could neither stir
nor speak, but lay watching with half-closed eyes,
while the room swam and in my ears I heard a thin
voice buzzing: “Tell your friends—the ice—he never
touches the ice. But it will not save them. He will
find some other way.”
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POISON ISLAND
they say, and in pure gems. He is to choose his
share, by and by; and then we have to contrive how
to take it down to the ship.”
“Miss Plinlimmon,” said the Captain, coming
towards us, “you promised me a word yesterday. I
should wish to claim it now—that is, if Harry can
spare you.” I observed that his voice shook a little,
but this I set down to excitement.
“Did I? Yes, I remember.” Miss Plinlimmon's
voice, too, was tremulous. She hesitated, and her
eyes in the dim light seemed to seek mine.
I assured her that I was recovering fast, here
in the fresh air, and that it would be a kindness,
indeed, to leave me alone. She bent quickly and
kissed me. I wondered why, as she stepped past
the Captain and he followed her down the veranda
steps.
I wished to be left alone. I was puzzled, and what
puzzled me was that neither Miss Belcher nor Dr.
Beauregard had left the dining-room. In fact, as I
passed out through the window, happening to turn
my head, I had caught sight of his face, and it had
signalled to her to stay. I knew not why he should
intend harm to Miss Belcher rather than to any other
of our party. But I distrusted the man; and Plinny
had scarcely left me before, having made sure that
Mr. Rogers and Mr. Goodfellow were within easy
396


THE NEW YU
REFERE