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NHTFRIEND
THE MURDERER
.flW)OHfiRAfl€HRESAND
'ADVENTURES
BY
A.CONAN DOYLE
AUTHOR or
"THE WHITE commuv,” "Tma: rIRM or GIRDLESTONE," z'rc., ETC.
NEVV YORK
INTERNATIONAL BOOK COMPANY
31o—3x8 surm AVENUE


Um.“ I-ib"°".Y, Univ. Cah'f., Santa Cruz
' '>.n
BY
UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY.

'[14 ll rights re\'erz!ed.]


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CONTENTS.
PAGE
MY FRIEND THE Munnmmm, . . . . . . 7
THE GULLY 011‘ Bnummusnvxa, . . . . . 31
Tm: P.uzsoz~: or JACKMAN'S Guncn. . . . . . 60
THE Sn.vi<:n HATCI-IET, . . . . . . . 79
THE MAN FROM ARCIIANGEL, . . . _ - . . 99
THAT LITTLE SQUARE Box, . . . . . . 129
A NIGHT AMONG THE N1uIL1s'rs, . . . . . 155
B0m~.'s_ wan APRIL F00l. OF HAnvEY’s Suncm. . . 17L
SELECTING A Gnosw, . . . . . . . . 209
THE MYSTERY OF SASASSA VALLEY,' . . . . . 232
THE AMERICAN'S TALE, . . . . . . . 248
OUR DERBY SWEEPSTAKES, . . . . . . . 258





MY FRIEND THE MURDEREB.
“ N_UMBER 43 is no better, Doctor,” said the head-
warder, in a slightly reproachful accent, looking in
round the corner of my door.
“ Confound 43!” I responded from behind the
pages of the Australian S/cetc/zer.
“And 61 says his tubes are paining him. Couldn’t
you do anything for him ? ”
“ He’s a walking drug-shop,” said I. “ I-Ie has
the whole British pharmacopoeia inside him. I be-
lieve his tubes are as sound as yours are.”
“Then there’s 7 and 108, they are chronic,” con-
tinued the warder, glancing down a blue slip of
paper. “And 28 knocked off work yesterday—said
lifting things gave him a stitch in the side. I want
you to have a look at him, if you don’t mind, Doctor.
There’s 31, too—him that killed John Adamson in
the Corinthian brig—he’s been carrying on awful in
the night, shrieking and yelling, he has, and no
stopping him either.”
“ All right, I’ll have a look at him afterward,” I
said, tossing my paper carelessly aside, and pouring
myself out a cup of coflee. “ Nothing else to report,
I suppose, warder ? ”
The oflicial protruded his head a little further into
the room. “ Beg pardon, Doctor,” he said, in a con-
fidential tone, “but I notice as 82 has a bit of a cold,
and it would be a good excuse for you to visit him
and have a chat, maybe.”
The cup of coffee was arrested half-way to my


8 M Y FRIEND THE ll[URDEREI:“.
lips as I stared in amazement at the man’s serious
face. ,
“An excuse?” I said. “An excuse? What the
deuce are you talking about, McPherson ‘P You see
me trudging about all day at my practice, when I’m
not looking after the prisoners, and coming back
every night as tired as a dog, and you talk about
finding an excuse for doing more work.”
“ You’d like it, Doctor,” said Warder McPherson,
insinuating one of his shoulders into the room.
“ That man’s story’s worth listening to if you could
get him to tell it, though he’s not what you’d call
free in his speech. Maybe you don’t know who
82 is ? ”
“.No, I don’t, and I don’t care either,” I answered,
in the conviction that some local rufiian was about
to be foisted upon me as a celebrity.
“He’s Maloney,” said the warder, “him that
turned Queen’s evidence after the murders at Blue-
mansdyke.” -
“ You d0n’t say so ? ” I ejaculated, laying down
my cup in astonishment. I had heard of this
ghastly series of murders, and read an account of
them in a London magazine long before setting
foot in the colony. I remembered that the atroci-
ties committed had thrown the Burke and Hare
crimes completely into the shade, and that one of
the most villainous of the gang had saved his own
skin by betraying his companions. “ Are you' sure "2 ”
Iasked. '
“Oh, yes, it’s him right enough. Just you draw
him out a bit, and he’ll astonish yon. He’s a man
to know, is Maloney ; that’s to say, in moderation ;”
and the head grinned, bobbed, and disappeared,
leaving me to finish my breakfast and ruminate
over what I had heard.


MY FRIEND THE ll/IURDERER. 9
The surgeonship of an Australian prison is not
an enviable position. It may be endurable in Mel-
bourne or Sydney, but the little town of Perth has
few attractions to recommend it, and those few had
been long exhausted. The climate was detestable,
and the society far from congenial. Sheep and cat-
tle were the staple support of the community; and
their prices, breeding, _and diseases the principal
topic of conversation. Now as I, being an outsider,
possessed neither the one nor the other, and was ut-
terly callous to the new “ dip ” and the “ rot” and
other kindred topics, I found myself in a state of
mental isolation, and was ready to hail_ anything
which might relieve the monotony of my existence.
Maloney, the murderer, had at least some distinc-
tiveness and individuality in his character, and
might act as a tonic to a mind sick of the common-
places of existence. I determined that I should fol-
low the warder’s advice, and take the excuse for
making his acquaintance. When, therefore, I went
upon my usual matutinal round, I turned the lock
of the door which bore the convict’s number upon
it, and walked into the cell.
The man was lying in a heap upon his rough bed
as I entered, but, uncoiling his long limbs, he
started up and stared at me with an insolent look
of defiance on his face which augured badly for our
interview. He had a pale, set face, with sandy hair
and a steelly-blue eye, with something feline in its
expression. His frame was tall and muscular,
though there was a curious bend in his shoulders,
which almost amounted to a deformity. An ordi-
nary observer meeting him in the street might have
put him down as a Welhdeveloped man, fairly hand-
some, and of studious habits—even in the hideous
uniform of the rottenest convict establishment he


10 MY FRIEND THE MURDERER.
imparted a certain refinement to his carriage which
marked him out among the inferior ruflians around
him. ' -
“ I’m not on the sick-list,” he said, gruflly. There
was something in the hard, rasping voice which dis-
pelled all softer illusions, and made me realize that
I was face to face with the man of the Lena Valley
and Bluemansdyke, the bloodiest bushranger that
ever stuck up a farm or out the throats of its occu-
pants.
“ I know you’re not,” I answered. “ Warder Mc-
Pherson told me you had a cold, though, and I
thought I’d look in and see you.”
“ Blast Warder McPherson, and blast you, too! ”
yelled the convict, in a paroxysm of rage. “Oh,
tliat’s right,” he added, in a quieter voice; “ hurry
away; report me to the governor, do! Get me an-
other six months or so—that’s your game.”
“I’m not going to report you,” I said.
“ Eight square feet of ground,” he went on, disre-
garding my protest, and evidently working himself
into a fury again. “ Eight square feet, and I can’t
have that without being talked to and stared at, and
—oh, blast the whole crew of you!” and he raised
his two clenched hands above his head and shook
them in passionate invective.
“ You’ve got a curious idea of hospitality,” I
remarked, determined not to_ lose my temper, and
saying almost the first thing that came to my
tongue.
To my surprise the words had an extraordinary
_efl'ect upon him. He seemed completely staggered
at my assuming the proposition for which he had
been so fiercely contending—name1y, that the room
in which we stood was his own.
“I beg your pardon,” he said; “I didn’t mean to


H Y FRIEND THE Iz[URDERE'R. 11
be rude. WOn’t you take a seat ? ” and he motioned
toward a rough trestle, which formed the headpiece
of his couch.
I sat down, rather astonished at the sudden
change. I don’t know that I liked Maloney better
under his new aspect. The murderer had, it is true,
disappeared for the nonce, but there was something
in the smooth tones and obsequious manner which
powerfully suggested the witness of the Queen, who
had stood up and sworn away the lives of his com-
panions in crime.
“ How’s your chest ?” I asked, putting on my pro-
fessional air.
“Come, drop it, Doctor, drop it!” he answered,
showing a row of white teeth as he resumed his
seat upon the side of the bed. “ It wasn’t anxiety
after my precious health that brought you along
here; that story won’t wash at all. You came to
have a look at Wolf Tone Maloney, forger, mur-
derer, Sydney - slider, ranger, and Government
peach. That’s about my figure, ain’t it? There
it is, plain and straight; there’s nothing mean
about me.”
He paused as if he expected me to say something;
but as I remained silent, he repeated once or twice,
“ There’s nothing mean about me.”
“And why shouldn’t I?” he suddenly yelled, his
eyes gleaming and his whole satanic nature reas-
serting itself. “We were bound to swing, one and
all, and they were none the worse if I saved myself
by turning against them. Every man for himself,
say I, and the devil take the luckiest. You haven’t
a plug of tobacco, Doctor, have you ? ”
I-Ie tore at the piece of “Barrett’s” which I
handed him, as ravenously as a wild beast. It
seemed to have the effect of soothing his nerves,


1 2 J1 Y I"RIl11lY1) THE JIURDER ER.
for he settled himself down in the bed and reas-
sumed his former deprecating manner.
“ You wouldn’t like it yourself, you know, Doc-
tor,” he said; “ it’s enough to make any man a little
queer in his temper. I’m in for six months this
time for assault, and very sorry I shall be to go out
again, I can tell you. My mind’s at ease in here;
but when I’m outside, what with the Government
and what with Tattooed Tom of Hawkesbury, there’s
no chance of a quiet life.”
“ Who is he ? ” I asked. -
“He’s the brother of John Grimthorpe, the sam
that was condemned on my evidence; and an infernal
scamp he was, too! Spawn of the devil, both of
them! This tattooed one is a murderous rufiian,
and he swore to have my blood after that trial. It’s
seven year ago, and he’s following me yet; I know
he is, though he lies low and keeps dark. He came
up to me in Ballarat in ’75; you can see on the back
of my hand here where the bullet clipped me. He
tried again in "76, at Port Philip, but I got the drop
on him and wounded him badly. He knifed me in
’79, though, in a bar at Adelaide, and that made our
account about level. He’s loafing round again
now, and he’ll let daylight into me—unless—unless
by some extraordinary chance someone does as
much for him.” And Maloney gave a very ugly
smile.
“I don’t complain of /aim so much,” he contin-
ued. “Looking at it in his way, no doubt it is a
sort of family matter that can hardly be neglected.
It’s the Government that fetches me. When I
-think of what I’ve done for this country, and then
of what this country has done for me, it makes me
fairly wild—clean drives me ofi“ my head. There’s
no gratitude nor common decency left, Doctor I ”


MY FRIEND THE LIURDERER. 13
He brooded over his wrongs for a few minutes,
and then proceeded to lay them before me in de-
tail.
“Here’s nine men,” he said; “ they’ve been mur-
dering and killing for a matter of three years, and
maybe a life a week wouldn’t more than average
the work that they’ve done. The Government
catches them and the Government tries them, but
they can’t convict ; and why ?—because the witness-
es have all had their throats cut, and the whole
j0b’s been very neatly done. What happens then?
Up comes a citizen called Wolf Tone Maloney; he
says ‘ The country needs me, and here I am.’ And
with that he gives his evidence, convicts the lot, and
enables the beaks to hang them. That’s what I did.
There’s nothing mean about me! And now what
does the country do in return ? Dogs me, sir, spies
on me, watches me night and day, turns against the
very man that worked so very hard for it. There’s
something mean about that, anyway. I didn’t ex-
pect them to knight me, nor to make me Colonial
Secretary; but, damn it! I did expect that they
would let me alone! ”
“Well,” I remonstrated, “if you choose to break
laws and assault people, you can’t expect it to be
looked over on account of former services.”
“ I don’t refer to my present imprisonment, sir,”
said Maloney, with dignity. “ It’s the life I’ve been
leading since that cursed trial that takes the soul
out of me. Just you sit there on that trestle, and
I’ll tell you all about it; and then look me in the
face and tell me that I’ve been treated fair by the
police.”
I shall endeavor to transcribe the experiences of
the convict in his own words, as far as I can remem-
ber them, preserving his curious perversions of


14: M Y FRIEND THE M URDERER.
right and wrong. I can answer for the truth of his
facts, whatever may be said for his deductions from
them. Months afterward, Inspector H. W. Hann,
formerly governor of the jail at Dunedin, showed
me entries in his ledger which corroborated every
statement. Maloney reeled the story off in a dull,
monotonous voice, with his head sunk upon his
breast and his hands between his knees. The glitter
of his serpent-like eyes was the only sign of the
emotions which were stirred up by the recollection
of the events which he narrated.
You’ve read of Bluemansdyke (he began, with
some pride in his tone). We made it hot while it
lasted; but they ran us to earth at last, and a trap
called Braxton, with a damned Yankee, took the
lot of us. That was in New Zealand, of course, and
they took us down to Dunedin, and there they were
convicted and hanged. One and all they put up
their hands in the dock, and cursed me till your
blood would have run cold to hear them—which was
scurvy treatment, seeing that we had all been pals
together; but they were a blackguard lot, and
thought only of themselves. I think it is as well
that they were hung.
They took me back to Dunedin jail, and clapped
me into the old cell. The only difference they made
was, that I had no work to do and was well fed. I
stood this for a week or two, until one day the gov-
ernor was making his round, and I put the matter
to him.
“ How’s this?” I said. “ My conditions were a
free pardon, and you‘re keeping me here against
the law.” '
He gave a sort of a smile. “Should you like
very much to go out ? ” he asked.


MY FRIEND THE MURDERER. 15
“So much,” said I, “that unless you open that
door I'll have an action against you for illegal de-
tention.”
He seemed a bit astonished by my resolution.
“You’re very anxious to meet your death,” he
said.
“What d’ye mean ‘2 ” I asked.
“Come here, and y0u’ll know what I mean,” he
answered. And he led me down the passage to a
window that overlooked the door of the prison.
“ Look at that! ” said he.
I looked out, and there were a dozen or so rough-
looking fellows standing outside in the street, some
of them smoking, some playing cards on the pave-
ment. When they saw me they gave a yell and
crowded round the door, shaking their fists and
hooting.
“They wait for you, watch and watch about,”
said the governor. “T11ey’re the executive of the
vigilance committee. However, since you are de-
termined to go, I can’t stop you.”
“D’ye call this a civilized land,” I cried, “and
let a man be murdered in cold blood in open day-
light ‘. ”
When I said this the governor and the warder and
every fool in the place grinned, as if a man’s life was
a rare good joke.
“ You’ve got the law on your side,” says the gov-
ernor; “ so we won’t detain you any longer. Show
him out, warder.”
He’d have done it, too, the black-hearted villain,
if I hadn’t begged and prayed and.ofl'ered to pay for
my board and lodging, which is more than any pris-
oner ever did before me. He let me stay on those
conditions; and for three months I was caged up
there with every la-rrikin in the township clamoring


1 6 M Y FRIEND TH E‘ M U RDERER.
Q at the other side of the wall. That was pretty treat-
ment for a man that had served his country I
At last, one morning up came the governor
again.
“ Well, Maloney,” he said, “ how long are you go-
ing to honor us with your society ? ”
I could have put a knife into his cursed body,
and would, too, if we had been alone in the bush;
but I had to smile, and smooth him and flatter, for
I feared that he might have me sent out.
“You’re an infernal rascal,” he said; those were
his very words, to a man that had helped him all he
knew how. “I don’t want any rough justice here,
though; and I think I see my way to getting you-
out of Dunedin.”
“ I’ll never forget you, governor,” said I; and, by
God! I never will.
“ I don’t want your thanks nor your gratitude,” he
answered; “ it’s not for your sake that I do it, but
simply to keep order in the town. There’s a steamer
starts from the West Quay to Melbourne to-morrow,
and we’ll get you aboard it. She is advertised at
five in the morning, so have yourself in readi-
ness.”
I packed up the few things I had, and was
smuggled out by a back door just before daybreak.
I hurried down, took my ticket under the name of
Isaac Smith, and got safely aboard the Melbourne
boat. I remember hearing her screw grinding into
the water as the warps were cast loose, and looking
back at the lights of Dunedin as I leaned upon
the bulwarks, with the pleasant thought that I was
leaving them behind me forever. It seemed to me
that a new world was before me, and that all my
troubles had been cast off. I went down below and
had some cofiee, and came up again fooling better


MY FRI FIND THE MURDERER. _ 1 7
than I had done since the morning that I woke to
find that cursed Irishman that took me, standing
over me with a six-shooter.
Day had dawned by that time, and we were steam-
ing along by the coast, well out of sight of Dunedin.
I loafed about for a couple of hours, and when the
sun got well up some of the other passengers came
on deck and joined me. One of them, a little perky
sort of fellow, took a good long look at me, and then
came over and began talking.
“ Mining, I suppose?” says he. '
“ Yes,” I says.
“ Made your pile ? ” he asks.
“ Pretty fair,” says I.
“ I was at it myself,” he says; “ I worked at the
Nelson fields for three months, and spent all I made
in buying a salted claim which busted up the
second day. I went at it again, though, and struck
it rich; but when the gold wagon was going down
to the settlements, it was stuck up by those cursed
rangers, and not a red cent left.”
“ That was a bad job,” I says.
“ Broke me—ruined me clean. Never mind, I’ve
seen them all hanged for it ; that makes it easier to
bear. There’s only one left—the villain that gave
the evidence. I’d die happy if I could come across
him. There are two things I have to do if I
meet him.”
“ What’s that ? ” says I, carelessly.
“ I’ve got to ask him where the money lies—they
never had time to make away with it, and it’s cachézl
somewhere in the mountains—and then I’ve got to
stretch his neck for him, and send his soul down to
join the men that he betrayed.”
It seemed to me that I knew something about
that caché, and I felt like laughing; but he was
Q
M


18 M Y FRIEND THE M URDERER.
watching me, and it struck me that he had a nasty,
vindictive kind of mind.
“ I’m going up on the bridge,” I said, for he was
not a man whose acquaintance I cared much about
making.
He wouldn’t hear of my leaving him, though.
“We’re both miners,” he says, “and we’re pals for
the voyage. Come down to the bar. I’m not too
poor to shout.”
I 'couldn’t refuse him well, and we went down to-
gether; and that was the beginning of the trouble.
What harm was I doing anyone on the ship? All
I asked for was a quiet life, leaving others alone
and getting left alone myself. No man could ask
fairer than that. And now just you listen to what
came of it. -
We were passing the front of the ladies’ cabins,
on our way to the saloon, when out comes a servant
lass—a freckled currency she-devil—with a baby in
her arms. We were brushing past her, when she
gave a scream like a railway whistle, and nearly
dropped the kid. My nerves gave a sort of a jump
when I heard that scream, but I turned and begged
her pardon, letting on that I thought I might have
trod on her foot. I knew the game was up, though, _
when I saw her white face, and her leaning against
the door and pointing.
“It’s him!” she cried; “it’s him! I saw him
in the court-house. Oh, don’t let him hurt the
baby!”
“ W110 is it ? ” asked the steward and half-a-dozen
others in a breath.
“ It’s him—Maloney—Maloney, the murderer—
oh, take him away—take him away I ”
I don’t rightly remember what happened just at
that moment. The furniture and me seemed to get


MY FRIEND THE MURDERER. 19
kind of mixed, and there was cursing, and smashing,
and someone shouting for his gold, and a general
stamp round. When I got steadied a bit, I found
somebody’s hand in my mouth. From what I
gathered afterward, I conclude that it belonged to
that same little man with the vicious way of talking.
He got some of it out again, but that was because
the others were choking me. A poor chap can get
no fair play in this world when once he is down-
still I think he will remember me till the day of
his death—longer, I hope.
They dragged me out on to the poop and held
a damned court-martial—on me, mind you ; me,
that had thrown over my pals in order to serve
them. I/Vhat were they to do with me? Some said
this, some said that; but it ended by the captain
deciding to send me ashore. The ship stopped,
they lowered a boat, and I was hoisted in, the whole
gang of them hooting at me from over the bulwarks.
I saw the man I spoke of tying up his hand though,
and I felt that things m1ght be worse.
I changed my opinion before we got to the land.
I had reckoned on the shore being deserted, and
that I might make my way inland; but the ship had
stopped too near the Heads, and a dozen beach-
co1nbers and such like had come down to the water’s
edge and were staring at us, wondering what the
boat was after. When we got to the edge of the
surf the coxswain hailed them, and after singing out
who I was, he and his men threw me into the water.
You may well look surprised—neck and crop into
ten feet of water, with shark as thick as green par-
rots in the bush, and I heard them laughing as I
floundered to the shore.'
I soon saw it was a worse job than ever. As I
came scrambling out through the weeds, I was col-


20 MY FRIEND THE ]l[URI)li"RE'R.
lared by a big chap with a velveteen coat, and half
a dozen others got round me and held me fast.
Most of them looked simple fellows enough, and I
was not afraid of them ; but there was one in a cab-
bage-tree hat that had a very nasty expression on
his face, and the big man seemed to be chummy
with him.
They dragged me up the beach, and then they let
go their hold of me and stood round in a circle.
“ Well, mate,” says the man with the hat, “ we’ve
been looking out for you some time in these
parts.”
“And very good of you, too,” I answers.
“None of your jaw,” says he. “ Come, boys, what
shall it be—hanging, drowning, or shooting? Look
sharp ! ”
This looked a bit too like business. “No,you
don’t!” I said. “I’ve got Government protection,
and it’ll be murder.”
“That’s what they call it,” answered the one in
the velveteen coat, as cheefy as a piping crow.
“And you’re going to murder me for being a
ranger?”
“Ranger be damned!” said the man- “We’re
going to hang you for peaching against your pals ;
and that’s an end of the palaver.”
They slung a rope round my neck and dragged
me up to the edge of the bush. There were some
big she-oaks and blue~gums, and they pitched on
one of these for the wicked deed. They ran the rope
over a branch, tied my hands, and told me to say
my prayers. It seemed as if it was all up; but
Providence interfered to save me. It sounds nice
enough sitting here and telling about it, sir ; but it
was sick work to stand with -nothing but the beach
in front of you, and the long white line of surf, with


MY FRIEND THE MURDERER. 21
the steamer in the distance, and a set of bloody-
minded villains round you thirsting for your life.
I never thought I’d owe anything good to the
police; but they saved me that time. A troop of
them were riding from Hawkes Point Station to
Dunedin, and hearing that something was up, they
came down through the bush and interrupted the
proceedings. I’ve heard some bands in my time,
Doctor, but I never heard music like the jingle of
those traps’ spurs and harness as they galloped out
on to the open. They tried to hang me even -then,
but the police were too quick for them; and the man
with the hat got one over the head with the flat of a
sword. I was clapped on to a horse, and before
evening I found myself in my old quarters in the
city jail.
The governor wasn’t to be done, though. He was
determined to get rid of me, and I was equally anx-
ious to see the last of him. He waited a week or so
until the excitement had begun to die away, and
then he smuggled me aboard a three-masted schooner
bound to Sydney with tallow and hides.
We got fair away to sea without a hitch, and
things beg-an to look a bit more rosy. I made sure
that I had seen the last of the prison, anyway. The
crew had a sort of an idea who I was, and if there’d
been any rough weather, they’d have hove me over-
board, like enough ; for they were a rough, ignorant
lot, and had a notion that I brought bad luck to the
ship. We had a good passage, however, and I was
landed safe and sound upon Sydney Quay.
Now just you listen to what happened next.
You’d have thought they would have been sick of
ill-using me and following me by this time—wouldn’t
you, now? Well, just you listen. It seems that a
cursed steamer started from Dunedin to Sydney on


22 MY FRIEND THE MURDERER.
the very day we left, and got in before us, bringing
news that I was coming. Blessed if they hadn’t
called a meeting—a regular n1ass meeting—at the
docks to discuss about it, and I marched right into
it when I landed. They didn’t take long about ar-
resting me, and I listened to all the speeches and
resolutions. If I’d been a prince there couldn’t have
been more excitement. The end of all was that
they agreed that it wasn’t right that New Zealand
should be allowed to foist her criminals upon her
neighbors, and that I was to be sent back again by
the next boat. So they posted me off again as if I
was a damned parcel ; and after another eight hun-
dred-mile journey I found myself back for the third
time moving in the place that I started from.
By this time I had begun to think that I was
going to spend the rest of my existence travelling
' about from one port to another. Every man’s hand
seemed turned against me, and there was no peace
or quiet in any direction. I was about sick of it by'
the time I had come back; and if I could have taken
to the bush I’d have done it, and chanced it with my
old pals. They were too quick for me, though, and
kept me under lock and key ; but I managed, in
spite of them, to negotiate that caché I told you of,
and sewed the gold up in my belt. I spent another
month in jail, and then they slipped me aboard a
bark that was bound for England.
This time the crew never knew who I was, but the
captain had a pretty good idea, though he didn’t
let on to me that he had any suspicions. I guessed
from the first that the man was a villain. We had a
fair passage, except a gale or two off the Cape; and
I began to feel like a free man when I saw the blue
loom of the old country, and the saucy little pilot-
boat from Falmouth dancing toward us over the


M Y FRIEND THE MURDERER. 23
waves. We ran down the Channel, and before we
reached Gravesend I had agreed with the pilot that
he should take me ashore with him when he -left.
It was at this time that the captain showed me that I
was right in thinking him a meddling, disagreeable
man. I got my things packed, such as they were,
and left him talking earnestly to the pilot, while
I went below for my breakfast. When I came up
again we were fairly into the mouth of the river, and
the boat in which I was to have gone ashore had
left us. The skipper said the pilot had forgotten
me; but that was too thin, and I began to fear that
all my old troubles were going to commence once
more.
It was not long before my suspicions were con-
firmed. A boat darted out from the side of the river,
and a tall cove with a long black beard came aboard.
I heard him ask the mate whether they didn’t need
a mud-pilot to take them up the reaches, but it
seemed to me that he was a man who would know a
deal more about handcuffs than he did about steer-
ing, so I kept away from him. He came across the
deck, however, and made some remark to me, taking
a good look at me the while. I don’t like inquisi-
tive people at any time, but an inquisitive stranger
with glue about the roots of his beard is the worst
of all to stand, especially under the circumstances.
I began to feel that it was time for me to go.
I soon got a chance, and made good use of it. A
big collier came athwart the bows of our steamer,
and we had to slacken down to dead slow. There
was a barge astern, and I slipped down by a rope
and was into the barge before anyone had missed
me. Of course I had to leave my'luggage behind
me, but I had the belt with the nuggets round my
waist, and the chance of shaking the police ofl' my


24 MY FRIEND THE MURDERER.
track was worth more than a couple of boxes. It
was clear to me now that the pilot had been a
traitor, as well as the captain, and had set the de-
tectives after me. I often wish I could drop across
those two men again.
I hung about the barge all day as she drifted
down the stream. There was one man in her, but
she was a big, ugly craft, and his hands were too
full for much looking about. Toward evening,
when it got a bit dusky, I struck out for the shore,
and found myself in a sort of marsh place, a good
many miles to the east of London. I was soaking
wet and half dead with hunger, but I trudged into
the town, got a new rig-out at a slop-shop, and after
having some supper, engaged a bed at the quietest
lodgings I could find.
I woke pretty early—a habit you pick up in the
bush—and lucky for me that I did so. The very first
thing I saw when I took a look through a chink in
the shutter was one of these infernal policemen,
standing right opposite and staring up at the win-
dows. He hadn’t epaulettes nor a sword, like our
traps, but for all that there was a sort of fam-
ily likeness, and the same busybody expression.
Whether they’d followed me all the time, or
whether the woman that let me the bed didn’t like
the looks of me, is more than I have ever been able
to find out. He came across as I was watching him,
and noted down the address of the house in a book.
I was afraid that he was going to ring at the bell,
but I suppose his orders were simply to keep an
eye on me, for after another good look at the win-
dows he moved on down the street.
I saw that my only chance was to act at once. I
threw on my clothes, opened the window softly, and,
after making sure that there was nobody about,


III)’ FRIEND THE MURDERER. Q5
dropped out on to the ground and made off as hard
as I could run. I travelled a matter of two or three
miles, when my wind gave out; and as I saw a big
building with people going in and out, I went in too,
and found that it was a railway station. A train was
just going off for Dover to meet the French boat, so
I took a ticket and jumped into a third-class carriage.
There were a couple of other chaps in the carriage,
innocent-looking young beggars, both of them. They
began speaking about this and that, while I sat quiet
in the corner and listened_. Then they started on
England and foreign countries, and such like. Look
ye now, Doctor, this is a fact. One of them begins
jawing about the justice of England’s laws. “It’s
all fair and above-board,” says he; “there ain’t any
secret police, nor spying, like they have abroad,” and
a lot more of the same sort of wash. Rather rough
on me, wasn’t it, listening to the damned young fool,
with the police following me about like my shadow ‘*?
I got to Paris right enough, and there I changed
some of my gold, and for a few days I imagined I’d
shaken them off, and began to think of settling down
for a bit of rest. I needed it by that time, for I was
looking more like a ghost than a man. You’ve never
had the police after you, I suppose? Well, you
needn’t look offended, I didn’t mean any harm. If
ever you had you’d know that it wastes a man away
like a sheep with the rot.
I went to the opera one night and took a box, for
I was very flush. I was coming out between the acts
when I met a fellow lounging along in the passage.
The light fell on his face, and I saw that it was the
mud-pilot that had boarded us in the Thames. His
beard was gone, but I recognized the man at a glance,
for I’ve a good memory for faces.
I tell you, Doctor, I felt desperate for a moment.


26 MY FRIEND THE’ MURDERER.
I could have knifed him if we had been alone, but he
knew me well enough never to give me the chance.
It was more than I could stand any longer, so I went
' right up to him and drew him aside, where we’d be
free from all the loungers and theatre-goers.
“ How long are you going to keep it up? ” I asked
him.
- He seemed a bit flustered for a moment, but then
he saw there was no use beating about the bush, so
he answered straight:
“Until you go back to Australia,” he said.
“ Don’t you know,” I said, “ that I have served the
Government and got a free pardon ‘?”
He grinned all over his ugly face when I said
this.
“ We know all about you, Maloney,” he answered.
“ If you want a quiet life, just you go back where
you came from. If you stay here, you’re a marked
man ; and when you are found tripping it’ll be a
lifer for you, at the least. Free trade’s a fine thing,
but the market’s too full of men like you for us to
need to import any I ” .
It seemed to me that there was something in what
he said, though he had a nasty way of putting it.
For some days back I’d been feeling a sort of home-
sick. The ways of the people weren’t my ways.
They stared at me at the street; and if I dropped
into a bar, they’d stop talking and edge away a bit,
as if I was a wild beast. I’d sooner have had a pint
of old Stringybark, too, than a bucketful of their
rotgut liquors. There was too much damned pro-
priety. \Vhat was the use of having money if you
couldn’t dress as you liked, nor bust it properly?
There was no sympathy for a man if he shot about
a little when he was half-over. I’ve seen a man
dropped at Nelson many a time with less row than


28 M Y FRIEND THE M U RDERER.
behind you, haven’t you? No : it’s in your pocket
—~that’s all right. Thank ye, Doctor, you’re a good
sort, and as quick at a hint as any man I’ve met.
A couple of months after narrating his experi-
ences, Wolf Tone Maloney finished his term, and
was released. For a long time I neither saw him
nor heard of him, and he had almost slipped from
my memory, until I was reminded, in a somewhat
tragic manner, of his existence. I had been attend-
ing a patient some distance off in the country, and
was riding back, guiding my tired horse among the
bowlders which strewed the pathway, and endeav-
oring to see my way through the gathering dark-
ness, when I came suddenly upon-a little wayside
inn. As I walked my horse up toward the door, in-
tending to make sure of my bearings before proceed-
ing further, I heard the sound of a violent alterca-
tion within the little bar. There seemed to be a
chorus _of expostulation or remonstrance, above
which two powerful voices rang out loud and angry.
As I listened, there was a momentary hush, two
pistol shots sounded almost simultaneously, and
with a crash the door burst open and a pair of dark
figures staggered out into the moonlight. They
struggled for a moment in a deadly wrestle, and then
went down together among the loose stones. I had
sprung off my horse, and, with the help of half a
dozen rough fellows from the bar, dragged them
away from one another.
A glance was sufiicient to convince me that one
of them was dying fast. He was a thick-set, burly
fellow, with a determined cast of countenance. The
blood was welling from a deep stab in his throat,
and it was evident that an important artery had been
divided. I turned away from him in despair, and


MY FRIEN D THE MURDERER. 29
walked over to where his antagonist was lying. He
was shot through the lungs, but managed to raise
himself up on his hand as I approached, and peered
anxiously up into my face. To my surprise I saw
before me the haggard features and fiaxen hair of
my prison acquaintance, Maloney.
“ Ah, Doctor!” he said, recognizing me. “How'
is he? Will he die ? ”
He asked the question so earnestly that I imag-
ined he had softened at the last moment, and feared
to leave the world with another homicide upon his
conscience. Truth, however, compelled me to shake
my head mournfully, and to intimate that the wound
would prove a mortal one.
Maloney gave a wild cry of triumph, which
brought the blood welling out from between his lips.
“ Here, boys,” he gasped to the little group around
him. “ There’s money in my inside pocket. Damn
the expense! Drinks round. There’s nothing mean
about me. I’d drink with you, but I’m going. Give
the Doc. my share, for he’s as good ” Here his
head fell back with a thud, his eye glazed, and the
soul of Wolf Tone Maloney, forger, convict, ranger,
murderer, and Government peach, drifted away into
the Great Unknown.

I cannot conclude without borrowing the account
of the fatal quarrel which appeared in the columns
of the West Australian Sentinel. The curious will
find it in the issue of October 4, 1881 :
“FATAL AFFRAY.—W. T. Maloney, a well-known
citizen of New Montrose, and proprietor of the Yel-
low Boy gambling saloon, has met with his death
under rather painful circumstances. Mr. Malonev
was a man who had led a checkered existence, and
whose past history is replete with interest. Some


30 M Y FRIEND THE M URDERER.
of our readers may recall the Lena Valley murders,
in which he figured as the principal criminal. It is
conjectured that during the -seven months that he
owned a bar in that region, from twenty to thirty
travellers were hocussed and made away with. He
succeeded, however, in evading the vigilance of the
'ofiicers of the law, and allied himself with the bush-
rangers of Bluemansdyke, whose heroic capture and
subsequent execution are matters of history. Ma-
loney extricated himself from the fate which awaited
him by turning Queen’s evidence. He afterward
visited Europe, but returned to West Australia,
where he has long played a prominent part in local
matters. On Friday evening he encountered an old
enemy, Thomas Grimthorpe, commonly known as
Tattooed Tom, of Hawkesbury. Shots were ex-
changed, and both were badly wounded, only sur-
viving a few minutes. Mr. Maloney had the reputa-
tion of being not only the most wholesale murderer
that ever lived, but also of having a finish and atten-
tion to detail in matters of evidence which has been
unapproached by any European criminal. Sic tran-
sit gloriti mundi 1 ”


THE GULLY OF BLUEMANSDYKE.
A TRUE COLONIAL STORY.
BROADHURs1"s store was closed, but the little back
room looked very comfortable that night. The fire
cast a ruddy glow on ceiling and walls, reflecting
itself cheerily on the polished flasks and shot-guns
which adorned them. Yet a gloom rested on the
two men who sat at either side of the hearth, which
neither the fire nor the black bottle upon the table
could alleviate.
“Twelve o’clock,” said old Tom', the storeman,
glancing up at the wooden timepiece which had
come out with him in ’42. “It’s a queer thing,
George, they haven’t come.”
“It’s a dirty night,” said his companion, reaching
out his arm for a plug of tobacco. “ The Wawirra’s
in flood, maybe; or maybe their horses is broke
down; or they’ve put it off, perhaps. Great Lord,
how it thunders l Pass us over a coal, Tom.”
He spoke in a tone which was meant to appear
easy, but with a painful thrill in it which was not
lost upon his mate. He glanced uneasily at him
from under his grizzled eyebrows.
“You think it’s all right, George "2 ” he said, after
a pause.
“ Think what’s all right ? ”
“ Why, that the lads are safe.”
“Safe! Of course they’re safe. What the devil is
to harm them? ”


32 THE G ULL Y OF BL UEMANSD YKE.
“ Oh, nothing; nothing, to be sure,” said old
Tom. “You see, George, since the old woman
died, Maurice has been all to me; and it makes me
kinder anxious. It’s a week since they started from
the mine, and you'd ha’ thought they’d be here
now. But it’s nothing unusual, I s’pose; nothing
at all. Just my darned folly.”
“ What’s to harm them? ” repeated George Hut-
ton again, arguing to convince himself rather than
his comrade. “ It’s a straight road from the
diggin’s to Rathurst, and then through the hills
past Bluemansdyke, and over the Wawirra by the
ford and so down to Trafalgar by the bush track.
There’s nothin’ deadly in all that, is there? My
son Allan’s as dear to me as Maurice can be to you,
mate,” he continued; “but they know the ford
well, and there’s no other bad place. They’ll be
here to-morrow night, certain.”
“Please God they may!” said Broadhurst ; and
the two men lapsed into silence for some time,
moodily staring into the glow of the fire and pull-
ing at their short clays.
It was indeed, as Hutton had said, a dirty night.
The wind was howling down through the gorges of
the western mountains, and whirling and eddying _
among the streets of Trafalgar ; whistling through
the chinks in the rough wood cabins, and tearing
away the frail shingles which formed the roofs.
The streets were deserted, save for one or two strag-
glers from the drinking shanties, who wrapped_ their
cloaks around them and staggered home through
the wind and rain toward their own cabins.
The silence was broken by Broadhurst, who was
evidently still ill at ease.
“ Say, George,” he said, “ what’s become of Josiah
Mapleton ? ”


THE GULLY 011' BLUEMANSDYKE. 33
“ Went to the diggin’s.”
“ Ay; but he sent word he was coming back.”
“But he never came.” -
“An’ whats become of Jos Humphrey?” he re-
sumed, after a pause.
“He went diggin’, too.”
“ \Vell, did he come back ‘2 ”
“ Drop it, Broadhurst ; drop it, I say,” said Hut-
ton, springing to his feet and pacing up and down
the narrow room. “ You’re trying to make a coward
of me! You know the men must have gone up
country prospectin’ or farmin’, maybe. What is it
to us where they went? You don’t think I have a
register of every man in the colony, as Inspector
Burton has of the lags.”
“Sit down, George, and listen,” said old Tom.
“There’s something queer about that road; some-
thing I don’t understand, and don’t like. Maybe
you remember how Maloney, the one-eyed scoun-
drel, made his money in the early mining days.
He’d a half-way drinking shanty on the main road
up on a kind of bluff, where the Lena comes down
from the hills. You’ve heard, George, how they
found a sort of wooden slide from his little back
room down to the river; an’ how it came out that
man after man had had his drink doctored, and been
shot down that into eternity, like a bale of goods.
No one will ever know how many were done away
with there. They were all supposed to be farmin’
and prospectin’, and the like, till their bodies were
picked out of the rapids. It’s no use mincing mat-
ters, George; we’ll have the troopers along to the
diggin’s if those lads don’t turn up by to-morrow
night.” '
“ As you like, Tom,” said Hutton.
“By the way, talking of Maloney—it's a strange
3


34 THE G ULL Y OF BL UEMANSD YKE.
thing,” said Broadhurst, “that Jack Haldane swears
he saw a man as like Maloney, with ten years added
to him, as could be. It was in the bush on Monday
morning. Chance, I suppose; but you’d hardly
think there could be two pair of shoulders in the
- world carrying such villainous mugs on the top
of them.”
“Jack Haldane’s a fool,” growled Hutton, throw-
ing open the door and peering anxiously out into
the darkness, while the wind played with his long
grizzled beard, and sent a train of glowing sparks
from his pipe down the street.
“Aterrible night!” he said, as he turned back
toward the fire.
Yes, a wild, tempestuous night; a night for birds
of darkness and for beasts of prey. A strange night
for seven men to lie out in the gully at Bluemans-
dyke, with revolvers in their hands, and the devil in
their hearts.
The sun was rising after the storm. A thick,
heavy steam reeked up from the saturated ground
and hung like a pall over the flourishing little town
of Trafalgar. A bluish mist lay in wreaths over the
wide track of bushland around, out of which the
western mountains loomed like great islands in a
sea of vapor.
Something was wrong in the town. The most
casual glance would have detected that. There was
a shouting and a hurrying of feet. Doors were
slammed and rude windows thrown open. A trooper
of police came clattering down with his carbine
unslung. It was past the time for Joe Buchan’s
saw-mill to commence work, but the great wheel was
motionless, for the hands had not appeared.
There was a surging, pushing crowd in the main


THE GULLY OF’ BLUEMANSDYKE. 35
bstreet before old Tom Broadhurst’s house, and a
' mighty clattering of tongues. “What was it ‘. ”
demanded the new-comers, panting and breathless.
“ Broadhurst has shot- his mate.” “ He has cut his
own throat.” “He has struck gold in the clay floor
of his kitchen.” “No; it was his son Maurice who
had come home rich.” “ Who had not come back at
all.” “\Vhose horse had come back without him.”
At last the truth had come out; and there was the
old sorrel horse in question whinnying and rubbing
his neck against the familiar door of the stable, as if
entreating entrance ;- while two haggard, gray-haired
men held him by either bridle and gazed blankly
_ at his reeking sides.
“ God help me,” said old Tom Broadhurst; “it
is as I feared!”
“ Cheer up, mate,” said Hutton, drawing his rough
straw hat down over his brow. “There's hope yet."
A sympathetic and encouraging murmur ran
through the crowd.
“ Horse ran away, likely.”
“ Or been stolen.”
“Or he’s swum the Wawirra an’ been washed off,"
suggested one Job’s comforter.
“ He ain’t got no marks of bruising,” said another,
more hopeful.
“Rider fallen ofl' drunk, maybe,” said a bluff old
sheep-farmer. “I kin remember," he continued,
“coming into town ’bout this hour myself, with my
head in my holster, an’ thinking I was a six-
chambered revolver—mighty drunk I was.”
“Maurice had a good seat; he’d never be washed
off."
“ Not he.”
“ The horse has a weal on its off fore-quarter,”
remarked another, more observant than the rest.


36 THE GULLY OF BLUEMAZVSDYKE.
“ A blow from a whip, maybe.”
“ It would be a darned hard one.”
“ Where’s Chicago Bill ‘?” said someone; “he’ll
know.”
Thus invoked, a strange, gaunt figure stepped out
in front of the crowd. He was an extremely tall
and powerful man, with the red shirt and high boots
of a miner. The shirt was thrown open, showing
the sinewy throat and massive chest. His face was
seamed and scarred with many a conflict, both with
Nature and his brother man; yet beneath his rufli-
anly exterior there lay something of the quiet digni-
ty of the gentleman. This man was a veteran gold-
hunter; a real old Californian ’forty-niner, who had
left the fields in disgust when private enterprise
began to dwindle before the formation of huge
incorporated companies with their ponderous ma-
chinery. But the red clay with the little shining
points had become to him as the very breath of his
nostrils, and he had come half way round the world
to seek it once again.
“ Here’s Chicago Bill,” he said; “ what is it ‘B ”
Bill was naturally regarded as an oracle, in virtue
of his prowess and varied experience. Every eye
was turned on him as Braxton, the young Irish
trooper of constabulary, said, “What do you make
of the horse, Bill? ”
The Yankee was in no hurry to commit himself.
He surveyed the animal for some time with his
shrewd little gray eye. He bent and examined the
girths ; then he felt the mane carefully. He stooped
once more and examined the hoofs and then the
quarters. His eye rested on the blue weal already
mentioned. This seemed to put him on a scent, for
he gave a long, low whistle, and proceeded at once
to examine the hair on either side of the saddle. He


THE GULLY OF BLUEMANSDYKE. 37
saw something conclusive apparently, for, with a
sidelong glance under his shaggy eyebrows at the
two old men beside him, he turned and fell back
among the crowd.
“ Well, what d’ye think ? ” cried a dozen voices.
“ A job for you,” said'Bill, looking up at the young -
Irish trooper.
“Why, what is it? What’s become of young
Broadhurst ? ”
“He’s done what better men has done afore.
He has sunk a shaft for gold and panned out a
coflin.”
“Speak out, man! what have you seen?” cried a
husky voice.
“ I’ve seen the graze of a bushranger’s bullet on
the horse’s quarter, an’ I’ve seen a drop of the rid-
er’s blood on the edge of the saddle— Here, hold
the old man up, boys; don’t let him drop. Give
him a swig of brandy an’ lead him inside. Say,” he
continued, in a whisper, gripping the trooper by
the wrist, “mind, I’m in it. You an’ I play this
hand together. I’m dead on sich varmin. We’ll do
as they do in Nevada, strike while the iron is hot.
Get any men you can together. I s’pose you’re
game to come yourself ? ”
“ Yes, I’ll come,” said young Braxton, with a quiet
smile.
The American looked at him approvingly. He
had learned in his wanderings that an Irishman who
grows quieter when deeply stirred is a very danger-
ous specimen of the genus lmmo.
“Good lad!” he muttered; and the two went
down the street together toward the station-house,
followed by half a dozen of the more resolute of the
crowd.


38 THE G ULL Y OF BL UEMANSD YKE.
One word before we proceed with our story, or
our chronicle rather, as every word of it is based
upon fact. The colonial trooper of fifteen or twenty
years ago was a very different man from his repre-
sentative of to-day. Not that I would imply any slur
upon the courage of the latter; but for reckless dare-
devilry and knight-errantry the old constabulary
has never been equalled. The reason is a simple one.
Men of gentle blood, younger sons and wild rakes
who had outrun the constable, were sent ofl' to Aus-
tralia with some wild idea of making their fortunes.
On arriving they found Melbourne by no means the
El Dorado they expected; they were unfit for any
employment, their money was soon dissipated, and
they unerringly gravitated into the mounted police.
Thus a sort of colonial “ Maison Rouge ” became
formed, where the lowest private had as much pride
of birth and education as his officers. They were
men who might have swayed the fate of empires,
yet who squandered away their lives in many a lone
wild fight with native and bushranger, where noth-
ing but a mouldering blue-ragged skeleton was left
to tell the tale.
It was a glorious sunset. The whole western sky
was a blaze of flame, throwing a purple tint upon
the mountains, and gilding the sombre edges of the
great forest which spreads between Trafalgar and
the river Wawirra. It stretched out, a primeval,
unbroken wilderness, save at the one 'point where
a rough track had been formed by the miners and
their numerous camp-followers. This wound amid
the great trunks in a zigzag direction, occasionally
making a long detour to avoid some marshy hollow
or especially dense clump of vegetation. Often it
could be hardly discerned from the ground around,


THE GULLY OF BLUEMANSDYK. 39
save by the scattered hoof-marks and an occasional
rut.
About fifteen miles from Trafalgar there stands a
little knoll, well sheltered and overlooking the road.
On this knoll a man was lying as the sun went down
that Friday evening. He appeared to shun obser-
vation, for he had chosen that part in which the foli-
age was thickest; yet he seemed decidedly at his
ease as he lolled upon his back, with his pipe be-
tween his teeth and a broad hat down over his face.
It was a face that it was well to cover in the presence
of so peaceful a scene—a face pitted with the scars
of an immaterial small-pox. The forehead was broad
and low ; one eye had apparently been gouged out,
leaving a ghastly cavity; the other was deep-set,
cunning, and vindictive. The mouth was hard and
cruel ; a rough beard covered the chin. It was
the cut of face which, seen in a lonely street, would
instinctively make one shift the grasp of one’s stick
from the knob end to the ferrule—the face of a bold
and unscrupulous man.
Some unpleasing thought seemed to occur to him,
for he rose with a curse and knocked the ashes out
of his pipe. “ A darned fine thing,” he muttered,
“ that I should have to lie out like this! It was Bar-
rett’s fault the job wasn’t a clean one, an’ now he
picks me out to get the swamp-fever. If he’d shot
the horse as I did the man, we wouldn’t need a watch
on this side of the Wawirra. He always was a poor
white-livered cuss. Well,” he continued, picking
up a gun which lay in the grass behind him,
“there's no use my waiting longer; they wouldn’t
start during the night. Maybe the horse never got
home, maybe they gave them up as drowned ; any-
how, it’s another man’s turn to-morrow, so I’ll just
give them five minutes and then make tracks.” He


40 THE’ G ULL Y OF BL UEJIA NSD YKE’.

sat down on the stump of atree as he spoke and
bummed the verse of a song. A sudden thought
seemed to strike him, for he plunged his hand into
his pocket, and after some searching extracted a
pack of playing cards wrapped in a piece of dirty
brown paper. He gazed earnestly at their greasy
faces for some time. Then he took a pin from his
sleeve and pricked a small hole in the corner of
each ace and kn ave. He chuckled as he shuflled them
up, and replaced them in his pocket. “ I'll have my
share of the swag,” he growled. “They’re sharp,
but they’ll not spot that when the liquor is in them.
By the Lord, here they are ! ”
He had sprung to his feet and was bending to
the ground, holding his breath as he listened. To
the unpractised ear all was as still as before—the
hum of a passing insect, the chirp of a bird, the rus-
tle of the leaves ; but the bushranger rose with the
air of a man who has satisfied himself. “ Good-by
to Bluemansdyke,” said he; “ I -reckon it will be too
hot to hold us for a time. That thundering idiot!
he’s spoiled as nice a lay as ever was, an’ risked
our necks into the bargain. I’ll see their number
an’ who they are, though,” he continued ; and, choos-
ing a point where a rough thicket formed an effectual
screen, he coiled himself up, and lay like some ven-
omous snake, occasionally raising his head and
peering between the trunks at the reddish streak
which marked the Trafalgar road.
There could be no question now as to the ap-
proach of a body of horsemen. By the time our
friend was fairly ensconced in his hiding-place the
sound of voices and the clatter of hoofs was dis-
tinctly audible, and in another moment a troop of
mounted men came sweeping round the curve of the
road. They were eleven all told, armed to the


THE G ULLY OF BL UEMANSD YKE. 41
I
teeth, and evidently well on the alert. Two rode in
front with rifles unslung, leisurely scanning every
bush which might shelter an enemy. The main
body kept about fifty yards behind them, while a
solitary horseman brought up the rear. The ranger
scanned them narrowly as they passed. He seemed
to recognize most of them. Some were his natural
enemies, the troopers; the majority were miners
who had volunteered to get rid of an evil which
affected their interests so closely. They were a
fine bronzed set of men, with a deliberate air about
them, as if they had come for a purpose and meant
to attain it. As the last rider passed before his hid-
ing-place the solitary watcher started and growled
a curse in his beard. “ I know his darned face,” he
said ; “it’s Bill Hanker, the man who got the drop
on Long Nat Smeaton in Silver City in ’53; what
the thunder brought him here? I must be off by
the back track, though, an’ let the boys know.” So
saying, he picked up his gun, and with a scowl af-
ter the distant party, he crouched down and passed
rapidly and silently out of sight into the very thick-
est part of the bush.
The expedition had started from Trafalgar on the
afternoon of the same day that Maurice Broadhurst’s
horse, foam-flecked and frightened, had galloped up
to the old stable-door. Burton, the inspector of
constabulary, an energetic and able man, as all who
knew him can testify, was in command. He had
detached Braxton, the young Irishman, and Thomp-
son, another trooper, as a vanguard. He himself
rode with the main body, gray-whiskered and lean,
but as straight in the back as when he and I built
a shanty in ’39 in what is now Burke Street, Mel-
bourne. With him were McGi1livray, Foley, and


42 THE GULLY OF BLUEMANSDYKE.
Anson, of the Trafalgar force; Hartley, the sheep-
farmer, Murdoch, and Summerville, who had made
their pile at the mines ; and Dan Murphy, who was
cleaned out when the clay of the “ Orient” turned to
gravel, and had been yearning for a solid square
fight ever since. Chicago Bill formed the rear-
guard, and the whole party presented an ap-
pearance which, though far from military, was de-
cidedly warlike.
They camped out that night seventeen miles from
Trafalgar, and next day pushed on as far as where
the Stirling road runs across. The third morning
brought them to the northern bank of the Wawirra,
which they forded. Here a council of war was held,
for they were entering what they regarded as ene-
my’s country. The bush track, though wild, was
occasionally traversed both by shepherds and sports-
men. It would hardly be the home of a gang of
desperate bushrangers. But beyond the \Vawirra
the great rugged range of the Tapu Mountains tow-
ered up to the clouds, and across a wild spur of these
the mining track passed up to Bluemansdyke. It
was here, they decided at the council, that the scene
of the late drama lay. The question now was, What
means were to be taken to attack the murderers?
—for that murder had been done no man doubted.
All were of one mind as to what the main line of
action should be. To go for them straight, shoot as
many as possible on sight, and hang the balance in
Trafalgar : that was plain sailing. But how to get
at them was the subject of much debate. The troop-
ers were for pushing on at once, and trusting to
Fortune to put the rangers in their way. The min-
ers proposed rather to gain some neighboring peak,
from which a good view of the country could be ob-
tained, and some idea gained of their whereabouts.


THE GULLY OF BLUFJHANSDYKE. 43
Chicago Bill took rather a gloomy view of things.
“ Nary one will we see,” said he; “ they’ve dusted
out of the district ’fore this. They’d know the horse
would go home, and likely as not they’ve had a
watch on the road to warn them. I guess, boys,
we’d best move on an’ do our best.” There was
some discussion, but Chicago’s opinion carried the
day, and the expedition pushed on in a body.
After passing the second upland station the scen-
ery becomes more and more grand and rugged.
Great peaks two and three thousand feet high.rose
sheer up at each side of the narrow track. The
heavy wind and rain of the storm had brought down
much débris, and the road was almost impassable in
places. They were frequently compelled to dismount
and to lead the horses. “ We haven’t far now, boys,”
said the inspector cheerily, as they struggled on;
and he pointed to a great dark cleft which yawned
in front of them between two almost perpendicular
cliffs. “ They are there,” he said, “ or'nowhere.” A
little higher the road became better and their prog-
ress was more rapid. A halt was called, guns were
unslung, and their pistols loosened in their belts,
for the great gully of Bluemansdyke, the wildest part
of the whole Tapu range, was gaping before them.
But not a thing was to be seen; all was as still as
the grave. The horses were picketed in a quiet little
ravine, and the whole party crept on on foot. The
southern sun glared down hot and clear on the yel-
low bracken and banks of fern which lined the narrow,
winding track. Still not a sign of life. Then came
a clear low whistle from the two advanced troopers,
announcing that something had been discovered, and
the main body hurried up. It was a spot for deeds
of blood. On one side of the road there lowered a
black gnarled precipice ; on the other was the sullen


44 THE GULLY OF BLUEMANSDYKE-
mouth of the rugged gully. The road took a sharp
turn at this spot. Just at the angle several large
bowlders were scattered, lining and overlooking the
track. It was at this angle that a little bed of mud
and trampled red clay betokened a recent struggle.
There could be no question that they were at the
scene of the murder of the two young miners. The
outline of a horse could still be seen in the soft
ground, and the prints of its hoofs as it kicked out
in its death-agony were plainly marked. Behind
one of the rocks were the tracks of several feet, and
some pistol-wadding was found in a tuft of ferns.
The whole tragedy lay unclosed before them. Two
men, careless in the pride of their youth and their-
strength, had swept round that fatal curve. Then a
crash, a groan, a brutal laugh, the galloping of
frightened horse, and all was over. '
What was to be done now? The rocks around
were explored, but nothing fresh discovered. Some
six days had elapsed, and the birds were apparently -
flown. The party separated and hunted about among
the bowlders. Then the American, who could fol-
low a trail like a bloodhound, found tracks leading
toward a rugged pile of rocks on the north side of
the gully. In a crevice here the remains of three
horses were found. Close to them the rim of an
old straw hat projected through the loose loam.
Hartley, the sheep-farmer, sprang over to pick it
up ; he started back in the act of stooping, and said
in an awe-struck whisper to his friend Murphy
“ There’s a head under it, Dan I ” A few strokes of a
spade disclosed a face familiar to most of the group
—that of a poor travelling photographer, well known
in the colony by the sobriquet of “ Stooping Johnny,”
who had disappeared some time before. It was now
in an advanced stage of putrefaction. Close to him


THE GULLY OF BLUEMANSDYKE. 45
another body was discovered, and another beside
that. In all, thirteen victims of these English
thugs were lying under the shadow of the great
north wall of the Bluemansdyke gully. It was
there, standing in silent awe around the remains of
these poor fellows, hurried into eternity and buried
like dogs, that the searchparty registered a vow to
sacrifice all interests and comforts for the space of
one month to the single consideration of revenge.
The inspector uncovered his grizzled head as he
solemnly swore it, and his comrades followed his
example. The bodies were then, with a brief prayer,
consigned to a deeper grave, a rough cairn was
erected over them, and the eleven men set forth
upon their mission of stern justice.
, Three weeks had passed—three weeks and two
days. The sun was sinking over the great waste of
bushland, unexplored and unknown, which stretches
away from the eastern slope of the Tapu Mountains.
Save some eccentric sportsman or bold prospector,
no colonist had ever ventured into that desolate
land; yet on this autumn evening two men were
standing in a little glade in the very heart of it.
They were engaged tying up their horses, and
apparently making preparations for camping out
for the night. Though haggard, unkempt, and
worn, one still might recognize two of our former
acquaintances—the young Irish trooper and the
American Chicago Bill.
This was the last effort of the avenging party.
They had traversed the mountain gorges, they had
explored every gully and ravine, and now they had
split into several small bands, and, having named
a trysting-place, they were scouring the country in
the hope of hitting upon some trace of the mur-


46 THE G ULL Y OF BL UEMANSD YKE.
derers. Foley and Anson had remained among the
hills, Murdoch and Dan Murphy were exploring
toward R-athurst, Sun1merville and the inspector
had ascended along the Wawirra, while the others
in three parties were wandering through the eastern
bushland.
Both the trooper and the miner seemed dejected
and weary. The one had set out with visions of
glory, and hopes of a short cut to the coveted stripes
which would put him above his fellows; the other
had obeyed a rough wild sense of justice; and each
was'alike disappointed. The horses were picketed,
and the men threw themselves heavily upon the
ground. There was no need to light a fire; a few
dampers and some rusty bacon were their whole
provisions. Braxton produced them, and handed
his share to his comrade. They ate their rough
meal without a word. Braxton was the first to break
the silence.
“ We’re playing our last card,” he said.
“And a darned poor one at that,” replied his
comrade.
“ Why, mate,” he continued, “if we did knock up
agin these all-fired varmin, ye don’t suppose you
and I would go for them? I guess I’d up an’ shove
for Trafalgar first.”
Braxton smiled. Chicago’s reckless courage was
too well known in the colony for any words of his
to throw a doubt upon it. Miners still tell how,
during the first great rush in ’52, a blustering
rufiian, relying upon some similar remark of the
pioneer’s, had tried to establish a reputation by an
unprovoked assault upon him; and the narrators
then glide imperceptibly into an account of Bill’s
handsome conduct tow_ard the widow—how he had
given her his week’s clean-up to start her in a


THE GULLY OF‘ BLUEJIANSDYKE. 47
drinking shanty. Braxton thought of this as he
smiled at Chicago’s remarks, and glanced at the
massive limbs and weather-beaten face.
“We’d best see where we are before it grows
darker,” he said; and rising, he stacked his gun
against the trunk of a blue-gum tree, and seizing
some of_ the creepers which hung down from it,
began rapidly and silently to ascend it.
“His soul’s too big for his body,” growled the
American, as he watched the dark lithe figure stand-
ing out against the pale-blue evening sky.
“What d’ye see, Jack?” he shouted; for the
trooper had reached the topmost branch by this
time, and was taking a survey of the country.
“Bush, bush; nothing but bush,” said the voice
among the leaves. “Wait a bit, though; there’s a
kind of hill about three miles off away to the nor‘-
east. I see it above the trees right over there.
Not much good to us, though,” he continued, after
a pause, “for it seems a barren, stony sort of
place.”
Chicago paced about at the bottom of the tree.
“ He seems an almighty long time prospectin’ it,”
he muttered, after ten minutes had elapsed. “Ah,
here he is! ” and the trooper came swinging down
and landed panting just in front of him.
“Why, what’s come over him? What’s the mat-
ter, Jack ? ”
Something was the matter. That was very evi-
dent. There was a light in Braxton’s blue eyes and
a flush on the pale cheek.
“ Bill,” he said, putting his hand on his comrade’s
shoulder, “it’s about time you made tracks for the
settlements.”
“ What d’ye mean ‘.7 ” said Chicago.
“Vvhy, I mean that the murderers are within a


48 THE’ GULLY OF Bf. UEMANSDYKE.
league of us, and that I intend going for them.
There, don’t be huffed, old man,” he added; “of
course I knew you were only joking. But they are
there, Bill ; I saw smoke on the top of that hill, and
it wasn’t good, honest smoke, mind you; it was
dry-wood smoke, and meant to be hid. I thought it
was mist at first; but no, it was smoke. I’ll swear
it. It could only be them : who else would camp on
the summit of a desolate hill? We’ve got them,
Bill ; we have them as sure as Fate.”
“ Or they’ve got us,” growled the American.
“But here, lad, here’s my glass ; run up and have a
look at them.”
“It’s too dark now,” said Braxton; “we’ll camp
out to-night. No fear of them stirring. They’re
lying by there until the whole thing blows over,
depend upon it; so we’ll make sure of them in the
morning.”
The miner looked plaintively up at the tree, and
then down at his fourteen stone of solid muscle.
“ I guess I must take your word for it,” he grum-
bled; “but you are bushman enough to tell smoke
from mist, and a dry-wood_fire from an open one.
We can’t do anything to-night till we feel our way,
so I allow we’d best water the horses an’ have a
good night’s rest.”
Braxton seemed to be of the same mind ; so after
a few minutes’ preparation the two men wrapped
themselves in their cloaks, and lay, two little dark
spots, on the great green carpet of the primeval
bush.
With the first gray light of dawn Chicago sat up
and roused his comrade. A heavy mist hung over
the bushland. They could hardly see the loom of
the trees across the little glade. Their clothes
glistened with the little shining beads of moisture.


THE G ULL Y 011’ BL UEMANSD YKE. 49
They brushed each other down, and squatted in
bush fashion over their rough breakfast. The haze
seemed to be lifting a little now; they could see
fifty yards in every direction. The miner paced
up and down in silence, ruminating over a plug
of “Barrett’s twist.” Braxton sat on a fallen tree
sponging and oiling his revolver. Suddenly a sin-
gle beam of sunshine played over the great'blue-
gum. It widened and spread, and then in a mo-
ment the mist melted away and the yellow leaves
glowed like flakes of copper in the glare of the
morning sun. Braxton cheerily snapped the lock
of the pistol, loaded it, and replaced it in his belt.
Chicago began to whistle, and stopped in the mid-
dle of his walk.
“ Now, young un,” he said, “ here’s the glass.”
Braxton slung it round his neck, and ascended the
tree as he had done the night before. It was child’s
play to the trooper—a splendid climber, as I can
testify; for I saw him two years later swarming up
the topmost backstay of the Hector frigate in a gale
of wind for a bet of a bottle of wine. He soon
reached the summit, and shuffling along a naked
branch two hundred feet from the ground, he gained
a point where no leaves could obstruct his view.
Here he sat straddle-legged; and, unslinging the
glass, he proceeded to examine the hill, bush by
bush and stone by stone.
An hour passed without his moving. Another
had almost elapsed before he descended. His face
was grave and thoughtful.
“ Are they there ? ” was the eager query.
“ Yes ; they are there.”
“ How many ? ”
“I’ve only seen five; but there may be more.
Wait till I think it out, Bill.”
4


50 THE G’ I'LL Y OF BL ITEM.-I NS!) YKI17.
The miner gazed at him with all the reverence
matter has toward mind. Thinking things out was
not his strong point.
“Blamed if I can help you,” he said, apologeti-
cally. “It kinder don’t come nat’ral to me to be
plottin’ and plannin’. Want 0’ eddication, likely.
My father was allowed to be the hardest-headed man
in the States. Judge J effers let on as how the old
man wanted to hand in his checks; so he down an’
put his head on the line when the first engine as ran
from Vermont was comin’ up. They fined him a
hundred dollars for upsettin’ that ’ere locomotive; an’
the old man got the cussedest headache as ever was.”
Braxton hardly seemed to hear this family anec-
dote ; he was deep in thought.
“Look here, old man,” said he ; “ sit down by me
on the trunk and listen to what I say. Remember
that you are here as a volunteer, Bill—you’ve no
call to come; now, I am here in the course of duty.
Your name is known through the settlement; you
were a marked man when I was in the nursery.
Now, Bill, it’s a big thing I am going to ask you.
If you and I go in and take these men, it will be
another feather in your cap, and in yours only.
VV hat do men know of Jack Braxton, the private of
police? He’d hardly be mentioned in the matter.
Now, I want to make my name this day. \Ve’ll
have to secure these men by a surprise after dusk,
and it will be as easy for one resolute man to do it
as for two ; perhaps easier, for there is less chance of
detection. Bill, I want you to stay with the horses,
and let me go alone.”
Chicago sprang to his feet with a snarl of indig-
nation, and paced up and down in front of the fallen
trees. Then he seemed to master himself, for he sat
down again.


THE’ GULLY OF BLUEMANSDYKE. 51
“They’d chaw you up, lad,” he said, putting his
hand on Braxton’s shoulder. “ It wouldn’t wash.”
“Not they,” said the trooper. “I’d take your
pistol as well as my own, and I’d need a deal of
chawing.”
“ My character would be ruined,” said Bill.
“ It’s beyond the reach of calumny. You can af-_
ford to give me one fair chance.”
Bill buried his face in his hands, and thought a
little.
“Well, lad,” he said, looking up, “ I’ll look after
the horses.”
Braxton wrung him by the hand. “ There are few
men would have done it, Bill; you are a friend worth
having. Now, we’ll spend our day as best we can,
old man, and lie close till evening ; for I won’t start
till an hour after dusk; so we have plenty of time
on our hands.”
The day passed slowly. The trooper lay among
the mosses below the great blue-gum in earnest
thought. Once or twice he imagined he heard the
subterranean chuckle and slap of the thigh which
usually denoted amusement on the part of the
miner; but on glancing up at that individual, the
expression of his face was so solemn, not to say
funereal, that it was evidently an illusion. They
partook of their scanty dinner and supper cheerfully
and with hearty appetites. The former listlessness
had given place to briskness and activity, now that
their object was in view. Chicago blossomed out
into many strange experiences and racy reminis-
cences of \Vestern life. The hours passed rapidly
and checrily. The trooper produced a venerable
pack of cards from his holster and proposed euchre;
but their gregariousness, and the general difliculty
of distinguishing the king of clubs from the ace of


52 THE GULLY OF BLUEMANSDYKE.
hearts, exercised a depressing influence upon the
players. Gradually the sun went down on the great
wilderness. The shadow fell on the little glade,
while the distant hill was still tipped with gold;
then that too became purplish, a star twinkled over
the Tapu range, and night crept over the scene.
“Good-by, old man,” said Braxton. “I won’t
take my carbine; it would only be in the way. I
can’t thank you enough for letting me have this
chance. If they wipe me out, Bill, you’ll not lose
sight of them, I know; and you’ll say I died like a
man. I’ve got no friends and no message, and
nothing in the world but this pack of cards. Keep
them, Bill; they were a fine pack in ’51. If you see
a smoke on the hill in the morning you’ll know all‘s
well, and you’ll bring up the horses at once. If you
don’t, you’ll ride to Fallen Pine, where we were to
meet—ride day and night, Bill—tell Inspector Bur-
ton that you know where the rangers are, that Private
Braxton is dead, and that he said he was to bring
up his men, else he’d come back from the grave
and lead them up himself. Do that, Bill. 'Good-
by.”
A great quiet rested over the heart of that deso-
late woodland. _ The croak of a frog, the gurgle of a
little streamlet half hidden in the long grass—no
other sound. Then a wakeful jay gave a shrill
chatter, another joined, and another; a bluefinch
screamed ; a wombat rushed past to gain its burrow.
Something had disturbed them ; yet all was appar-
ently as peaceful ‘as before. Had you been by the
jay’s nest, however, and peered downward, you would
have seen something gliding like a serpent through
the brushwood, and caught a glimpse, perhaps, of a
pale, resolute face, and the glint of apocket-compass
pointing north-by-east.


THE GULLY OF BLUEMANSDYKE. 53
It was a long and weary night for Trooper Brax-
ton. Any moment he might come on an outpost of
the rangers, so every step had to be taken slowly
and with care. But he was an experienced wood-
man, and hardly a twig snapped as he crawled along.
A morass barred his progress, and he was compelled
to make a long detour. Then he found himself in
thick brushwood, and once more had to go out of
his way. It was very dark here in the depth of the
forest. There was a heavy smell, and a dense steam
laden with miasma rose from the ground. In the dim
light he saw strange creeping things around him.
A bushmaster writhed across the path in front of
him, a cold dank lizard crawled over his hand as he
crouched down; but the trooper thought only of the
human reptiles in front, and made steadily for his
goal. Once he seemed to be pursued by some ani-
mal ; he heard a creaking behind him, but it ceased
_ when he stopped and listened, so he continued his
way.
It was when he reached the base of the hill which
he had seen from the distance that the real difficulty
of his undertaking began. It was almost conical in
shape, and very steep. The sides were covered with
loose stones and an occasional large bowlder. One
false step here would send a shower of these tell-tale
fragments clattering down the hill. The trooper
stripped off his high leather boots and turned up his
trousers ; then he began cautiously to climb, cower-
ing down behind every bowlder.
There was a little patch of light far away on the
horizon, a very little gray patch, but it caused the
figure of a man who was moving upon the crest of
the hill to loom out dim and large. He was a sentry
apparently, for he carried a gun under his arm. The
top of the hill was formed by a little plateau about a


54 THE G ULL Y Or BL var.-1 zvsn YKE.
hundred yards in circumference. Along the edge of
this the man was pacing, occasionally stopping to
peer down into the great dusky sea beneath him.
From this raised edge the plateau curved down from
every side, so as to form a crater-like depression.
In the centre of this hollow stood a large white tent.
Several horses were picketed around it, and the
ground was littered with bundles of dried grass and
harness. You could see these details now from the
edge of the plateau, for the gray patch in the east
had become white, and was getting longer and
wider. You could see the sentry’s face, too, as he
paced round and round. A handsome, weak-minded
face, with more of the fool than the devil impressed
on it. He seemed cheerful, for the birds were be-
ginning to sing, and their thousand voices rose from
the bush below. He forgot the forged note, I think,
and the dreary voyage, and the wild escape, and the
dark gully away beyond the Tapu range; for his
eye glistened, and he hummed a quaint little York-
shire country air. He was back again in the West
Riding village, and the rough bowlder in front
shaped itself into the hill behind which Nelly lived
before he broke her heart, and he saw the ivied
church that crowned it. He would have seen some-
thing else had he looked again—something which
was not in his picture: a white passionless face
which glared at him over the bowlder, as he turned
upon his heel, still singing, and unconscious that
the bloodhounds of justice were close at his heels.
The trooper’s time for action had come. He had
reached the last bowlder ; nothing lay between the
plateau and himself but a few loose stones. He
could hear the song of the sentry dying away in
the distance; he drew his regulation sword, and,
with his Adams in his left, he rose and sprang


THE GULLY OF BLUEMANSD YKE. 55
like a tiger over the ridge and down into the hol-
low.
The sentry was startled from his dream of the
past by a clatter and a rattling of stones. He
sprang round and cocked his gun. No wonder that
he gasped, and that a change passed over his
bronzed face. A_ painter would need a dash of ul-
tramarine in his flesh-tints to represent it now. N o
wonder, I say ; for that dark, active figure with the
bare feet and the brass buttons meant disgrace and
the gallows to him. He saw him spring across to
the tent; he saw the gleam of a sword, and heard a
crash as the tent-pole was severed and the canvas
came down with a run upon the heads of the
sleepers. And then above oaths and shouts he
heard a mellow Irish voice: “I’ve twelve shots in
my hands. I have ye, every mother’s son. Up with
your arms! up, I say, before there is blood upon
my soul. One move, and ye stand before the
throne.” Braxton had stooped and parted the door-
way of the fallen tent, and was now standing over
six ruflians who occupied it. They lay as they had
wakened, but with their hands above their heads,
for there was no resisting that quiet voice, backed
up by the two black muzzles. They imagined they
were surrounded and hopelessly outmatched. Not
one of them dreamed that the whole attacking force
stood before them. It was the sentry who first be-
gan to realize the true state of the case. There
was no sound or sign of any reinforcement. He
looked to see that the cap was pressed well down
on the nipple, and crept toward the tent. He was a
good shot, as many a keeper on Braidagarth and
the Yorkshire fells could testify. He raised his
gun to his shoulder. Braxton heard the click,
but dared not remove his eye or his weapon


56 THE GULLY OF BLUEMANSDYKE.
from his six prisoners. The sentry looked along
the sights. He knew his life depended upon that
shot. There was more of the devil than the fool
in his face now. He paused a moment to make
sure of his aim, and then came a crash and the
thud of a falling body. Braxton was still standing
over the 'prisoners, but the sentry’s gun was unfired,
and he himself was writhing on the ground with a
bullet through his lungs. “Ye see,” said Chicago,
as he rose from behind a rock with his gun still
smoking in his hand, “ it seemed a powerful mean
thing to'leave you, Jack; so I thought as I’d kinder
drop around promiscus, and wade in if needed~—
which I was, as you can’t deny. No, ye don’t,” he
added, as the sentry stretched out his hand to grasp
his fallen gun ; “leave the wepin alone, young man ;
it ain’t in your way as it lies there.”
“ I’m a dead man! ” groaned the ranger.
“Then lie quiet, like a respectable corpse,” said
the miner, “ an’ don’t go a-squirmin’ toward yer gun.
That’s ornary uneddicated conduct.”
“ Come here, Bill,” cried Braxton, “ and bring the
ropes those horses are picketed with. Now,” he
'continued, as the American, havingabstracted the
sentry’s gun, appeared with an armful of ropes,
“ you tie these fellows up, and I‘ll kill any man who
moves.”
“A pleasant division of labor—eh, old Blather-
skits?” said Chicago, playfully tapping the one-
eyed villain Maloney on the head. “ Come on ; the
ugliest first!” So saying, he began upon him and
fastened him securely.
One after another the rangers were tied up—all
except the wounded man, who was too helpless
to need securing. Then Chicago went down and
brought up the horses, while Braxton remained


THE GULLY OF BLUEMANSDYKE. 57
on guard; and by mid-day the cavalcade was in
full march through the forest en route for Fallen
Pine, the rendezvous of the search-party. The
wounded man was tied on to a horse in front, the
other rangers followed on foot for safety, while the
trooper and Chicago brought up the rear.
There was a sad assemblage at Fallen Pine. One
by one they had dropped in, tanned with the sun,
torn by briers, weakened by the poisonous miasma
of the 1narshlands, all with the same tale of priva-
tion and failure. Summerville and the inspector
had fallen in with blacks above the upper ford, and
had barely escaped with their lives. Troopers Foley
and Anson were well, though somewhat gaunt from
privation. Hartley had lost his horse from the bite
of a bushmaster. Murdoch and Murphy had scoured
the bush as far as R-athurst, but without success.
All were dejected and weary. They only waited the
arrival of two of their number to set out on their
return to Trafalgar.
It was mid-day, and the sun was beating down
with a pitiless glare on the little clearing. The
men were lying about on the shady side of the
trunks, some smoking, some with their hats over
their faces and half asleep. The horses were teth-
ered here and there, looking as listless as their
masters. Only the inspector’s old charger seemed
superior to the weather—a shrewd, blasé old horse,
that had seen the world, and was nearly as deeply
versed in woodcraft as his master. As Chicago said,
“ Short of climbin’ a tree, there weren’t nothin’ that
horse couldn’t do; an’ it would make a darned good
try at that if it was pushed.” Old “Sawback”
seemed ill at ease this afternoon. Twice he had
pricked up his ears, and once he had raised his head


53 TIIE (I_L'Ll.Y OF BLUEJIAZVSDYKE.
as if to neigh, but paused before committing him-
self. The inspector looked at him curiously and put
his meerschaum back into its case. Meerschaums
were always a weakness of poor Jim Burton’s.
“ Demme it, sir! ” I have heard him say, “ a gentle-
man is known by his pipe. When he comes down
in the world his pipe has most vitality.” He put
the case inside his uniform and went over to the
horse. The ears were still twitching.
“He hears something,” said the inspector. “By
Jove, so do I! Here, boys, jump up; there’s a body
of men coming! ” Every man sprang to his horse’s
head. “I hear hoofs, and I hear the tramp of men
on foot. They must be a large party. They’re
heading straight for us. Get under cover, boys,
and have your guns loose.” The men wheeled right
and left, and in a very few moments the glade was
deserted. Only the brown barrel of a gun here and
there among the long grass and the ferns showed
where they were crouching. “ Steady, boys!” said
Burton; “if they are enemies, don’t fire till I give
the word. Then one by one aim low, and let the
smoke clear. Rangers, by Jove!” he added, as a
horseman broke into the clearing some way down,
with his head hanging down over his horse’s neck.
“More,” he growled, as several men emerged from
the bush at the same point. “By the living powers,
they are taken! I see the ropes. Hurrah!” And
next moment Braxton and Chicago were mobbed by
nine shouting, dancing men, who pulled them and
tugged at them and slapped them on the back and
dragged them about in such a way that Maloney
whispered, with a scowl :
“If we’d had the grit to do as much, we’d have
been free men this day! ”
And now our story is nearly done. We have


THE GULLY OF BLUEMANSDYKE. 59
chronicled a fact which, we think, is worthy of a
wider circulation than the colonial drinking-bar and
the sheep-farmer’s fireside ; for Trooper Braxton and
his capture of the Bluemansdyke murderers have
long been household words among our brothers in
the England of the Southern seas.
Vile need not detail that joyful ride to Trafalgar,
nor the welcome, nor the attempt at lynching; nor
how Maloney, the arch-criminal, turned Queen’s evi-
dence, and so writhed away from the gallows. All
that may be read in the colonial press more graph-
ically than I can tell it. My friend Jack Braxton is
an ofiicer now, as his father was before him, and still
in the Trafalgar force. Bill I saw last in ’61, when
he came over to London in charge of the bark of
the lVeZZz'n_qt0nia for the International Exhibition.
He is laying on flesh, I fear, since he took to sheep-
farming, for he was barely brought up by seventeen
stone, and his fighting weight used to be fourteen;
but he looks well and hearty. Maloney was lynched
in Placerville—at least, so I heard. I had a letter
last mail from the old inspector; he has left the
police, and has a farm at Rathurst. I think, stout-
hearted as he is, he must give a little bit of a shudder
when he rides down to Trafalgar for the Thursday
market, and comes round that sharp turn of the road
where the bowlders lie, and the furze looks so yellow
against the red clay.


THE PARSON OF JACKMAN’S GULOH.
HE was known in the Gulch as the Reverend Elias
B. Hopkins, but it was generally understood that the
title was an honorary one, extorted by his many emi-
nent qualities, and not borne out by any legal claim
which he could adduce. “The Parson” was another
of his sobriquets, which was sufliciently distinctive in
a land where the flock was scattered and the shep-
herds few. To do him justice, he never pretended
to have received any preliminary training for the
ministry or any orthodox qualification to practise it.
“ We’re all working in the claim of the Lord,” he re-
marked one day, “and it don’t matter a cent whether
we’re hired for the job or whether we waltzes in on
our own account ”—a piece of rough imagery which
appealed directly to the instincts of Jackmanls Gulch.
It is quite certain that during the first few months
his presence had a marked effect in diminishing the
excessive use both of strong drinks and of stronger
adjectives which had been characteristic of the little
mining settlement. Under his tuition, men began
to understand that the resources of their native lan-
guage were less limited than they had supposed, and
that it was possible to convey their impressions with
accuracy without the aid of a gaudy halo of profanity.
We were certainly in need of a regenerator at J ack-
man’s Gulch about the beginning of ’53. Times were
flush then over the whole colony, but nowhere flusher
than there. Our material prosperity had had a bad
effect upon our morals. The camp was a small one,


THE PARSON OF JAGKMAN'S GULOH. til
lying rather better than a hundred and twenty miles
to the south of Ballarat, at a spot where a mountain
torrent finds its way down a rugged ravine on its way
to_join the Arrowsmith River. History does not re-
late who the original J ackman may have been, but at
the time I speak of the camp it contained a hundred
or so adults, many of whom were men who had sought
an asylum there after making more civilized mining
centres too hot to hold them. They were a rough,
murderous crew, hardly leavened by the few respect-
able members of society who were scattered among
them.
Communication between J ackman’s Gulch and the
outside world was diflicult and uncertain. A portion
of the bush between it and Ballarat was infested by
a redoubtable outlaw named Conky Jim, who, with a
small gang as desperate as himself, made travelling
a dangerous matter. It was customary, therefore, at
the Gulch, to store up the dust and nuggets obtained
from the mines in a special store, each man’s share
being placed in a separate bag on which his name
was marked. A trusty man, named Woburn, was
deputed to watch over this primitive bank. When
the amount deposited became considerable, a wagon
was hired, and the whole treasure was conveyed to
Ballarat, guarded by the police and by a certain num-
ber of miners, who took it in turn to perform the
office. Once in Ballarat, it was forwarded on to Mel-
bourne by the regular gold wagons. By this plan
the gold was often kept for months in the Gulch be-
fore being dispatched; but Conky Jim was effectu-
ally checkmated, as the escort party were far too
strong for him and his gang. He appeared, at the
time of which I write, to have forsaken his haunts in
disgust, and the road could be traversed by small
parties with impunity.


62 THE'PARSON OF J.~10KMAN'S GULUH.
Comparative order used to reign during the day-
time at Jackman’s Gulch, for the majority of the in-
habitants were out with crowbar and pick among
the quartz ledges, or washing clay and sand in their
cradles by the banks of the little stream. As the
' sun sank down, however, the claims were gradually
deserted, and their unkempt owners, clay-bespattered
and shaggy, came lounging into camp, ripe for any
form of mischief. Their first visit was to Woburn’s
gold store, where their clean-up of the day was
duly deposited, the amount being entered in the
store-keeper’s book, and each miner retaining
enough to cover his evening’s expenses. After that
all restraint was at an end, and each set to work to
get rid of his surplus dust with the greatest rapidity
possible. The focus of dissipation was the rough
bar, formed by a couple of hogsheads spanned by
planks, which was dignified by the name of the
“Britannia drinking saloon.” Here Nat Adams, the
burly bar-keeper, dispensed bad whiskey at the rate
of two shillings a noggin, or a guinea a bottle, while
his brother Ben acted as croupier in a rude wooden
shanty behind, which had been converted into a
gambling hell and was crowded every night. There
had been a third brother, but an unfortunate mis-
understanding with a customer had shortened his
existence. “He was too soft to live long,” his
brother Nathaniel feelingly observed on the occa-
sion of his funeral. “ Many’s the time I’ve said to
him, ‘If you’re arguin’ a pint with a stranger, you
should always draw first, then argue, and then shoot,
if you judge that he’s on the shoot.’ Bill was too
purlite. He must needs argue first and draw after,
when he might just as well have kivered his man be-
fore talkin’ it over with him.” This amiable weak-
ness of the deceased Bill was a blow to the firm of


THE PARSON OF JAC'K.l{AN'S GULUH. 63
Adams, which became so short-handed that the con-
cern could hardly be worked without the admission
of a partner, which would mean a considerable de-
crease in the profits.
Nat Adams had had a roadside shanty in the Gulch
before the discovery of gold, and might, therefore,
claim to be the oldest inhabitant. These keepers of
shanties were a peculiar race, and, at the cost of a
digression, it may be interesting to explain how
they managed to amass considerable sums of money
in a land where travellers were few and far between.
It was the custom of the “bushmen”--2'.e., bullock
drivers, sheep tenders, and the other white hands
who worked on the sheep-runs up country—to sign
articles by which they agreed to serve their master
for one, two, or three years at so much per year and
certain daily rations. Liquor was never included in
this agreement, and the men remained, perforce,
total abstainers during the whole time. The money
was paid in a lump sum at the end of the engage-
ment. -When that day came round, Jimmy, the
stockman, would come slouching into his master’s
ofiice, cabbage—tree hat in hand.
“ Morning, master!” Jimmy would say. “ My
time’s up. I guess I’ll draw my cheque and ride
down to town.”
“ You’l1 come back, Jimmy.”
“ Yes, I’ll come back. Maybe I’ll be away three
weeks, maybe a month. I want some clothes, master,
and my bloomin’ boots are well nigh off my feet.”
“ How much, Jimmy ?” asks his master, taking up
his pen.
“ There’s sixty pound screw,’ Jimmy answers,
thoughtfully; “and you mind, master, last March,
when the brindled bull broke out o’ the paddock.
Two pound you promised me then. And a pound
J


64 THE PARSON OF JAC'KM.-1N ‘S GULUH.
at the dipping. And a pound when Mil1a1"s sheep
got mixed with ourn.” And so he goes on, for bush-
men can seldom write, but they have memories
which nothing escapes.
His master writes the cheque and hands it across
the table. “Don’t get on the drink, Jimmy,” he
says.
“No fear of that, master,” and the stockman slips '
the cheque into his leather pouch, and within an
hour he is ambling ofi' upon his long-limbed horse
on his hundred-mile journey to town.
Now Jimmy has to pass some six or eight of the
above-mentioned roadside shanties in his day’s ride,
and experience has taught him that if he once
breaks his accustomed total abstinence, the unwont-
ed stimulant has an overpowering effect upon his
brain. Jimmy shakes his head warily as he deter-
mines that no earthly consideration will induce him
to partake of any liquor until his business is over.
His only chance is to avoid temptation; so, knowing
that there is the first of these houses some half mile
ahead, he plunges into a bypath through the bush
which will lead him out at the other side.
Jimmy is riding resolutely along this narrow
path, congratulating himself upon a danger escaped,
when he becomes aware of a sunburned, black-beard-
ed man who is leaning unconcernedly against a tree
beside the track. This is none other than the
shanty-keeper, who, having observed J immy’s man-
oeuvre in the distance, has taken a short cut through
the bush in order to intercept him.
“ Morning, Jimmy I _” he cries, as the horseman
comes up to him.
“Morning, mate ; morning
“ Where are ye ofl' to to-day, then "2 ”
“ Off to town,” says Jimmy sturdily.
I77


THE PARSON OF JAGKMAN’S GULUH. 65
“No, now—are you, though? You’ll have bully
times down there for a bit. Come round and have a
drink at my place—just by way of luck.”
“ No,” says Jimmy, “ I don’t want a drink.”
“ Just a little damp.”
“I tell ye I don’t want one,” says the stockman,
angrily.
4 “ Well, ye needn’t be so darned short about it.
It’s nothin’ to me whether you drinks or not. Good
mornin’.”
“Good mornin’,” says Jimmy, and has ridden on
about twenty yards when he hears the other calling
on him to stop.
“ See here, Jimmy! ” he says, overtaking him
again. “ If you’ll do me a kindness when you’re
up in town, I’d be obliged.”
“What is it? ”
“ It’s a letter, Jim, as I wants posted. It’s an im-
portant one too, an’ I wouldn’t trust it with every-
one; but I knows you, and if you’ll take charge on
it it ’ll be a powerful weight off my mind.”
_“ Give it here,” Jimmy says, laconically.
“ I hain’t got it here. It’s round in my caboose.
Come round for it with me. It ain’t more’n quarter
of a mile.” _
Jimmy consents reluctantly. When they reach
the tumble-down hut the keeper asks him cheerily
to dismount and to come in.
“ Give me the letter,” says Jimmy.
“It ain’t altogether wrote yet, but you sit down
here for a minute and it’l1 be right,” and so the
stockman is beguiled into the shanty.
At last the letter is ready and handed over.
“Now, Jimmy,” says the keeper, “one drink at my
expense before you go.”
“ Not a taste,” says Jimmy.
5


66 TIIE P4'1RS04v OF JAC'KMAN’S GULOH.
“ Oh, that’s it, is it? ” the other says, in an ag-
grieved tone. “You’re too damned proud to drink
with a poor cove like me. Here—give us back that
letter. I’m cursed if I’ll accept a favor from a man
whose too almighty big to have a drink with me.”
“Well, well, mate, don’t turn rusty,” says Jim.
“ Give us one drink an’ I’m ofl'.”
The keeper pours out about half a pannikin of
raw rum and hands it to the bushman. The moment
he smells the old familiar smell his longing for it
returns, and he swigs it ofl‘ ‘at a gulp. His eyes
shine more brightly, and his face becomes flushed.
The keeper watches him narrowly. “ You can go
now, Jim,” he says.
“Steady, mate, steady,” says the bushman. “ I’m
as good a man as you. If you stand a drink, I can
stand one too, I suppose.” So the pannikin is re-
plenished, and J immy’s eyes shine brighter still.
“ Now, Jimmy, one last drink for the good of the
house,” says the keeper, “and then it’s time you
were ofl'.” The stockman has a third gulp from the
pannikin, and with it all his scruples and good reso-
lutions vanish forever.
“Look here,” he says, somewhat huskily, taking
his cheque out of his pouch. “ You take this, mate.
Whoever comes along this road, ask ’em what they’ll
have, and tell them it’s my shout. Let me know
when the money’s done.”
So Jimmy abandons the idea of ever getting to
town, and for three weeks or a month he lies about
the shanty in a state of extreme drunkenness, and
reduces every wayfarer upon the road to the same
condition. At last one fine morning the keeper
comes to him. “ The coin’s done, Jimmy,” he says ;
“ it’s about time you made some more.” So Jimmy
has a good wash to sober him, straps his blanket


THE PARSON OF JAOKMAN‘S GULOH. 67
and his billy to his back, and rides ofl' through the
bush to the sheep-run, where he has another year
of sobriety, terminating in another month of intoxi-
cation.
All this, though typical of the happy-go-lucky
manners of the inhabitants, has no direct bearing
upon Jackman’s Gulch, so we must return to that
Arcadian settlement. Additions to the population
there were not numerous, and such as came about
the time of which I speak were even rougher and
fiercer than the original inhabitants. In particular,
there came a brace of ruflians named Phillips and
Maule, who rode into camp one day and started a
claim upon the other side of the stream. They out-
gulched the Gulch in the virulence and fluency of
their blasphemy, in the truculence of their speech
and manner, and in their reckless disregard of all
social laws. They claimed to have come from Ben-
digo, and there were some among us who wished
that the redoubted Conky Jim was on the track once
more, as long as he would close it to such visitors
as these. After their arrival the nightly proceed-
ings at the “Britannia bar” and at the gambling
hell behind became more riotous than ever. Violent
quarrels, frequently ending in bloodshed, were of
constant occurrence. The more peaceable frequent-
ers of the bar began to talk seriously of lynching
the two strangers, who were the principal promoters
of disorder. Things were in this unsatisfactory con-
dition when our evangelist, Elias B. Hopkins, came
limping into the camp, travel-stained and footsore,
with his spade strapped across his back and his
Bible in the pocket of his moleskin jacket.
His presence was hardly noticed at first, so insig-
nificant was the man. His manner was quiet and
unobtrusive, his face pale, and his figure fragile.


68 THE PARSON OF JAOKMAN’S GULOH.
Cn better acquaintance, however, there was a
squareness and firmness about his clean-shaven
lower jaw, and an intelligence in his widely opened
blue eyes, which marked him as a man of character.
He erected a small hut for himself; and started a
claim close to that occupied by the two strangers
who had preceded him. This claim was chosen
with a ludicrous disregard for all practical laws of
mining, and at once stamped the new-comer as being
a green hand at his work. It was piteous to observe
him every morning, as we passed to our work, dig-
ging and delving with the greatest industry, but, as
we knew well, without the smallest possibility of
any result. He would pause for a moment as we
went by, wipe his pale face with his bandanna hand-
kerchief, and shout out to us a cordial morning
greeting, and then fall to again with redoubled
energy. By degrees we got into the way of making
a half-pitying, half-contemptuous inquiry as to how
he got on. “ I hain’t struck it yet, boys,” he would
answer, cheerily, leaning on his spade ; “ but the bed-
rock lies deep just hereabouts, and I reckon we’ll
get among the pay gravel to-day.” Day after day
he returned the same reply, with unvarying confi-
dence and cheerfulness. '
It was not long before he began to show us the
stuff that was in him. One night the proceedings
were unusually violent at the drinking saloon. A
rich pocket had been struck during the day, and
the striker was standing treat in a lavish and pro-
miscuous fashion, which had reduced three parts
of the settlement to a state of wild intoxication.
A crowd of drunken idlers stood or lay about the
bar, cursing, swearing, shouting, dancing, and here
and there firing their pistols into the air out of
pure wantonness. From the interior of the shanty


THE PnzzSOiv OF’ JAOKMAN’S GULOH. 69
behind there came a similar chorus. Maule, Phil-
lips, and the roughs who followed them were in the
ascendant, and all order and decency was swept
away.
Suddenly, amid this tumult of oaths and drunken '
cries, men became conscious of a quiet monotone
which underlay all other sounds and obtruded it-
self at every pause in the uproar. Gradually first
one man and then another paused to listen, until
there was a general cessation of the hubbub, and
every eye was turned in the direction whence this
quiet stream of words flowed. There, mounted
upon a barrel, was Elias B. Hopkins, the newest of
the inhabitants of J ackman’s Gulch, with a good-
humored smile upon his resolute face. He held an
open Bible in his hand, and was reading aloud a
passage taken at random—an extract from the
Apocalypse, if I remember right. The words were
entirely irrelevant, and without the smallest bear-
ing upon the scene before him; but he plodded on
with great unction, waving his left hand slowly to
the cadence of his words.
There was a general shout of laughter and ap-
plause at this apparition, and Jackman’s Gulch
gathered round the barrel approvingly, under the
impression that this was some ornate joke, and that
they were about to be treated to some mock sermon
or parody of the chapter read. When, however,
the reader, having finished the chapter, placidly
commenced another, and having finished that rip-
pled on into another one, the revellers came to the
conclusion that the joke was somewhat too long-
winded. The commencement of yet another chapter
confirmed this opinion, and an angry chorus of
shouts and cries, with suggestions as to gagging
the reader, or knocking him ofl' the barrel, rose


70 THE PARSON OF JAOKMAN’S GULUH.
from every side. In spite of roars and hoots, how-
ever, Elias B. Hopkins plodded away at the Apoc-
alypse with the same serene countenance, looking as
inetfably contented as though the babel around him
were the most gratifying applause. Before long an
occasional boot pattered against the barrel, or
whistled past our parson’s head; but here some of
the more orderly of the inhabitants interfered in
favor of peace and order, aided, curiously enough, by
the afore-mentioned Maule and Phillips, who warm-
ly espoused the cause of the little Scripture-reader.
“ The little cuss has got grit in him,” the latter ex-
plained, rearing his bulky red-shirted form between
the crowd and the object of its anger. “ His ways
ain’t our ways, and we’re all welcome to our opin-
ions, and to sling them round from barrels or other-
wise, if so minded. What I says, and Bill says, is,
that when it comes to slingin’ boots instead o’
words it’s too steep by half; an’ if this man’s
wronged we’ll chip in an’ see him lighted.” This
oratorical effort had the efi'ect of checking the more
active signs of disapproval, and the party of dis-
order attempted to settle down once more to their
carouse, and to ignore the shower of Scripture which
was poured upon them. The attempt was hopeless.
The drunken portion fell asleep under the drowsy
refrain, and the others, with many a sullen glance
at the imperturbable reader, slouched ofl‘ to their
huts, leaving him still perched upon the barrel.
Finding himself alone with the more orderly of the
spectators, the little man rose, closed his book, after
methodically marking with a lead pencil the exact
spot at which he stopped, and descended from his
perch. “To-morrow night, boys,” he remarked in
his quiet voice, “the reading will commence at the
ninth verse of the fifteenth chapter of the Apoc-


THE PARSON OF’ JA(/'KM'/1N’S GULCH. 71
alypse,” with which piece of information, disre-
garding our congratulations, he walked away with
the air of a man who has performed an obvious
duty.
We found that his parting words were no empty
threat. Hardly had the crowd begun to assemble
next night before he appeared once more upon the
barrel and began to read with the same monoto-
nous vigor, tripping over words, muddling up sen-
tences, but still boring along through chapter after
chapter. Laughter, threats, chafi"—every weapon
short of actual violence—was used to deter him,
but all with the same want of success. Soon it was
found that there was a method in his proceedings.
When silence reigned, or when the conversation was
of an innocent nature, the reading ceased. A single
word of blasphemy, however, set it going again, and
it would ramble on for a quarter of an hour or so,
when it stopped, only to be renewed upon similar
provocation. The reading was pretty continuous
during that second night, for the language of the
opposition was still considerably free. At least it
was an improvement upon the night before.
For more than a month Elias B. Hopkins carried
on this campaign. There he would sit, night after
night, with the open book upon his knee, and at the
slightest provocation ofl' he would go, like a musical
box when the spring is touched. The monotonous
drawl became unendurable, but it could only be
avoided by conformingto the parson’s code. A
chronic swearer came to be looked upon with dis-
favor by the community, since the punishment of
his transgression fell upon all. At the end of a
fortnight the reader was silent more than half the
time, and at the end of the month his position was
a sinecure.


72 THE PARSON OF JA GK.lIAN’S GULQH.
‘é
Never was a moral revolution brought about more
rapidly and more completely. Our parson carried
his principle into private life. I have seen him, on
hearing an unguarded word from some worker in
the gulches, rush across, Bible in hand, and perch-
ing himself upon the heap of red clay which
surmounted the ofl'ender’s claim, drawl through the
genealogical tree at the commencement of the New
Testament in a most earnest and impressive manner,
as though it were especially appropriate to the
occasion. In time an oath became a rare thing
among us. Drunkenness was on the wane too.
Casual travellers passing through the Gulch used
to marvel at our state of grace, and rumors of it
went as far as Ballarat, and excited much comment
therein.
There were points about our evangelist which
made him especially fitted for the work which he
had undertaken. A man entirely without redeeming
vices would have had no common basis on which to
work, and no means of gaining the sympathy of his
flock. As we came to know Elias B. Hopkins better,
we discovered that in spite of his piety there was a
leaven of old Adam in him, and that he had certainly
known unregenerate days. He was no teetotaller.
On the contrary, he could choose his liquor with
discrimination, and lower it in an able manner. He
played a masterly hand at poker, and there were
few who could touch him at “cut-throat euchre.”
He and the two ex-ruflians, Phillips and Maule,
used to play for hours in perfect harmony, except
when the fall of the cards elicited an oath from one
of his companions. At the first of these oflfences
the parson would put on a pained smile and gaze
reproachfully at the culprit. At the second he
would reach for his Bible, and the game was over


THE PARSON OF JAC’KMAN’S GULOH. 73
_I
for the even1ng. He showed us he was a good
revolver shot too, for when we were practising at
an empty brandy bottle outside Adams’ bar he took
up a friend’s pistol and hit it plumb in the centre
at twenty-four paces. There were few things he
took up that he could not make a show at apparently,
except gold-digging, and at that he was the veriest
duffer alive. It was pitiful to see the little canvas
bag, with his name printed across it, lying placid
and empty upon the shelf at Woburn’s store, while
all the other bags were increasing daily, and some
had assumed quite a portly rotundity of form, for
the weeks were slipping by, and it was almost time
for the gold-train to start ofl' for Ballarat. We
reckoned that the amount which we had stored at
the time represented the greatest sum which had
ever been taken by a single convoy out of Jack-
man’s Gulch.
Although Elias B. Hopkins appeared to derive
a certain quiet satisfaction from the wonderful
change which he had effected in the camp, his joy
was not yet rounded and complete. There was one
thing for which he still yearned. He opened his
heart to us about it one evening.
“We’d have a blessing on the camp, boys,” he
said, “if we only had a service 0’ some sort on the
Lord’s day. It’s a temptin’ o’ Providence to go on
in this way without takin’ any notice of it except
that maybe there’s more whiskey drunk and more
card-playin’ than on any other day.” '
“We hain’t got no parson,” objected one of the
crowd.
“ Ye fool!” growled another, “hain’t we got a
man as is worth any three parsons, and can splash
texts around like clay out o’ a cradle? \Vhat more
d’ye want? ”


74 THE PARSON OF JAC-'Kll[AN’S GULOII.
“ We hain’t got no church I ” urged the same
dissentient.
“Have it in the open air,” one suggested.
“ Or in Woburn’s store,” said another.
“ Or in Adams’ saloon.”
The last proposal was received with a buzz of
approval which showed that it was considered the
most appropriate locality.
Adams’ saloon was a substantial wooden building
in the rear of the bar, which was used partly for
storing liquor and partly for a gambling saloon. It
was strongly built of rough-hewn logs, the proprie-
tor rightly judging, in the unregenerate days of
Jackman’s Gulch, that hogsheads of brandy and rum
were commodities which had best be secured under
lock and key. A strong door opened into each end
of the saloon, and the interior was spacious enough,
when the table and lumber were cleared away, to ac-
commodate the whole population. The spirit bar-
rels were heaped together at one end by their owner,
so as to make a very fair imitation of a pulpit.
At first the Gulch took but a mild interest in the
proceedings, but when it became known that Elias
B. Hopkins intended, after reading the service, to
address the audience, the settlement began to warm
up to the occasion. A real sermon was a novelty to
all of them, and one coming from their own parson
was additionally so. Rumor announced that it
would be interspersed with local hits, and that the
moral would be pointed by pungent personalities.
Men began to fear that they would be unable to
gain seats, and many applications were made to the
brothers Adams. It was only when conclusively
shown that the saloon could contain them all with
a margin that the camp settled down into calm ex-
pectancy.


THE PARSON OF JAO'KMAN’S GULOH. 75
It was as well that the building was of such a size,
for the assembly upon the Sunday morning was the
largest which had ever occurred in the annals of
J ackman’s Gulch. At first it was thought that the
whole population was present, but a_little reflection
showed that this was not so. Maule and Phillips
had gone on a prospecting journey among the hills, _
and had not returned as yet ; and Woburn, the gold-
keeper, was unable to leave his store. Having a
very large quantity of the precious metal under his
charge, he stuck to his post, feeling that the respon-
sibility was too great to trifle with. With these
three exceptions the whole of the Gulch, with clean
red shirts, and such other additions to their toilet as
the occasion demanded, sauntered in a straggling
line along the clayey pathway which led up to the
saloon.
The interior of the building had been provided
with rough benches ; and the parson, with his quiet,
good-humored smile, was standing at the door to
welcome them. “ Good morning, boys,” he cried
cheerily, as each group came lounging up. “Pass
in! pass in! You’ll find this is as good a morning’s
work as any you’ve done. Leave your pistols in
this barrel outside the door as you pass; you can
pick them out as you come o11t again; but it isn’t
the thing to carry weapons into the house of peace.”
His request was good-humoredly complied with,
and before the last of the congregation filed in there
was a strange assortment of knives and fire-arms in
this depository. When all had assembled the doors
were shut and the service began—the first and the
last which was ever performed at Jackman’s Gulch.
The weather was sultry and the room close, yet
the miners listened with exemplary patience. There
was a sense of novelty in the situation which had its


76 THE PA RSON 01+" 1.4 C’KMAN’S _e £11111.
attractions. To some it was entirely new, others
were waited back by it to another land and other
days. Beyond a disposition which was exhibited by
the uninitiated to applaud at the end of certain
prayers, by way of showing that they sympathized
with the sentiments expressed, no audience could
have behaved better. There was a murmur of inter-
est, however, when Elias B. Hopkins, looking down
on the congregation from his rostrum of casks, began
his address.
He had attired himself with care in honor of the
occasion. He wore a velveteen tunic, girt round the
waist with a sash of China silk, a pair of moleskin
trousers, and held his cabbage-tree hat in his left
hand. He began speaking in a low tone, and it was
noticed at the time that he frequently glanced
through the small aperture which served for a win-
dow, which was placed above the heads of those who
sat beneath him.
“ I’ve put you straight now,” he said, in the course
of his address ; “ I’ve got you in the right rut, if you
will but stick in it.” Here he looked very hard out
of the window for some seconds. “ You’ve learned
soberness and industry, and with those things you
can always make up any loss you may sustain. I
guess there isn’t one of ye that won’t remember my
visit to this camp.” He paused for a moment, and
three revolver shots rang out upon the quiet summer
air. “ Keep your seats, damn ye ! ” roared our
preacher, as his audience rose in excitement. “ If a
man of ye moves, down he goes! The door’s locked
on the outside, so ye can’t get out anyhow. Your
seats, ye ca-nting, chuckle-headed fools! Down with
ye, ye dogs, or I’ll fire among ye I ”
Astonishment and fear brought us back into our
seats, and we sat staring blankly at our pastor and


THE’ PARSON OF JAC'K1l[AN’S GULGH. 77
each other. Elias B. Hopkins, whose whole face
and even figure appeared to have undergone an ex-
traordinary alteration, looked fiercely down on us
from his commanding position with a contemptuous
smile on his stern face.
“I have your lives in my hands,” he remarked;
and we noticed as he spoke that he held a heavy re-
volver in his hand, and that the butt of another one
protruded from his sash. “ I am armed and you are
not. If one of you moves or speaks, he is a dead
man. If not, I shall not harm you. You must wait
here for an hour. Why, you fools ” (this with a hiss
of contempt which rang in our ears for many a long
day), “ do you know who it is that has stuck you up?
Do you know who it is that has been playing it upon
you for months as a parson and a saint? Conky
Jim, the bushranger, ye -apes? And Phillips and
Maule were my two right-hand men. They’re off
into the hills with your gold—- Ha! would ye ? ”
This to some restive member of the audience, who
quieted down instantly before the fierce eye and the
ready weapon of the bushranger. “In an hour they
will be clear of any pursuit, and I advise you to
make the best of it and not to follow, or you may
lose more than your money. My horse is -tethered
outside this door behind me. When the time is up
I shall pass through it, lock it on the outside, and
be off. Then you may break your way out as best
you can. I have no more to say to you, except that
ye are the most cursed set of asses that ever trod in
boot-leather.” '
We had time to indorse mentally this outspoken
opinion during the long sixty minutes which fol-
lowed; we were powerless before the resolute des-
perado. It is true that if we made a simultaneous
rush we might bear him down at the cost of eight or


78 THE PAR/SON OF J.-1GKMA1V’S GULOH.
ten of our number. But how could such a rush be
organized without speaking, and who would attempt
it without a previous agreement that he would be
supported? There was nothing for it but submis-
sion. It seemed three hours at the least before the
ranger snapped up his watch, stepped down from
the barrel, walked backward, still covering us with
his weapon, to the door behind him, and then passed
rapidly through it. We heard the creaking of the
rusty lock, and the clatter of his horse’s hoofs as he
galloped away.
It has been remarked that an oath had for the last
few weeks been a rare thing in the camp. We
made up for our temporary abstention during the
next half-hour. Never was heard such symmetrical
and heartfelt blasphemy. When at last we suc-
ceeded in getting the door off its hinges all sight of
both rangers and treasure had disappeared, nor have
we ever caught sight of either the one or the other
since. Poor Woburn, true to his trust, lay shot
through the head across the threshold of his empty
store. The villains, Maule and Phillips, had de-
scended upon the camp the instant that we had been
enticed into the trap, murdered the keeper, loaded
up a small cart with the booty, and got safe away to
some wild fastness among the mountains, where they
were joined by their wily leader.
Jackman’s Gulch recovered from this blow, and
is now a flourishing township. Social reformers are
not in request there, however, and morality is at a
discount. It is said that an inquest has been held
lately upon an unoffending stranger who chanced to
remark that in so large a place it would be advisable
to have some form of Sunday service. The memory
of their one and only pastor is still green among the
inhabitants, _and will be for many a long year to come.


THE SILVER HATCHET.
ON December 3, 1861, Dr. Otto von Hopstein,
Regins Professor of Comparative Anatomy of the
University of Buda-Pesth, and Curator of the Aca-
demical Museum, was foully and brutally murdered
within a stone-throw of the entrance to the college
quadrangle.
Besides the eminent position of the victim and
his popularity among both students and townsfolk,
there were other circumstances which excited public
interest very strongly, and drew general attention
throughout Austria and Hungary to this murder.
The Pest/zcr Abendblatt of the following day had an
article upon it, which may still be consulted by the
curious, and from which I translate a few passages
giving a succinct account of the circumstances under
which the crime was committed, and the peculiar
features i11 the case which puzzled the Hungarian
police.
“It appears,” said that very excellent paper,
“that Professor von Hopstein left the University
about half-past four in the afternoon, in order to
meet the train which is due from Vienna at three
minutes after five. He was accompanied by his old
and dear friend, Herr Wilhelm Schlessinger, sub-
Curator of the Museum and Privat-docent of Chem-
istry. The ob‘ject of these two gentlemen in meet-
ing this particular train was to receive the legacy
bequeathed by Graf von Schulling to the University
of Buda-Pesth. It is well known that this unfortu-


80 THE SILVER HATOHET.
nate nobleman, whose tragic fate is still fresh in the
recollection of the public, left his unique collection
of mediaeval weapons, as well as several priceless
black-letter editions, to enrich the already celebrated
museum of his Alma Mater. The worthy Professor
was too much of an enthusiast in such matters
to intrust the reception or care of this valuable
legacy to any subordinate ; and, with the assist-
ance of Herr Schlessinger, he succeeded in remov-
ing the whole collection from the train, and stowing
it away in a light cart which had been sent by the
University authorities. Most of the books and
more fragile articles were packed in cases of pine-
wood, but many of the weapons were simply done
round with straw, so that considerable labor was in-
volved in moving them all. The Professor was so
nervous, however, lest any of them should be in-
jured, that he refused to allow any of the railway
employés (Eisenbahn-cliener) to assist. Every article
was carried across the platform by Herr Schlessinger,
and handed to Professor von Hopstein in the cart.
who packed it away. When everything was in, the
two gentlemen, still faithful to their charge, drove
back to the University, the Professor being in excel-
lent spirits, and not a little proud of the physical ex-
ertion which he had shown himself capable of. He
made some joking allusion to it to Reinmaul, the
janitor, who, with his friend Schiffer, a Bohemian Jew,
met the cart on its return and unloaded the contents.
Leaving his curiosities safe in the store-room, and
locking the door, the Professor handed the key to
his sub-curator, and bidding everyone good even-
ing, departed in the direction of his lodgings.
Schlessinger took a last look to reassure himself that
all was right, and also went ofl', leaving Reinmaul
and his friend Schiffer smoking in the janitor’s lodge.


THE SILVER HATOHET. 81
“At eleven o’clock, about an hour and a half after
Von Hopstein’s departure, a soldier of the 14th
regiment of J ager, passing the front of the Univer-
sity on his way to barracks, came -upon the lifeless
body of the Professor lying a little way from the
side of the road. He had fallen upon his face, with
both hands stretched out. His head was literally
split in two halves by a tremendous blow, which, it
is conjectured, must have been struck from behind,
there remaining a peaceful smile upon the old man’s
face, as if he had been still dwelling upon his new
archaeological acquisition when death had overtaken
him. There is no other mark of violence upon the
body, except a bruise over the left patella, caused
probably by the fall. The most mysterious part of
the affair is that the Professor’s purse, containing
forty-three gulden, and his valuable watch have been
untouched. Robbery cannot, therefore, have been
the incentive to the deed, unless the assasins were
disturbed before they could complete their work.
“ This idea is negatived by the fact that the body
must have lain at least an hour before anyone dis-
covered it. The whole afl'air is wrapped in mystery.
Dr. Langemann, the eminent medico-jurist, has pro-
nounced that the wound is such as might have been
inflicted by a heavy sword-bayonet wielded by a
powerful arm. The police are extremely reticent
upon the subject, and it is suspected that they are
in possession of a clew which may lead to important
results.”
Thus far the Pesther Abendblatt. The researches
of the police failed, however, to throw the least
glimmer of light upon the matter. There was ab-
solutely no trace' of the murderer, nor could any
amount of ingenuity invent any reason which could
have induced anyone to commit the dreadful deed.
6


82 THE’ SILVER HA TOHET.
The deceased Professor was a man so wrapped in
his own studies and pursuits that he lived apart
from the world, and had certainly never raised the
slightest animosity in any human breast. It must
have been some fiend, some savage, who loved blood
for its own sake, who struck that merciless blow.
Though the ofiicials were unable to come to any
conclusions upon the matter, popular suspicion was
not long in pitching upon a scapegoat. In the first
published accounts of the murder the name of one
Schitfer had been mentioned as having remained
with the janitor after the Professor’s departure.
This man was a Jew, and Jews have never been
popular in Hungary. A cry was at once raised for
Schifl'er’s arrest; but as there was not the slightest
grain of evidence against him, the authorities very
'properly refused to consent to so arbitrary a pro-
ceeding. Reinmaul, who was an old and most re-
spected citizen, declared solemnly that Schiffer was
with him until the startled cry of the soldier had
caused them both to run out to the scene of the
tragedy. No one ever dreamed of implicating Rein-
maul in such a matter; but still it was rumored
that his ancient and well-known friendship for
Schiffer might have induced him to tell a falsehood
in order to screen him. Popular feeling ran very
high upon the subject, and there seemed a danger
of Schifl'er’s being mobbed in the street, when an
incident occurred which threw a very different light
upon the matter.
On the morning of December 12th, just nine
days after the mysterious murder of the Professor,
Schifl'er, the Bohemian Jew, was found lying in the
northwestern corner of the Grand Platz stone dead,
and so mutilated that he was hardly recognizable.
His head was cloven open in very much the same


THE SILVER HA TOHET. 83
way as that of Von Hopstein, and his body exhibited
numerous deep gashes, as if the murderer had been
so carried away and transported with fury that he
had continued to hack the lifeless body. Snow had
fallen heavily the day before, and was lying at least
a foot deep all over the square; some had fallen
during the night, too, as was evidenced by a thin
layer lying like a winding-sheet over the murdered
man. It was hoped at first that this circumstance
might assist in giving a clew by enabling the foot-
steps of the assassin to be traced ; but the crime had
been committed, unfortunately, in a place much fre-
quented during the day, and there were innumer-
able tracks in every direction. Besides, the newly
fallen snow had blurred the footsteps to such an
extent that it would have been impossible to draw
trustworthy evidence from them.
In this case there was exactly the same impene-
trable mystery and absence of motive which had
' characterized the murder of Professor von Hopstein.
In the dead man’s pocket there was found a note-
book containing a considerable sum in gold and
several very valuable bills, but no attempt had been
'made to rifle him. Supposing that anyone to
whom he had lent money (and this was the first idea
which occurred to the police) had taken this means
of evading his debt, it was hardly conceivable that
he would have left such a valuable spoil untouched.
' Schiffer lodged with a widow named Gruga, at 49
Marie Theresa Strasse, and the evidence of his land-
lady and her children showed that he had remained
shut up in his room the whole of the preceding day
in a state of deep dejection, caused by the suspicion
which the populace had fastened upon him. She
had heard him go out about eleven o’clock at night
for his last and fatal walk, and as he had a latch-key


84; THE SILVER HA TOHET.'
she had gone to bed without waiting for him. His
object in choosing such a late hour for a ramble ob-
viously was that he did not consider himself safe if
recognized in the streets.
The occurrence of this second murder so shortly
after the first threw not only the town of Buda-
Pesth, but the whole of Hungary, into a terrible
state of excitement and even of terror. ,Vague
dangers seemed to hang over the head of every
man. The only parallel to this intense feeling was
to be found in our own country at the time of the
Williams murders described by De Quincey. There
were so many resemblances between the cases of
Von Hopstein and of Schifi'er that no one could
doubt that there existed a connection between the
two. The absence of object and of robbery, the
utter want of any clew to the assassin, and, lastly,
the ghastly nature of the wounds, evidently inflicted
by the same or a similar weapon, all pointed in one
direction. Things were in this state when the inci-
dents which I am now about to relate occurred, and
in order to make them intelligible I must lead up to
them from a fresh point of departure.
Otto von Schlegel was a younger son of the old ~
Silesian family of that name. His father had orig-
inally destined him for the army, but at the advice
of his teachers, who saw the surprising talent of the
youth, had sent him to the University of Buda-
Pesth to be educated in medicine. Here young
Schlegel carried everything before him, and prom-
ised to be one of the most brilliant graduates turned
out for many a year. Though a hard reader, he was
no bookworm, but an active, powerful young fellow,
full of animal spirits and vivacity, and extremely
popular among his fellow-students.
The New Year examinations were at hand, and


THE SIL VER HA TOHEIZ 85
Schlegel was working hard—so hard that even the
strange murders in the town, and the general excite-
ment in men’s minds, failed to turn his thoughts
from his studies. Upon Christmas Eve, when every
house was illuminated, and the roar of drinking
songs came from the Bierkeller in the Student-quar-
tier, he refused the many invitations to roystering
suppers which were showered upon him, and went
off with his books under his arm to the rooms of Leo- '
pold Strauss, to work with him into the small hours
of the morning.
Strauss and Schlegel were bosom friends. They
were both Silesians, and had known each other from
boyhood. Their affection had become proverbial in
the University. Strauss was almost as distinguished _
a student as Schlegel, and there had been many a
tough struggle for academic honors between the
two fellow-countrymen, which had only served to
strengthen their friendship by a bond of mutual
respect. Schlegel admired the dogged pluck and
never-failing good temper of his old playmate;
while the latter considered Schlegel, with his many
talents and brilliant versatility, the most accom-
plished of mortals.
The friends were still working together, the one
reading from a volume on anatomy, the other
holding a skull and marking off the various parts
mentioned in the text, when the deep-toned bell
of St. Gregory’s church struck the hour of mid-
night.
“ Hark to that!” said Schlegel, snapping up the
book and stretching out his long legs toward the
cheery fire. “Why, it’s Christmas morning, old
friend! May it not be the last that we spend to-
gether!”
“ May we have passed all these confounded exam-


86 THE SILVER HATOHET.
inations before another one comes!” answered
Strauss. “ But see here, Otto, one bottle of wine
will not be amiss. I have laid one up on pur-
pose; ” and with a smile on his honest South German .
face, he pulled out a long-necked bottle of Bhen-
ish from among a pile of books and bones in the
corner.
“It is a night to be comfortable indoors,” said
Otto von Schlegel, looking out at the snowy land-
scape, “for ’tis bleak and bitter enough outside.
Good health, Leopold! ”
“llebe hock!” replied his companion. “It is a
comfort, indeed, to forget sphenoid bones and eth-
moid bones, if it be but for a moment. And what is
the news of the corps, Otto? Has Graube fought
the Swabian? ”
“They fight to-morrow,” said Von Schlegel. “I
fear that our man will lose his beauty, for he is short
in the arm. Yet activity and skill may do much for
him. They say his hanging guard is perfection.”
“ And what else is the news among the students?”
asked Strauss.
“They talk, I believe, of nothing but the murders.
But I have worked hard of late, as you know, and
hear little of the gossip.”
“Have you had time,” inquired Strauss, “to look
over the books and the weapons which our dear old
Professor was so concerned about the very day he
met his death? They say they are well worth a
visit.”
“I saw them to-day,” said Schlegel, lighting his
pipe. “Reinmaul, the janitor, showed me over the
store-room, and I helped to label many of them from
the original catalogue of Graf Schulling’s museum.
As far as we can see, there is but one article missing'
of all the collection.”


THE SILVER IIATOHET. 87
“ One missing!” exclaimed Strauss. “ That would
grieve old Von Hopstein’s ghost. Is it anything of
value ? ”
“It is described as an antique hatchet, with a head
of steel and a handle of chased silver. We have ap-
plied to the railway company, and no doubt it will
be found.”
“I trust so,” echoed Strauss ; and the conversation
drifted ofl' into other channels. The fire was burn-
ing low and the bottle of Rhenish was empty before
the two friends rose from their chairs and Von
Schlegel prepared to depart.
“ Ugh! It’s a bitter night!” he said, standing
on the doorstep and folding his cloak round him.
“Why, Leopold, you have your cap on. You are
not going out, are you?” .
“Yes, I am coming with you,” said Strauss, shut-
ting the door behind him. “I feel heavy,” he con-
tinued, taking his friend’s arm, and walking down
the street with him. “ I think a walk as far as your
lodgings, in the crisp frosty air, is just the thing to
set me right.” '
The two students went down Stephen Strasse to-
gether and across J ulien Platz, talking on a variety
of topics. As they passed the corner of the Grand
Platz, however, where Schiffer had been found dead,
the conversation turned naturally upon the murder.
“That’s where they found him,” remarked Von
Schlegel, pointing to the fatal spot.
“Perhaps the murderer is near us now,” said
Strauss. “ Let us hasten on.” _
They both turned to go, when Von Schlegel gave
a sudden cry of pain and stooped down.
“ Something has cut through my boot!” he cried;
and feeling about with his hand in the snow, he
pulled out a small glistening battle-axe, made ap-


88 THE SIL VER HA TOHET.
parently entirely of metal. It had been lying with
the blade turned slightly upward, so as to cut the
foot of the student when he trod upon it.
“The weapon of the murderer!” he ejaculated.
“The silver hatchet from the museum!” cried
Strauss in the same breath.
There could be no doubt that it was both the one
and the other. There could not be two such curious
weapons, and the character of the wounds was just
such as would be inflicted by a similar instrument.
The murderer had evidently thrown it aside after
committing the dreadful deed, and it had lain con-
cealed in the snow some twenty metres from the
spot ever since. It was extraordinary that of all the
people who had passed and repassed none had dis-
covered it ; but the snow was deep, and it was a little
off the beaten track.
“What are we to do with it ‘? ” said Von Schlegel,
holding it in his hand. He shuddered as he noticed
by the light of the moon that the head of it was all
dabbled with dark-brown stains-
“ Take it to the Commissary of Police,” suggested
Strauss.
“ He’ll be in bed now. Still, I think you are right.
But it is nearly four o’clock. I will wait until morn-
ing, and take it round before breakfast. Meanwhile,
I must carry it with me to my lodgings.”
“That is the best plan,” said his friend; and the
two walked on together talking of the remarkable
find which they had made. When they came to
Schlegel’s door, Strauss said good-by, refusing an
invitation to go in, and walked briskly down the
street in the direction of his own lodgings.
Schlegel was stooping down putting the key into
the lock, when a strange'change came over him. He
trembled violently, and dropped the key from his


THE SILVER HATUHET_ ' 89
quivering fingers. His right hand closed convul-
sively round the handle of the silver hatchet, and his
eye followed the retreating figure of his friend with
a vindictive glare. In spite of the coldness of the
night the perspiration streamed down his face. For
a moment he seemed to struggle with himself, hold-
ing his hand up to his throat as if he were suffocating.
Then, with crouching body_ and rapid, noiseless steps,
he crept after his late companion.
Strauss was plodding sturdily along through the
snow, humming snatches of a student song, and
little dreaming of the dark figure which pursued
him. At the Grand Platz it was forty yards behind
him; at the Julien Platz it was_but twenty; in
Stephen Strasse it- was ten, and gaining on him
with panther-like rapidity.‘ Already it was almost
within arm’s length of the unsuspecting man, and
the hatchet glittered coldly in the moonlight, when
some slight noise must have reached Strauss’s ears,
for he faced suddenly round upon his pursuer.
He started and uttered an exclamation as his eye
met the white set face, with flashing eyes and
clenched teeth, which seemed to be suspended in
the air behind him.
“What. Otto!” he exclaimed, recognising his
friend. "Alt thou ill? You look pale. _Come
with me to myl Ah! hold, you madman, hold!
Drop that axe! Drop it, I say, or by heaven I’ll
choke you I ”
Von Schlegel had thrown himself upon him with
a wild cry and uplifted weapon; but the student
was stout-hearted and resolute. He rushed inside
the sweep of the hatchet and caught his assailant
round the waist, narrowly escaping a blow which
would have cloven his head. The two staggered
for a moment in a deadly wrestle, Schlegel en-


90 THE SILVER HATCIIET.
deavoring to shorten his weapon ; but Strauss
with a desperate wrench managed to bring him to
the ground, and they rolled together in the snow,
Strauss clinging to the other’s right arm and
shouting frantically for assistance. It was as well
that he did so, for Schlegel would certainly have
succeeded in freeing his arm had it not been for
the arrival of two stalwart gendarmes, attracted by
the uproar. Even then the three of them found
it difiicult to overcome the maniacal strength of
Schlegel, and they were utterly unable to wrench
the silver hatchet from his grasp. One of the
gendarmes, however, had a coil of rope round ‘his
waist, with which he rapidly secured the student’s
arms to his sides. In this way, half pushed, half
dragged, he was conveyed, in spite of furious cries
and frenzied struggles, to the central police sta-
tion.
Strauss assisted in coercing his former friend,
and accompanied the police to the station; protest-
ing loudly at the same time against any unneces-
sary violence, and giving it as his opinion that a
lunatic asylum would be a more fitting place for the
prisoner. The events of the last half-hour had been
so sudden and inexplicable that he felt quite dazed
himself. What did it all mean ? It was certain that
his old friend from boyhood had attempted to mur-
der him, and had nearly succeeded. \Vas Von
Schlegel, then, the murderer of Professor von Hop-
stein and of the Bohemian Jew? Strauss felt that
it was impossible, for the Jew was not even known
to him, and the Professor had been his especial fa-
vorite. He followed mechanically to the police sta-
tion, lost in grief and amazement.
Inspector Baumgarten, one of the most energetic
and best known of the police ofiicials, was on duty


THE SILVER HATOHET. 91
in the absence of the Commissary. He was a wiry
little active man, quiet and retiring in his habits,
but possessed of great sagacity and a vigilance
' _ which never relaxed. Now, though he had had a
six hours’ vigil, he sat as erect as ever, with his pen
behind his ear, at his ofiicial desk, while his friend,
Sub-inspector Winkel, snored in a chair at the side
of the stove. Even the inspector’s usually immova-
ble features betrayed surprise, however, when the
door was flung open and Von Schlegel was dragged
in with pale face and disordered clothes, the silver
hatchet still grasped firmly in his hand. Still more
surprised was he when Strauss and the gendarmes
gave their account, which was duly entered in the
ofiicial register.
“ Young man, young man,” said Inspector Baum-
garten, laying down his pen and fixing his eyes
sternly upon the prisoner, “ this is pretty work for
Christmas morning; why have you done this
thing? ”
“God knows!” cried Von Schlegel, covering his
face with his hands and dropping the hatchet. A
change had come over him ; his fury and excitement
were gone, and he seemed utterly prostrated with_
grief.
“You have rendered yourself liable to a strong
suspicion of having committed the other murders
which have disgraced our city.”
“ No, no, indeed!” said Von Schlegel, earnestly.
“ God forbid! ”
“At least you are guilty of attempting the life of
Herr Leopold Strauss.”
“The dearest friend I have in the world,” groaned
the student. “ Oh, how could I! How could I! ”
“His being your friend makes your crime ten
times more heinous,” said the inspector, severely.


92 THE SILVER HATOIIET.
“Remove him for the remainder of the night to
the—- But steady! Who comes here ? ”
The door was pushed open and a man came into
the room, so haggard and careworn that he looked
more like a ghost than a human being. He tottered
as he walked, and had to clutch at the backs of,the
chairs as he approached the inspector’s desk. It
was hard to recognize in this miserable looking
object the once cheerful and rubicund sub-Curator
of the Museum and Privat-docent of Chemistry,
Herr Wilhelm Schlessinger. The practised eye of
Baumgarten, however, was not to be baffied by
any change.
“ Good morning, mein herr,” he said; “you are
up early. No doubt the reason is that you have
heard that one of your students, Von Schlegel, is
arrested for attempting the life of Leopold Strauss ? ”
“ No ; I have come for myself,” said Schlessinger,
speaking huskily, and putting his hand up to his
throat. “ I have come to ease my soul of the weight
of a great sin, though, God knows, an unmeditated
one. It was I who-—— But, merciful heavens!
there it is—the horrid thing! Oh, that I had never
seen it I ” '
He shrank back in a paroxysm of terror, glaring
at the silver hatchet where it lay upon the floor,
and pointing at it with his emaciated hand.
“ There it lies I” he yelled. “Look at it! It has
come to condemn me. See that brown rust on it!
Do you know what that is? That is the blood of
my dearest, best friend, Professor von Hopstein. I
saw it gush over the very handle as Idrove the blade
through his brain. Mein Gott, I see it now! ”
“Sub-inspector Winkel,” said Baumgarten, en-
deavoring to preserve his official austerity, “ you
- will arrest this man, charged on his own confession


THE SILVER HATUHET. 93
with the murder of the late Professor. I also deliver
into your hands Von Schlegel here, charged with a
murderous assault upon Herr_ Strauss. You will
also keep this hatchet ”—here he picked it from the
floor~—“which has apparently been used for both
crimes.”
Wilhelm Schlessinger had been leaning against
the table, with a face of ashy paleness. As the in-
spector ceased speaking, he looked up excitedly-
“What did you say?” he cried. “Von Schlegel
attack Strauss!—the two dearest friends in the col-
lege! I slay my old master! It is magic, I say;
it is a charm! There is a spell upon us! It is—
Ah, I have it! It is that hatchet—that thrice
accursed hatchet I ” and he pointed convulsively at
the weapon which Inspector Baumgarten still held
in his hand.
The inspector smiled contemptuously.
“ Restrain yourself, mein herr,” he said. “You do
but make your case worse by such wild excuses for
the wicked deed you confess to. Magic and charms
are not known in the legal vocabulary, as my friend
Winkel will assure you.”
“I know not,” remarked his sub-inspector, shrug-
ging his broad shoulders. “There are many strange
things in the world. Who knows but that ”
“What!” roared Inspector Baumgarten, furiously.
“You would undertake to contradict me! You would
set up your opinion! You would be the champion of
these accursed murderers !' Fool, miserable fool,
your hour has come! ” and rushing at the astounded
Winkel, he dealt a blow at him with the silver
hatchet which would certainly have justified his last
assertion had it not been that, in his fury, he over-
looked the lowness of the rafters above his head.
The blade of the hatchet struck one of these, and re-


94 THE SIL VER HA TOHET.
mained there quivering, while the handle was splin-
tered into a thousand pieces.
“ What have I done?” gasped Baumgarten, falling
back into his chair. “ What have I done?”
“You have proved Herr Schlessinger’s words to be
correct,” said Von Schlegel, stepping forward, for
the astonished policemen had let go their grasp of
him. “That is what you have done. Against rea-
son, science, and everything else though it be, there
is a charm at work. There must be! Strauss, old
boy, you know I would not, in my right senses, hurt
one hair of your head. And you, Schlessinger, we
both know you loved the old man who is dead. And
you, Inspector Baumgarten, you would not willingly
have struck your friend the sub-inspector? ”
“Not for the whole world,” groaned the inspector,
covering his face with his hands.
“Then is it not clear? But now, thank Heaven,
the accursed thing is broken, and can never do harm
again. But see, what is that?”
Right in the centre of the room was lying a thin
brown cylinder of parchment. One glance at the
fragments of the handle of the weapon showed that
it had been hollow. This roll of paper had appar-
ently 'been hidden away inside the metal case thus
formed, having been introduced through a small
hole, which had been afterward soldered up. Von
Schlegel opened the document. The writing upon
it was almost illegible from age ; but as far as they
could make out it stood thus, in mediwval German :
“Diese Waffe benutzte Max von Erlichingen um
Joanna Bodeck zu ermorden, deshalb beschuldige
Ich, Johann Bodeck, mittelst der macht welche mir
als mitglied des Concils des rothen Kreuzes verlie-
han wurde, dieselbe mit dieser unthat. Mag sie an-
deren denselben schmerz verursachen den sie mir


THE SILVER HATOIIETI 95
verursacht hat. Mag J ede hand die sie ergreift mit
dem blut eines freundes gerothet sein.
“ ‘ Immcr i.1bel—niemals gut,
Gerothet mit des freundes blut.’ ”
Which may be roughly translated :
“This weapon was used by Max von Erlichingen
for the murder of Joanna Bodeck. Therefore do I,
Johann Bodeck, accurse it by the power which has
been bequeathed to me as one of the Council of the
Rosy Cross. May it deal to others the grief which
it has dealt to me! May every hand that grasps it
be reddened in the blood of a friend!
“ ‘ Ever evil, never good,
Reddened with a loved one’s blood.’ ”
There was a dead silence in the room when Von
Schlegel had finished spelling out this strange docu-
ment. As he put it down Strauss laid his hand af-
fectionately upon his arm.
“No such proof is needed by me, old friend,” he
said. “At the very moment that you struck at me I
forgave you in my heart. I well know that if the
poor Professor were in the room he would say as
much to Herr Wilhelm Schlessinger.”
“ Gentlemen,” remarked the inspector, standing up
and resuming his ofiicial tones, “this affair, strange
as it is, must be treated according to rule and prece-
dent. Sub-inspector Winkel, as your superior ofii-
cer, I command you to arrest me upon a charge of
murderously assaulting you. You will commit me
to prison for the night, together with Herr von
Schlegel and Herr Wilhelm Schlessinger. We shall
take our trial at the coming sitting of the judges


96 THE SILVER HA TOHET.
In the meantime take care of that piece of evidence”
—pointing to the piece of parchment—“ and while I
am away devote your time and energy to utilizing
the clew you have obtained in discovering who it
was who slew Herr Schiffer, the Bohemian J ew.”
The one missing link in the chain of evidence
was soon supplied. On December' 28th the wife
of Reinmaul the janitor, coming into the bedroom
after a short absence, found her husband hanging
lifeless from a hook in the wall. He had tied a long
bolster-case round his neck and stood upon a chair
in order to commit the fatal deed. On the table was
a note in which he confessed to the murder of Schif-
fer, the Jew, adding that the deceased had been 'his
oldest friend, and that he had slain him without
premeditation, in obedience to some incontrollable
impulse. Remorse and grief, he said, had driven
him to self-destruction ; and he wound up his con-
fession by commending his soul to the mercy of
Heaven.
The trial which ensued was one of the strangest
which ever occurred in the whole history of ju-
risprudence. It was in vain that the prosecuting
council urged the improbability of the explanation
offered by the prisoners, and deprecated the intro-
duction of such an element as magic into a nine-
teenth-century law-court. The chain of facts was
too strong, and the prisoners were unanimously
acquitted. “This silver hatchet,” remarked the
judge in his summing up_ “has hung untouched
upon the wall in the mansion of the Graf von Schul-
ling for nearly two hundred years. The shocking
manner in which he met his death at the hands of
his favorite house-steward is still fresh in your recol-
lection. It has come out in evidence that, a few
days before the murder, the steward had overhauled


rm: $11, VER HA TOHET. 97
the old weapons and cleaned them. In doing this
he must have touched the handle of this hatchet.
Immediately afterward he slew his master, whom he
had served faithfully for twenty years. The weapon
then came, in conformity with the Count’s will, to
Buda Pesth, where, at the station, Herr \Vilhelm
Schlessinger grasped it, and, within two hours, used
it against the person of the deceased Professor.
The next man whom we find touching it is the
janitor Reinmaul, who helped to remove the weapons
from the cart to the store-room. At the first op-
portunity he buried it in the body of his friend
Schiffer. We then have the attempted murder of
Strauss by Schlegel, and of Winkel by Inspector
Baumgarten, all immediately following the taking
of the hatchet into the hand. Lastly comes the
providential discovery of the extraordinary docu-
ment which has been read to you by the clerk of the
court. I invite your most careful consideration,
gentlemen of the jury, to this chain of facts, know-
ing that you will find a verdict according to your
consciences without fear and without favor.” '
Perhaps the most interesting piece of evidence to
the English reader, though it found few supporters
among the Hungarian audience, was that of Dr.
Langemann, the eminent medico-jurist, who has
written text-books upon metallurgy and toxicology.
He said :
“I am not so sure, gentlemen, that there is need
to fall back upon necromancy or the black art for an
explanation of what has occurred. What I say is
merely a hypothesis, without proof of any sort, but
in a case so extraordinary every suggestion may be
of value. The Rosicrucians, to whom allusion is
made in this paper, were the most profound chem-
ists of the early Middle Ages, and included the prin-
7


98 THE SILVER HATUHET.
cipal alchemists whose names have descended to us.
Much as chemistry has advanced, there are- some
points in which the ancients were ahead of us, and
in none more so than in the manufacture of poisons
of subtle and deadly action. This man Bodeck, as
one of the elders of the Rosicrucians, possessed, no
doubt, the recipe of many such mixtures, some of
which, like the aqua tofzma of the Medicis, would
poison by penetrating through the pores of the skin.
It is conceivable that the handle of this silver
hatchet has been anointed by some preparation
which is a difi'usible poison, having the effect upon
the human body of bringing on sudden and acute
attacks of homicidal mania. In such attacks it is
well known that the madman’s rage is turned against
those whom he loved best when sane. I have, as I re-
marked before, no proof to support me in my theory,
and simply put it forward for what it is worth.”
With this extract from the speech of the learned
and ingenious professor, we may close the account
of this famous trial.
The broken pieces of the silver hatchet were
thrown into a deep pond, a clever poodle being
employed to carry them in his mouth, as no one
would touch them for fear some of the infection
might still hang about them. The piece of parch-
ment was preserved in the museum of the Univer-
sity. As to Strauss and Schlegel, Winkel and
Baumgarten, they continued the best of friends,
and are so still for all I know to the contrary.
Schlessinger became surgeon of a cavalry regiment,
and was shot at the battle of Sadowa five years later,
while rescuing the wounded under a heavy fire. By
his last injunctions his little patrimony was to be
sold to erect a marble obelisk over the grave of
Professor von Hopstein.


THE MAN FROM ARCHANGEL.
ON the fourth day of March, in the year 1867, I
being at that time in my five-and-twentieth year, I
wrote the following words in my note-book, the
result of much mental perturbation and conflict :
“The solar system, amid a countless number of
other systems as large as itself, rolls ever silently
through space in the direction of the constellation
of Hercules. The great spheres of which it is com-
posed spin and spin through the eternal void cease-
lessly and noiselessly. Of these one of the smallest
and most insignificant is that conglomeration of
solid and of liquid particles which we have named
the earth. It whirls onward now as it has done
before my birth, and will do after my death—a
revolving mystery, coming none know whence, and
going none know whither. Upon the outer crust of
this moving mass crawl many mites, of whom I,
John McVittie, am one, helpless, impotent, being
dragged aimlessly through space. Yet such is the
state of things among us that the little energy and
glimmering of reason which I possess is entirely
taken up with the labors which are necessary in
order to procure certain metallic disks, wherewith
I may purchase the chemical elements necessary to
build up my ever-wasting tissues, and keep a roof_
over me to shelter me from the inclemency of the
weather. I thus have no thought to expend upon
the vital questions which surround me on every side.
Yet, miserable entity as I am, I can still at times feel


100 THE MAN FRO]! AROHANGEL.
some degree of happiness, and am even—save the
mark !—pufl'ed up occasionally with a sense of my
own importance.”
These words, as I have said, I wrote down in my
note-book, and they reflected accurately the thoughts
which I found rooted far down in my soul, ever
present and unaffected by the passing emotions of
the hour. Every day for seven months I read over
my words, and every day when I had finished them
I said to myself, “Well done, John l\IcVittie; you
have said the thought which was in you. You have
reduced things to their least common measure! ”
At last came a time when my uncle, McVittie of
Glencairn, died—the same who was at one time
chairman of committees of the House of Commons.
He divided his great wealth among his many
nephews, and I found myself with suflicient to
provide amply for my wants during the remainder
of my life, and became at the same time owner of
a bleak tract of land upon the coast of Caithness,
which I think the old man must have bestowed upon
me in derision, for it was sandy and valueless, and
he had ever a grim sense of humor. Up to this
time I had been an attorney in a midland town in
England. Now I saw that I could put my thoughts
into effect, and, leaving all petty and sordid aims,
could elevate my mind by the study of the secrets
of nature. My departure from my English home
was somewhat accelerated by the fact that I had
nearly slain a man in a quarrel, for my temper was
fiery, and I was apt to forget my own strength when
enraged. There was no legal action taken in the
matter, but the papers yelped at me, and folk looked
askance when I met them. It ended by my cursing
them and their vile, smoke-polluted town, and
hurrying to my northern possession, where I might


THE AIAN FROM ARUHANGEL. 101
at last find peace and an opportunity for solitary
study and contemplation. I borrowed from my
capital before I went, and so was able to take with
me a choice collection of the most modern philo-
sophical instruments and books, together with
chemicals and such other things as I might need
in my retirement.
The land which I had inherited was a narrow
strip, consisting mostly of sand, and extending for
rather over two miles round the coast of Mansie
Bay, in Caithness. Upon this strip there had been
a rambling, gray-stone building—when erected or
wherefore none could tell me—and this I had
repaired, so that it made a dwelling quite good
enough for one of my simple tastes. One room was
my laboratory, another my sitting-room, and in a
third, just under the sloping roof, I slung the ham-
mock in which I always slept. There were three
other rooms, but I left them vacant, except one
which was given over to the old crone who kept
house for me. Save the Youngs and the McLeods,
who were fisher-folk living round at the other side
of Fergus Ness, there were no other people for
many miles in each direction. In front of the house
was the great bay, behind it were two long barren
hills, capped by other loftier ones beyond. There
was a glen between the hills, and when the wind was
from the land it used to sweep down this with a
melancholy sough and whisper among the branches
of the fir-trees beneath my attic window.
I dislike my fellow-mortals. Justice compels me
to add that they appear for the most part to dis-
like me. I hate their little crawling ways, their
conventionalities, their deceits, their narrow rights
and wrongs. They take offence at my brusque
outspokenness, my disregard for their social laws,


102 THE MAN FROM AROHANGEL.
my impatience of all constraint. Among my books
and my drugs in my lonely den at Mansie I could let
the great drove of the human race pass onward with
their politics and inventions and tittle-tattle, and I
remained behind stagnant and happy. Not stagnant
either, for I was working in my own little groove,
and making progress. I have reason to believe that
Dalton’s atomic theory is founded upon error, and
I know that mercury is not an element.
During the day I was busy with my distillations
and analyses. Often I forgot my meals, and when
old Madge summoned me to my tea I found my
dinner lying untouched upon the table. At night
I read Bacon, Descartes, Spinoza, Kant—all those
who have pried into what is unknowable. They
are all fruitless and empty, barren of result, but
prodigal of polysyllables, reminding me of men who
while digging for gold have turned up many worms,
and then exhibit them exultantly as being what they
sought. At times a restless spirit would come upon
me, and I would walk thirty and forty miles without
rest or breaking fast. On these occasions, when I
used to stalk through the country villages, gaunt,
unshaven, and dishevelled, the mothers would rush
into the road and drag their children indoors, and
the rustics would swarm out of their pot-houses to
gaze at me. I believe that I was known far and
wide as the “mad laird o’ Mansie.” It was rarely,
however, that I made these raids into the country,
for I usually took my exercise upon my own beach,
where I soothed my spirit with strong black to-
bacco, and made the ocean my friend and my con-
fidant.
What companion is there like the great, restless,
throbbing sea ? What human mood is there which
it does not match and sympathize with ‘? There are


THE MAN FROM ARGHANGEL. 103
none so gay but that they may feel gayer when they
listen to its merry turmoil, and see the long green
surges racing in, with the glint of the sunbeams in
their sparkling crests. But when the gray waves
toss their heads in anger, and the wind screams
above them, goading them on to madder and more
tumultuous efforts, then the darkest-minded of men
feels that there is a melancholy principle in Nature
which is as gloomy as his own thoughts. When it
was calm in the Bay of Mansie the surface would be
as clear and bright as a sheet of silver, broken only
at one spot, some little way from the shore, where a
long black line projected out of the water, looking
like the jagged back of some sleeping monster.
This was the top of the dangerous ridge of rocks
known to the fishermen as the “ragged reef 0’ Man-
sie.” When the wind blew from the east the waves
would break upon it like thunder, and the spray
would be tossed far over my house and up to the
hills behind. The bay itself was a bold and noble
one, but too much exposed to the northern and east-
ern gales, and too much dreaded for its reef, to be
much used by mariners. There was something of
romance about this lonely spot. I have lain in my
boat upon a calm day, and, peering over the edge, I
have seen far down theflickering, ghostly forms of
great fish—fish, as it seemed to me, such as natural-
ists never knew, and which my imagination trans-
formed into the genii of that desolate bay. Once, as
I stood by the brink of the waters upon a quiet
night, a great cry, as of a woman in hopeless grief,
rose from the bosom of the deep and swelled out
upon the still air, now sinking and now rising, for a
space of thirty seconds. This I heard with my own
ears.
In this strange spot, with the eternal hills behind


104 THE MAN FROM AROHANGEL.
me and the eternal sea in front, I worked and
brooded for more than two years unpestered by my
fellow-men. By degrees I had trained my old ser-
vant into habits of silence, so that she now rarely
opened her lips, though I doubt not that when twice
a year she visited her relations in Wick her tongue
during those few days made up for its enforced rest.
I had come almost to forget that I was a member of
the human family, and to live entirely with the dead,
whose books I pored over, when a sudden incident
occurred which threw all my thoughts into a new
channel.
Three rough days in June had been succeeded by
one calm and peaceful one. There was not a breath
of air that evening. The sun sank down in the west
behind a line of purple clouds, and the smooth sur-
face of the bay was gashed with scarlet streaks.
Along the beach the pools left by the tide showed
up like gouts of blood against the yellow sand, as if
some wounded giant had toilfully passed that way
and had left these red traces of his grievous hurt
behind him. As the darkness closed in, certain
ragged clouds which had lain low on the eastern
horizon coalesced and formed a great, irregular cu-
mulus. The glass was still low, and I knew that
there was mischief brewing. About nine o’clock a
dull, moaning sound came up from the sea, as from
a creature who, much harassed, learns that the hour
of suffering has come round again. At ten a sharp
breeze sprang up from the eastward. At eleven it
had increased to a gale, and by midnight the most
furious storm was raging which I ever remember
upon that weather-beaten coast.
As I went to bed the shingle and sea-weed was
pattering up against my attic-window, and the wind
was screaming as though every gust were a lost soul.


THE MAN FROJI AROHANGEL. 105
By that time the sounds of the tempest had become
a lullaby to me. I knew that the gray walls of the old
house would buffet it out, and for what occurred in
the world outside I had small concern. Old Madge
was usually as callous to such things as I was my-
self. It was a surprise to me when, about three in
the morning,I was awoke by the sound of a great
knocking at my door and excited cries in the wheezy
voice of my housekeeper. I sprang out of my ham-
mock and roughly demanded of her what was the
matter.
“ Eh, maister, maister l ” she screamed in her hate-
ful dialect. “ Come doun, mun; come doun! There's
a muckle ship gaun ashore on the reef, and the puir
folks are a’ yammerin’ and ca’in’ for help—and I
doobt they’ll a’ be drooned. Oh, Maister McVittie,
come doun ! ”
“ Hold your tongue, you hag! ” I shouted back in
a passion. “ What is it to you whether they are
drowned or not? Get back to your bed and leave
me alone.” I turned in again, and drew the blankets
over me. “ Those men out there,” I said to myself,
“have already gone through half the horrors of
death. If they be saved they will but have to go
through the same once more in the space of a few
brief years. It is best, therefore, that they should
pass away now, since they have suffered that antici-
pation which is more than the pain of dissolution.”
With this thought in my mind I endeavored to
compose myself to sleep once more, for that phil-
osophy which had taught me to consider death as a
small and trivial incident in man’s eternal and ever-
changing career, had also broken me of much curio-
sity concerning worldly matters. On this occasion
I found, however, that the old leaven still fermented
strongly in my soul. I tossed from side to side for


106 THE MAN FROJII ARCIIANGEL.
some minutes endeavoring to beat down the impulses
of the moment by the rules of conduct which I had
framed during months of thought. Then I heard a
dull roar amid the wild shriek of the gale, and I knew
that it was the sound of a signal-gun. Driven by an'
uncontrollable impulse, I rose, dressed, and, having
lit my pipe, walked out on to the beach.
It was pitch dark when I came outside, and the
wind blew with such violence that I had to put my
shoulder against it and push my way along the
shingle. My face pringled and smarted with the
sting of the gravel which was blown against it, and
the red ashes of my pipe streamed away behind me
dancing fantastically through the darkness. I went
down to where the great waves were thundering in,
and, shading my eyes with my hand to keep off the
salt spray, I peered out to sea. I could distinguish
nothing, and yet it seemed to me that shouts and
great inarticulate cries were borne to me by the
blasts. Suddenly as I gazed I made out the glint of
a light, and then the whole bay and the beach were
lit up in a moment by a vivid blue glare. They were
burning a colored signal-light on board of the vessel.
There she lay on her beam-ends right in the centre
of the jagged reef, heeled over to such an angle that
I could see all the planking of her deck. She was a
large two-masted schooner, of foreign rig, and lay
perhaps a hundred and eighty or two hundred yards
from the shore. Every spar and rope and writhing
piece of cordage showed up hard and clear under
the livid light which sputtered and fiickeredfrom
the highest portion of the forecastle. Beyond the
doomed ship out of the great darkness came the
long rolling lines of black waves, never ending,
never tiring, with a petulant tuft of foam here and
there upon their crests. Each as it reached the


THE amN P120111 ARUHANGEL. 107
broad circle of unnatural light appeared to gather
strength and volume, and to hurry on more impetu-
ously until, with a roar and a jarring crash, it sprang
upon its victim. Clinging to the weather shrouds I
could distinctly see some ten or twelve frightened
seamen, who, when their light revealed my presence,
turned their white faces toward me and waved their
hands imploringly. I felt my gorge rise against
these poor cowering worms. Why should they pre-
sume to shirk the narrow pathway along which all
that is great and noble among mankind has trav-
elled? There was one there who interested me more
than they. He was a tall man who stood apart from
the others, balancing himself upon the swaying
wreck as though he disdained to cling to rope or
bulwark. His hands were clasped behind his back
and his head was sunk upon his breast; but even in
that despondent attitude there was a litheness and
decision in his pose and in every motion which
marked him as a man little likely to yield to despair.
Indeed, I could see by his occasional rapid glances
up and down and all around him that he was weigh-
ing every chance of safety; but though he often
gazed across the raging surf to where he could see
my dark figure upon the beach, his self-respect, or
some other reason, forbade him from imploring my
help inaany way. He stood, dark, silent, and inscru-
table, looking down on the black sea, and waiting for
whatever fortune Fate might send him.
It seemed to me that that problem would very
soon be settled. As I looked, an enormous billow,
topping all the others, and coming after them, like
a driver following a flock, swept over the vessel.
Her foremast snapped short off, and the men who
clung to the shrouds were brushed away like a
swarm of flies. \Vith a rending, riving sound the


10$ THE JIIAN FROM AR(7HANGEI..
ship began to split in two, where the sharp back
of the Mansie reef was sawing into her keel. The
solitary man upon the forecastle ran rapidly across
the deck and seized hold of a white bundle which
I had already observed, but failed to make out.
As he lifted it up the light fell upon it, and I saw
that the object was a woman, with a spar lashed
across her body and under her arms in such a
way that her head should always rise above water.
He bore her tenderly to the side and seemed to
speak for a minute or so to her, as though explain-
ing the impossibility of remaining upon the ship.
Her answer was a singular one. I saw her deliber-
ately raise her hand and strike him across the face
with it. He appeared to be silenced for a moment
or so by this ; but he addressed her again, directing
her, as far as I could gather from his motions, how
she should behave when in the water. She shrank
away from him, but he caught her in his arms. He
stooped over her for a moment and seemed to press
his lips against her forehead. Then a great wave
came welling up against the side of the breaking
vessel, and, leaning over, he placed her upon the
summit of it as gently as a child might be com-
mitted to its cradle. I saw her white dress flickering
among the foam on the crest of the dark billow,
and then the light sank gradually lower, and the
riven ship and its lonely occupant were hidden from
my eyes.
As I watched those things my manhood overcame
my philosophy, and I felt a frantic impulse to be up
and doing. I threw my cynicism to one side as a
garment which I might don again at leisure, and I
rushed wildly to my boat and my sculls. She was a
leaky tub, but what then "? Was I, who had cast many
a wistful, doubtful glance at my opium bottle, to


THE MAN FROM AROHANGEL. 109
begin now to weigh chances and to cavil at danger ?
I dragged her down to the sea with the strength of a
maniac, and sprang in. For a moment or two it was
a question whether she could live among the boiling
surge, but a dozen frantic strokes took me through
it, half-full of water but still afloat. I was out on
the unbroken waves now, at one time climbing,
climbing up the broad black breast of one, then sink-
ing down, down on the other side, until looking up
I could see the gleam of the foam all around me
against the dark heavens. Far behind me I could
hear the wild wailings of old Madge, who, seeing me
start, thought no doubt that my madness had come
to a climax. As I rowed I peered over my shoulder,
until at last on the belly of a great wave which was
sweeping toward me I distinguished the vague
white outline of the woman. Stooping over I seized
her as she swept by me, and with an effort lifted
her, all sodden with water, into the boat. There was
no need to row back, for the next billow carried us
in and threw us upon the beach. I dragged the
boat out of danger, and then lifting up the woman I
carried her to the house, followed by my house-
keeper, loud with congratulation and praise.
Now that I had done this thing a reaction set
in upon me. I felt that my burden lived, for I
heard the faint beat of her heart as I pressed my
ear against her side in carrying her. Knowing this,
I threw her down beside the fire which Madge had
lit, with as little sympathy as though she had been a
bundle of faggots. I never glanced at her to see if
she were fair or no. For many years I had cared
little for the face of a woman. As I lay in my
hammock upstairs, however, I heard the old woman,
as she chafed the warmth back into her, crooning a
chorus of “ Eh, the puir lassie! Eh, the bonnie


1 1 O THE MAN FROM ARCHAN GEL.
lassie!” from which I gathered that this piece of
jetsam was both young and comely.
The morning after the gale was peaceful and
sunny. As I walked along the long sweep of sand I
could hear the panting of the sea. It was heaving
and swirling about the reef, but along. the shore it
rippled in gently enough. There was no sign of the
schooner, nor was there any wreckage upon the
beach, which did not surprise me, as I knew there
was a great undertow in those waters. A couple of
broad-winged gulls were hovering and skimming
over the scene of the shipwreck, as though many
strange things were visible to them beneath the
waves. At' times I could hear their raucous yoices
as they spoke to one another of what they saw.
When I came back from my walk the woman was
waiting at the door for me. I began to wish when
I saw her that I had never saved her, for here was
an end of my privacy. She was very young—at the
most nineteen, with a pale, somewhat refined face,
yellow hair, merry blue eyes, and shining teeth.
Her beauty was of an ethereal type. She looked so
white and light and fragile that she might have
been the spirit of that storm-foam from out of which
I plucked her. She had wreathed some of Madge’s
garments round her in a way which was quaint and
not unbecoming. As I strode heavily up the path-
way she put out her hands with a pretty childlike
gesture, and ran down toward me, meaning, as I
surmise, to thank me for having saved her; but I put
her aside with a wave of my hand and passed her.
At this she seemed somewhat hurt, and the tears
sprang into her eyes ; but she followed me into the
sitting-room and watched me wistfully. “What
country do you come from ‘? ” I asked her, suddenly.


THE MAN FROM AROHANGEL. 1ll
She smiled when I spoke, but shook her head.
“ Francais ? ” I asked. “ Deutsch ? ” “ Espa-
gnol ? ”—each time she shook her head, and then she
'rippled ofi' into a long statement in some tongue of
which I could not understand one word.
After breakfast was over, however, I got a clew to
her nationality. Passing along the beach once more,
I saw that in a cleft of the ridge a piece of wood
had been jammed. I rowed out to it in my boat and
brought it ashore. It was part of the sternpost of a
boat, and on it, or rather on the piece of wood at-
tached to it, was the word “Archangel,” painted in
strange, quaint lettering. “ So,” I thought, as I
paddled slowly back, “this pale damsel is a Rus-
sian. A fit subject for the White Czar, and a proper
dweller on the shores of the White Sea!” It seemed
to me strange that one of her apparent refinement
should perform so long a journey in so frail a craft.
When I came back into the house I pronounced the
word “ Archangel” several times in different intona-
tions, but she did not appear to recognize it. '
I shut myself up in the laboratory all the morn-
ing, continuing a research which I was making upon
the nature of the allotropic forms of carbon and of
sulphur. When I came out at mid-day for some
food, she was sitting by the table with a needle and
thread mending some rents in her clothes, which
were now dry. I resented her continued presence,
but I could not turn her out on the beach to shift
for herself. Presently she presented a new phase
of her character. Pointing to herself and then to
the scene of the shipwreck, she held up one finger,
by which I understood her to be asking whether
she was the only one saved. I nodded my head to
indicate that she was. On this she sprang out of
the chair, with a_ cry of great joy, and holding the


112 THE MAN FRO)! AROHANGEL.
garment which she was mending over her head, and
swaying it from side to side with the motion of her
body, she danced as lightly as a feather all round
the room, and then out through the open door into
the sunshine. As she whirled round she sang in a
plaintive, shrill voice some uncouth, barbarous
chant, expressive of exultation. I called out to her,
“ Come in, you young fiend; come in, and be silent!”
but she went on with her dance. Then she suddenly
ran toward me, and catching my hand before I could
pluck it away, she kissed it. While we were at din-
ner she spied one of my pencils, and taking it up
she wrote the two words “ Sophie Bamusine ” upon
a piece of paper, and then pointed to herself as a
sign that that was her name. She handed the pencil
to me, evidently expecting that I would be equally
communicative, but I put it in my pocket as a sign
that I wished to hold no intercourse with her. _
Every moment of my life now I regretted the un-
guarded precipitancy with which I had saved this
woman. \Vhat was it to me whether she had lived
or died'? I was no young hot-headed youth to do
such things. It was bad enough to be compelled to
have Madge in the house, but she was old and ugly,
and could be ignored. This one was young and
lively, and so fashioned as to divert attention from
graver things. Where could I send her, and what
could I do with her? If I sent information to Wick
it would mean that oflicials and others would come
to me, and pry and peep and chatter—a hateful
thought. It was better to endure her presence than
that.
I soon found that there were fresh troubles in
store for me. There is no place safe from the
swarming, restless race of which I am a member.
In the evening, when the sun was dipping down be-


TIIE JIAN FROM ARC'HANGEL. 113
hind the hills, casting them into dark shadow, but
gilding the sands and casting a great glory over the
sea, I went, as is my custom, for a stroll along the
beach. Sometimes on these occasions I took my
book with me. I did so on this night, and stretch-
ing myself upon a sand-dune I composed myself to
read. As I lay there I suddeiily became aware of a
shadow which interposed itself between the sun and
myself. Looking round, I saw, to my great surprise,
a very tall, powerful man, who was standing a few
yards off, and who, instead of looking at me, was
ignoring my existence completely, and was gazing
over my head with a stern set face at the bay and
the black line of the Mansie reef. His complexion
was dark, with black hair and short curling beard, a
hawk-like nose, and golden earrings in his ears-
the general effect being wild and somewhat noble.
He wore a faded velveteen jacket, a red flannel
shirt, and high sea-boots, coming half-way up his
thighs. I recognized him at a glance as being the
same man who had been left on the wreck the night
before.
“Hullo!” I said, in an aggrieved voice. “ You
got ashore all right, then?”
“Yes,” he answered, in good English. “It was
no doing of mine. The waves threw me up. I
wish to God I had been allowed to drown! ” There
was a slight foreign lisp in his accent which was
rather pleasing. “Two good fishermen, who live
round yonder point, pulled me out and cared for
me—yet I could not honestly thank them for it.”
“ Ho I ho!” thought I, “ here is a man of my own
kidney. Why do you wish to be drowned?” I
asked.
“Because,” he cried, throwing out his long arms
with a passionate, despairing gesture, “there—
8


ll-L THE MAN FROJII AROHANGEL.
there in that blue smiling bay lies my soul, my
treasure—everything that I loved and lived for.”
“Well, well,” I said. “People are ruined every
day, but there’s no use making a fuss about it. Let'
me inform you that this ground on which you walk
is my ground, and that the sooner you take yourself
ofl' it the better pleased I shall be. One of you is
- quite trouble enough.”
“ One of us ? ” he gasped.
“Yes—if you could take her off with you I should
be still more grateful.”
He gazed at me for a moment as if hardly able to
realize what I said, and then, with a wild cry, he
ran away from me with prodigious speed and raced
along the sands toward my house. Never before
or since have I seen a human being run so fast.
I followed as rapidly as I could, furious at this
threatened invasion, but long before I reached the
house he had disappeared through the open door.
I heard a great scream from the inside, and, as I
came nearer, the sound of the man’s bass voice
speaking rapidly and loudly. When I looked in,
the girl Sophie Bamusine was crouching in a cor-
ner, cowering away, with fear and loathing ex-
pressed on her averted face and 'in every line of her
shrinking form. The other, with his dark eyes
flashing, and his outstretched hands quivering with
emotion, was pouring forth a torrent of passionate,
pleading words. He made a step forward to her as
I entered, but she writhed still further away, and
uttered a sharp cry like that of a rabbit when the
weazel has him by the throat.
“Here!” I said, pulling him back from her.
“This is a pretty to-do! What do you mean?
Do you think this is a wayside inn or place of pub-
lic accommodation? ”


THE MAN FROM ARUHANGEL. 115
“ Oh, sir,” he said, “ excuse me. This woman is
my wife, and I feared that she was drowned. You
have brought me back to life.”
“ Who are you ? ” I asked, roughly.
“I am a man from Archangel,” he said, simply:
“ a Russian man.”
“ What is your name? ”
“ Ourganeff.”
“ Ourganeff I—and hers is Sophie Ramusine. She
is no wife of yours. She h'as no ring.”
“ We are man and wife in the sight of Heaven,” he
said, solemnly, looking upward. “ We are bound
by higher laws than those of earth.” As he spoke
the girl slipped behind me and caught me by the
other hand, pressing it as though beseeching my
protection. “Give me up my wife, sir,” he went on.
“Let me take her away from here.”
“ Look here, you—whatever your name is,” I said,
sternly, -“I don’t want this wench here.- I wish I
had never seen' her. If she died it would be no
grief to me. But as to handing her over to you,
when it is clear she fears and hates you, I won’t do it.
So now just clear your great body out of this, and
leave me to my books. I hope I may never look
upon your face again.” '
“ You won’t give her up to me? ” he said, hoarsely.
“I’ll see you damned first! ” I answered.
“ Suppose I take her,” he cried, his dark face
growing darker.
All my tigerish blood flushed up in a moment. I
picked up a billet of wood from beside the fireplace.
“ Go,” I said, in a low voice; “ go quick, or I may do
you an injury.” He looked at me irresolutely for a
moment, and then he left the house. He came back
again in a moment, however, and stood in the door-
way looking in at us.


llti THE MAN FRO)! AROIIANGEL.
“Have a heed what you do,” he said. “The
woman is mine, andI shall have her. When it comes
to blows, a Russian is as good a man as a Scotch-
man.”
“We shall see that,” I cried, springing forward,
but he was already gone, and I could see his tall
form moving away through the gathering darkness.
For a month or more after this things went smooth-
ly with us. I never spoke to the Russian girl, nor
did she ever address me. Sometimes when I was at
work at my laboratory she would slip inside the
door and sit silently there watching me with her
great eyes. At first this intrusion annoyed me, but
by degrees, finding that she made no attempt to
distract my attention, I suffered her to remain. En-
couraged by this concession, she gradually came to
move the stool on which she sat nearer and nearer to
my table, until, after gaining a little every day dur-
ing some weeks, she at last worked her way right up
to me, and used to perch herself beside me whenever
I worked. In this position she used, still without
' ever obtruding her presence in any way, to make
herself very useful by holding my pens, test-tubes,
bottles, etc., and handing me whatever I wanted with
never-failing sagacity. By ignoring the fact of her
being a human being, and looking upon her as a use-
ful automatic machine, I accustomed myself to her
presence so far as to miss her on the few occasions
when she was not at her post. Ihave a habit of
talking aloud to myself at times when I work, so as
' to fix my results better in my mind. The girl must
have had a surprising memory for sounds, for she
could always repeat the words which I let fall in
this way, without, of course, understanding in the
least what they meant. I have often been amused
at hearing her discharge a volley of chemical equa-


THE MAN FRO1l{ ARC'H.-1fVGEL. 1l7
tions and algebraic symbols at old Madge, and then
burst into a ringing laugh when the crone would
shake her head, under the impression, no doubt,
that she was being addressed in Russian.
She never went more than a few yards from the
house, and indeed never put her foot over the
threshold without looking carefully out of each win-
dow in order to be sure that there was nobody about.
By this I knew that she suspected that her fellow-
countryman was still in the neighborhood, and
feared that he might attempt to carry her off. She
did something else which was significant. I had an
old revolver, with some cartridges, which had been
thrown away among the rubbish. She found this
one day, and at once proceeded to clean it and oil it.
She hung it up near the door, with the cartridges in
a little bag beside it, and whenever I went for a walk
she would take it down and insist upon my carrying
it with me. In my absence she would always bolt
the door. Apart from her apprehensions she seemed
fairly happy, busying herself in helping Madge
when she was not attending upon me. She was
wonderfully nimble-fingered and natty in all domes-
tic duties.
It was not long before I discovered that her sus-
picions were well founded, and that this man from
Archangel was still lurking in the vicinity. Being
restless one night, I rose and peered out of the win-
dow. The weather was somewhat cloudy, and I
could barely make out the line of the sea and the
loom of my boat upon the beach. As I gazed, how-
ever, and my eyes became accustomed to the obscu-
rity, I became aware that there was some other dark
blur upon the sands, and that in front of my very
door, where certainly there had been nothing of the
sort the preceding night. As I stood at my diamond-


118 THE MAN FROM AROHANGEL.
. paned lattice still peering and peeping to make out
what this might be, a great bank of clouds rolled
slowly away from the face of the moon, and a flood
of cold, clear light was poured down upon the si-
lent bay and the long sweep of its desolate shores.
Then I saw what this was which haunted my door-
step. It was he, the Russian. He squatted there
like a gigantic toad, with his legs doubled under
him in strange Mongolian fashion, and his eyes
fixed apparently upon the window of the room in
which the young girl and the housekeeper slept.
The light fell upon his upturned face, and I saw
once more the hawk-like grace of his countenance,
with the single deeply-indented line of care upon
his brow, and the protruding beard which marks
the passionate nature. My first impulse was to
shoot him as a trespasser, but as I gazed my re-
sentment changed into pity and contempt. “ Poor
fool!” I said to myself, “ is it then possible that you,
whom I have seen looking open-eyed at present
death, should have your whole thoughts and ambi-
tion centred upon this wretched slip of a girl—a girl,
too, who flies from you and hates you! Most women
would love you~——were it but for that dark face and
great handsome body of yours—and yet you must
needs hanker after the one in a thousand who will
have no traflic with you.” As I returned to my bed
I chuckled much to myself over this thought. I
knew that my bars were strong and my bolts thick.
It mattered little to me whether this strange man
spent his night at my door or a hundred leagues off,
so long as he was gone by the morning. As I ex-
pected, when I rose and went out there was no sign
of him, nor had he left any trace of his midnight
vigil.
It was not long, however, before I saw him again.


THE MAN FROM AROHANGEL. 119
I had been out for a row one morning, for my head
was aching, partly from prolonged stooping and
partly from the effects of a noxious drug which I
had inhaled the night before. I pulled along the
coast some miles, and then, feeling thirsty, I landed
at a place where I knew that a fresh-water stream
trickled down into the sea. This rivulet passed
through my land, but the mouth of it, where I found
myself that day, was beyond my boundary line. I
felt somewhat taken aback when, rising from the
stream at which I had slaked my thirst, I found my-
self face to face with the Russian. I was as much a
trespasser now as he was, and I could see at a
glance that he knew it.
“I wish to speak a few words to you,” he said,
gravely.
“ Hurry up, then! ” I answered, glancing at my
watch. “ I have no time to listen to chatter.”
“ Chatter!” he repeated angrily. “ Ah, but there!
you Scotch people are strange men. Your face is
hard and your words rough, but so are those of the
good fishermen with whom I stay, yet I find that
beneath it all there lies kind, honest natures. No
doubt you are kind and good too, in spite of your
roughness.”
“In the name of the devil,” I said, “say your
say and go your way. I am weary of the sight of
you.”
“Can I not soften you in any way?” he cried.
“ Ah, see—see here ! ” He produced asmall Grecian
cross from inside his velvet jacket. “Look at this.
Our religions may differ in form, but at least we
have some common thoughts and feelings when we
see this emblem.” .
“ I am not so sure of that,” I answered.
He looked at me thoughtfully.


120 THE MAN FROJEI AROHANGEL.
“You are a very strange man,” he said at last. “I
cannot understand you. You still stand between
me and Sophie. It is a dangerous position to take,
sir. Oh, believe me, before it is too late. If you did
but know what I have done to gain that woman—
how I have risked my body, how I have lost my
soul. You are a small obstacle to some which I have
surmounted—you, whom a rip with a knife or a
blow from a stone, would put out of my way forever.
But God preserve me from that,” he cried, wildly.
“I am deep—too deep—already. Anything rather
than that.”
“You would do better to go back to your coun-
try,” I said, “ than to skulk about these sandhills and
disturb my leisure. When I have proof that you
have gone away, I shall hand this woman over to the
protection of the Russian Consul at Edinburgh.
Until then, I shall guard her myself, and not you,
nor any Muscovite that ever breathed shall take her
from me.”
“And what is your object in keeping me from
Sophie ? ” he asked. “ Do you imagine that I would
injure her? Why, man, I would give my life freely
to save her from the slighest harm. W'hy do you
do this thing ? ”
“I do it because it is my good pleasure to act
so,” I answered. “I give no man reasons for my
conduct.”
“Look here!” he cried, suddenly blazing into
fury, and advancing toward me with his shaggy
mane bristling and his brown hands clenched. “If
I thought you had one dishonest thought toward this
girl—if for a moment I had reason to believe that
you had any base motive for detaining her—as sure
as there is a God in heaven I should drag the
heart out of your bosom with my hands.” The


THE MAN FROM ARO'HANGE'L. 121
very idea seemed to have put the man in a frenzy,
for his face was all distorted and his hands opened
and shut convulsively. I thought that he was about
to spring at my throat.
“Stand ofl'! ” I said, putting my hand on my pis-
tol. “If you lay a finger on me I shall kill you.”
He put his hand into his pocket, and for a mo-
ment Ithought that he was about to produce a weap-
on, too, but instead of that he whipped out a cigar-
ette and lit it, breathing the smoke rapidly into his
lungs. No doubt he had found by experience that
this was the most effectual way of curbing his pas-
sions.
“ I told you,” he said, in a quieter voice, “ that my
name is Ourganefl'—Alexis Ourganeff. I am a Finn
by birth, but I have spent my life in every part of
the world. Iwas one who could never be still nor
settle down to a quiet existence. After I came to
own my own ship, there is hardly aport from Arch-
angel to Australia which I have not entered. I was
rough and wild and free, but there was one at home,
sir, who was prim and white-handed and soft-
tongued, skilful in little fancies and conceits which
women love. This youth, by his wiles and tricks
stole from me the love of the girl whom I had ever
marked as my own, and who up_ to that time had
seemed in some sort inclined to return my passion.
I had been on a voyage to Hammerfest for ivory,
and coming back unexpectedly I learned that my
pride and treasure was to be married to this soft-
skinned boy, and that the party had actually gone
to the church. In such moments, sir, something
gives way in my head, and I hardly know what I
do. I landed with a boat’s crew—all men who had
sailed with me for years, and who were as true as
steel. We went up to the church. They were


122 THE MAN FROM ARCHANGEL.
standing, she and he, before the priest, but the thing
had not been done. I dashed between them and
caught her round the waist. My men beat back the
frightened bridegroom and the lookers-on. We bore
her down to the boat and aboard our vessel, and then,
getting up anchor, we sailed away across the White
Sea until the spires of Archangel sank down behind
the horizon. She had my cabin, my room, every
comfort. I slept among the men in the forecastle.
I hoped that in time her aversion to me would wear
away, and that she would consent to marry me in
England or in France. For days and days we
sailed. We saw the North Cape die away behind
us, and we skirted the gray Norwegian coast, but
still, in spite of every attention, she would not for-
give me for tearing her from that pale-faced lover
of hers. Then came this cursed storm which shat-
tered both my ship and my hopes, and has deprived
me even of the sight of the woman for whom I have
risked so much. Perhaps she may learn to love
me yet. You, sir,” he said, wistfully, “ look like one
who has seen much of the world. Do you not think
that she may come to forget this man and to love
me ? ”
“ I am tired of your story,” I said, turning away.
“For my part, I think you are a great fool. If
you imagine that this love of yours will pass
away, you had best amuse yourself as best you can
until it does. If, on the other hand, it is a fixed
thing, you cannot do better than cut your throat,
for that is the shortest way out of it. I have no
more time to waste on the matter.”
With this I hurried away and walked down to the
boat. I never looked round, but I heard the dull
sound of his feet upon the sands as he followed me;
“I have told you the beginning of my story,” he


THE MAN FROM AROHANGEL. 123
said, “ and you shall know the end some day. You
would do well to let the girl go.”
I never answered him, but pushed the boat off.
When I had rowed some distance out I looked back
and saw his tall figure upon the yellow sand as he
stood gazing thoughtfully after me. When I looked
again, some minutes later, he had disappeared.
For a long time after this my life was as regular
and as monotonous as it had been before the ship-
wreck. At times I hoped that the man from Archan-
gel had gone away altogether, but certain footsteps
which I saw upon the sand, and more particularly
a little pile of cigarette ash which I found one day
behind a hillock from which a view of the house
might be obtained, warned me that, though invis-
ible, he was still in the vicinity. My relations with
the Russian girl remained the same as before. Old
Madge had been somewhat jealous of her presence
at first, and seemed to fear that what little authority
she had would be taken away from her. By degrees,
however, as she came to realize my utter indiffer-
ence, she became reconciled to the situation, and, as
I have said before, profited by it, as our visitor per-
formed much of the domestic work-
And now I am coming near the end of this narrative
of mine, which I have written a great deal more for
my own amusement than for that of anyone else.
The termination of the strange episode in which
these two Russians had played a part was as wild
and as sudden as the commencement. The events
of one single night freed me from all my troubles,
and left me once more alone with my books and my
studies, as I had been before their intrusion. Let
me endeavor to describe how this came about.
I had had a long day of heavy and wearying
work, so that in the evening I determined upon tak-


124: THE MAN FROM ARUHANGEL.
ing a long walk. When I emerged from the house
my attention was attracted by the appearance of
the sea. It lay like a sheet of glass, so that never a
ripple disturbed its surface. Yet the air was filled
with that indescribable moaning sound which I have
alluded to before—a sound as though the spirits of
all those who lay beneath those treacherous waters
were sending a sad warning of coming troubles to
their brethren in the flesh. The fishern1en’s wives
along that coast know the eerie sound, and look
anxiously across the waters for the brown sails
making for the land. When I heard it I stepped
back into the house and looked at the glass. It
was down below 29°. Then I knew that a wild
night was coming upon us.
Underneath the hills where I walked that evening
it was dull and chill, but their summits were rosy-
red and the sea was brightened by the sinking sun.
There were no clouds of importance in the sky, yet
the dull groaning of the sea grew louder and
stronger. I saw, far to the eastward, a brig beating
up for Wick, with a reef in her topsails. It was evi-
dent that her captain had read the signs of nature
as I had done. Behind her a long, lurid haze lay
low upon the water, concealing the horizon. “I
had better push on,” I thought to myself, “ or the
wind may rise before I get back.”
I suppose I must have been at least half a mile
from the house when' I suddenly stopped and list-
ened breathlessly. My ears were so accustomed to
the noises of nature, the sighing of the breeze and
the sob of the waves, that any other sound made it-
self heard at a great distance. I waited, listening
with all my ears. Yes, there it was again—a long-
drawn, shrill cry of despair ringing over the sands
and echoed back from the hills behind me—a pitc-


THE MAN FROM AROHANGEL. 125
ous appeal for aid. It came from the direction of
my house. I turned and ran back homeward at the
top of my speed, ploughing through the sand, rac-
ing over the shingle. In my mind there was a great
dim perception of what had occurred. _
About a quarter of a mile from the house there is
a high sandhill, from which the whole country
round is visible. When I reached the top of this
I paused for a moment. There was the old gray
building—there the boat. Everything seemed to be
as I had left it. Even as I gazed, however, the
shrill scream was repeated, louder than before, and
the next moment a tall figure emerged from my
door—the figure of the Russian sailor. Over his
shoulder was the white form of the young girl, and
even in his haste he seemed to bear her tenderly
and with gentle reverence. I could hear her wild
cries and see her desperate struggles to break away
from him. Behind the couple came my old house-
keeper, stanch and true—as the aged dog, who can
no longer bite, still snarls with toothless gums at
the intruder. She staggered feebly along at the
heels of the ravisher, waving her long, thin arms,
and hurling, no doubt, volleys of Scotch curses and
imprecations at his head. I saw at a glance that he
was making for the boat. A sudden hope sprang
up in my soul that I might be in time to intercept
him. I ran for the beach at the top of my speed.
As I ran I slipped a cartridge into my revolver.
This I determined should be the last of these inva-
sions.
I was too late. By the time I reached the water’s
edge he was a hundred yards away, making the boat
spring with every stroke of his powerful arms. I
uttered a wild cry of impotent anger, and stamped
up and down the sands like a maniac. He turned


126 THE MAN FROM ARUHANGEL.
and saw me. Rising from his seat he made me a
graceful bow, and waved his hand to me. It was
not a triumphant or a derisive gesture. Even my
furious and distempered mind recognized it as be-
ing a solemn and courteous leave-taking. Then he
settled down to his oars once more, and the little
skiff shot away out over the bay. The sun had
gone down now, leaving a single dull, red streak
upon the water, which stretched away until it
blended with the purple haze on the horizon. Grad-
ually the skifi' grew smaller and smaller as it sped
across this lurid band, until the shades of night
gathered round it and it became a mere blur upon
the lonely sea. Then this vague loom died away
also, and darkness settled over it——a darkness which
should never more be raised.
And why did I pace the solitary shore, hot and
wrathful as a wolf whose whelp has been torn from
it? Was it that I loved this Muscovite girl? No
—a thousand times no. I am not one who, for the
sake of a white skin or a blue eye, would belie my
own life, and change the whole tenor of my thoughts
and existence. My heart was untouched. But my
pride—ah, there I had been cruelly wounded. To
think that I had been unable to afl'ord protection to
the helpless one who craved it of me, and who relied
on me! It was that which made my heart sick and
sent the blood buzzing through my ears.
That night a great wind rose up from the sea, and
the wild waves shrieked upon the shore as though
they would tear it back with them into the ocean.
The turmoil and the uproar were congenial to my
vexed spirit. All night I wandered up and down,
wet with spray and rain, watching the gleam of the
white breakers, and listening to the outcry of the
storm. My heart was bitter against the Russian. I


THE MAN FROM AROHANGEL. 127
joined my feeble pipe to the screaming of the gale.
“If he would but come back again! ” I cried, with
clenched hands ; “if he would but come back ! ”
He came back. When the gray light of morning
spread over the eastern sky and lit up the great
waste of yellow, tossing waters, with the brown
clouds drifting swiftly over them, then I saw him
once again.’ A few hundred yards off along the
sand there lay a long dark object, cast up by the
fury of the waves. It was my boat, much shattered
and splintered. A little farther on a vague, shape-.
less something was washing to and fro in the shal-
low water, all mixed with shingle and with sea-
weed. I saw at a glance that it was the Russian,
face downward and dead. I rushed into the water
and dragged him up on to the beach. It was only
when I turned him over that I discovered that she
was beneath him, his dead arms encircling her, his
mangled body still intervening between her and the
fury of the storm. It seemed that the fierce German
Sea might beat the life from him, but with all its
strength it was unable to tear this one-idea’d man
from the woman whom he loved. There were signs
which led me to believe that during that awful
night the woman’s fickle mind had come at last to
learn the worth of the true heart and strong arm
which struggled for her and guarded her so ten-
derly. Why else should her little head be nestling
so lovingly on his broad breast, while her yellow
hair entwined itself with his flowing beard ? VVhy,
too, shouldthere be that bright smile of inelfable
happiness and triumph, which death itself had not
had power to banish from his dusky face ? I fancy
that death had been brighter to him than life had
ever been.
Madge and I buried them there on the shores of


128 THE MAN FROM AROHANGEL.
the desolate northern sea. They lie in one grave
deep down beneath the yellow sand. Strange things
may happen in the world around them. Empires
may rise and may fall, dynasties may perish, great
wars may come and go, but, heedless of it all, those
two shall embrace each other forever and aye in
their lonely shrine by the side of the sounding
ocean. I sometimes have thought that their spirits
flit like shadowy sea-mews over the wild waters of
the bay. N0 cross or symbol marks their resting-
place, but old Madge puts wild flowers upon it at
‘times; and when I pass on my daily walk and see
the fresh blossoms scattered over the sand, I think
of the strange couple who came from afar and broke
for a little space the dull tenor of my sombre life.


THAT LITTLE SQUARE BOX.
“ ALL aboard? ” said the captain.
“ All aboard, sir! ” said the mate.
“ Then stand by to let her go.”
It was nine o’clock on a Wednesday morning.
The good ship Spartan was lying off Boston Quay
with her cargo under hatches, her passengers
shipped, and everything prepared for a start. The
warning whistle had been sounded twice, the final
bell had been rung. Her bowsprit was turned
toward England, and the hiss of escaping steam
showed that all was ready for her run of three thou-
sand miles. She strained at the warps that held her
like a greyhound at its leash.
I have the misfortune to be a very nervous man.
A sedentary literary life has helped to increase the
morbid love of solitude which, even in my boyhood,
was one of my distinguishing characteristics. As I
stood upon the quarter-deck of the Transatlantic
steamer, I bitterly cursed the ‘necessity which drove
me back to the land of my forefathers. The shouts
of the sailors, the rattle of the cordage, the farewells
of my fellow -passengers, and the cheers of the
mob, each and all jarred upon my sensitive nature.
I felt sad, too. An indescribable feeling, as of some
impending calamity, seemed to haunt me. The sea
was calm and the breeze light. There was nothing
to disturb the equanimity of the most confirmed of
landsmen, yet I felt as if I stood upon the verge of
9


130 THAT LITTLE SQUARE BOX.
a great though indefinable danger. I have noticed
that such presentiments occur often in men of my
peculiar temperament, and that they are not un-
commonly fulfilled. There is a theory that it arises
from a species of second-sight—a subtle spiritual
communication with the future. I well remember
that Herr Raumer, the eminent spiritualist, re-
marked on one occasion that I was the most sensi-
tive subject as regards supernatural phenomena that
he had ever encountered in the whole of his wide
experience. Be that as it may, I certainly felt far
from happy as I threaded my way among the weep-
ing, cheering groups which dotted the white decks
of the good ship Spartan. Had I known the expe-
rience which awaited me in the course of the next
twelve hours, I would even then, at the last moment,
have sprung upon the shore, and made my escape
from the accursed vessel.
“Time’s up!” said the captain, closing his chro-
nometer with a snap, and replacing it in his pocket.
“ Time’s up ! ” said the mate. There was a last wail
from the whistle, a rush of friends and relatives
upon the land. One warp was loosened, the gang-
way was being pushed away, when there was a shout
from the bridge, and two men appeared running
rapidly down the quay. They were waving their
hands and making frantic gestures, apparently
with the intention of stopping the ship. “Look
sharp!” shouted the crowd. “Hold hard!” cried
the captain. “Ease her! stop her! Up with the
gangway!” and the two men sprang aboard just as
the second warp parted, and a convulsive throb
of the engine shot us clear of the shore. There
was a cheer from the deck, another from the
quay, a mighty fluttering of handkerchiefs, and
the great vessel ploughed its way out of the har-


THAT LITTLE SQUARE BOX. 131
bor, and steamed grandly away across the placid
bay.
We were fairly started upon our fortnight’s
voyage. There was a general dive among the pas-
sengers in quest of berths and luggage, while a
popping of corks in the saloon proved that more
than one bereaved travellerwas adopting artificial
means for drowning the pangs of separation. I
glanced round the deck and took a running inven-
tory of my compagnons de 1103/age. They presented
the usual types met with upon these occasions.
There was no striking face among them. I speak
as a connoisseur, for faces are a specialty of mine.
I pounce upon a characteristic feature as a botanist
does on a flower, and bear it away with me to analyze
at my leisure, and classify and label it in my
little anthropological museum. There was nothing
worthy of me here. Twenty types of young America
going to “ Yurrup,” a few respectable middle-aged
couples as an antidote, a sprinkling of clergymen
and professional men, young ladies, bagmen, British
exclusives, and all the olla porlrida of an ocean-go-
ing steamer. I turned away from them and gazed
back at the receding shores of America, and, as a
cloud of remembrances rose before me, my heart
warmed toward the land of my adoption. A pile of
portmanteaus and luggage chanced to be lying on
one side of the deck, awaiting their turn to be taken
below. With my usual love for solitude I walked
behind these, and sitting on a coil of rope between
them and the vessel’s side, I indulged in a melan-
choly reverie.
I was aroused from this by a whisper behind me.
“ Here’s a quiet place,” said the voice. “ Sit down,
and we can talk it over in safety.”
Glancing through a chink between two colossal


132 THAT LITTLE SQUARE BOX.
chests, I saw that the passengers who had joined us
at the last moment were standing at the other side
of the pile. They had evidently failed to see me as
I crouched in the shadow of the boxes. The one
who had spoken was a tall and very thin man with a
blue-black beard and a colorless face. His manner
was nervous and excited. His companion was a
short, plethoric little fellow, with a brisk and reso-
lute air. He had a cigar in his mouth, and a large
ulster slung over his left arm. They both glanced
round uneasily, as if to ascertain whether they were
alone. “ This is just the place,” I heard the other
say. They sat down on a bale of goods with their
backs turned toward me, and I found myself, much
against my will, playing the unpleasant part of
eavesdropper to their conversation.
“ Well, Muller,” said the taller of the two, “ we’ve
got it aboard right enough.”
“ Yes,” assented the man whom he had addressed
as Muller; “it’s safe aboard.”
“ It was rather a near go.”
“It was that, Flannigan.”
“ It wouldn’t have done to have missed the ship.”
“ No ; it would have put our plans out.”
“Ruined them entirely,” said the little man, and
puffed furiously at his cigar for some minutes.
“ I’ve got it here,” he said at last.
“Let me see it.”
“ Is no one looking? ”
“ No ; they are nearly all below.”
“We can’t be too careful where so much is at
stake,” said Muller, as he uncoiled the ulster which
hung over his arm, and disclosed a dark object
which he laid upon the deck. One glance at it was
enough to cause me to spring to my feet with an
exclamation of horror. Luckily they were so en-


THAT LITTLE’ SQUARE BOX. 133
grossed in the matter on hand that neither of them
observed me. Had they turned their heads they
would infallibly have seen my pale face glaring at
them over the pile of boxes.
From the first moment of their conversation a
horrible misgiving had come over me. It seemed
more than confirmed as I gazed at what lay before
me. It was a little square box made of some dark
wood, and ribbed with brass. I suppose it was
about the size of a cubic foot. It reminded me of a
pistol-case, only it was decidedly higher. There
was an appendage to it, however, on which my eyes
were riveted, and which suggested the pistol itself
rather than its receptacle. This was a trigger-like
arrangement upon the lid, to which a coil of string
was attached. Beside this trigger there was a small
square aperture through the wood. The tall man,
Flannigan, as his companion called him, applied his
eye to this and peered in for several minutes with
an expression of intense anxiety upon his face.
“ It seems right enough,” he said at last.
“ I tried not to shake it,” said his companion.
“Such delicate things need delicate treatment.
Put in some of the needful, Muller.” '
The shorter man fumbled in his pocket for some
time, and then produced a small paper packet. He
opened this, and took out of it half a handful of
whitish granules, which he poured down through
the hole. A curious clicking noise followed from
the inside of the box, and both the men smiled in 2
satisfied way.
“ Nothing much wrong there,” said Flannigan.
“ Right as a trivet,” answered his companion.
“ Look out! here’s some one coming. Take it
down to our berth. It wouldn’t do to have any one
suspecting what our game is, or, worse still. have


134 THAT LITTLE SQUARE BOX.
them fumbling with it, and letting it ofl' by mis-
take.”
“Well, it would come to the same, whoever let it
ofl,” said Muller.
“ They’d be rather astonished if they pulled the
trigger,” said the taller, with a sinister laugh.
“Ha, ha! fancy their faces! It’s not a bad bit of
workmanship, I flatter myself.”
“No,” said Muller. “I hear it is your own de-
sign, every bit of it, isn’t it ? ”
“Yes, the spring and the sliding shutter are my
own.”
“ We should take out a patent.”
And the two men laughed again with a cold, harsh
laugh, as they took up the little brass-bound package
and concealed it in Muller’s voluminous overcoat.
“ Come down, and we’ll stow it in our berth,” said
Flannigan. “ We won’t need it until to-night, and
it will be safe there.”
His companion assented, and the two went arm-
in-arm along the deck and disappeared down the
hatchway, bearing the mysterious little box away
with them. The last words I heard were a muttered
injunction from Flannigan to carry it carefully, and
avoid knocking it against the bulwarks.
How long I remained sitting on that coil of rope,
I shall never know. The horror of the conversation
I had just overheard was aggravated by the first sink-
ing qualms of sea-sickness. The long roll of the
Atlantic was beginning to assert itself over both
ship and passengers. I felt prostrated in mind and
in body, and fell into a state of collapse, from which
I was finally aroused by the hearty voice of our
worthy quartermaster.
“Do you mind moving out of that, sir? ” he said.
“ Vi/e want to get this lumber cleared off the deck.”


THAT LITTLE SQUARE BOX. 135
His blufl' manner and ruddy, healthy face seemed
to be a positive insult to me in my present condi-
tion. Had I been a courageous or a muscular man I
could have struck him. As it was, I treated the
honest sailor to a melodramatic scowl, which seemed
to cause him no small astonishment, and strode past
him to the other side of the deck. Solitude was
what I wanted-~solitude in which I could brood over
the frightful crime which was being hatched before
my very eyes. One of the quarter-boats was hang-
ing rather low down upon the davits. An idea
struck me, and, climbing on the bulwarks, I stepped
into the empty boat and lay down in the bottom of
it. Stretched on my back,with 'nothing but the blue
sky above me, and an occasional view of the mizzen
as the vessel rolled, I was at least alone with my
sickness and my thoughts.
I tried to recall the words which had been spoken
in the terrible dialogue I had overheard. Would
they admit of any construction but the one which
stared me in the face? My reason forced me to con-
fess that they would not. I endeavored to array the
various facts which formed the chain of circumstan-
tial evidence, and to find a flaw in it ; but no, not a
link was missing. There was the strange way in
which our passengers had come aboard, enabling
them to evade any examination of their luggage.
The very name of “ Flannigan ” smacked of Fenian-
ism, while “ Muller” suggested nothing but Social-
ism and murder. Then their mysterious manner;
their remark that their plans would have been ruined
had they missed the ship; their fear of being ob-
served ; last, but not least, the clenching evidence in
the production of the little square box with the trig-
ger, and their grim joke about the face of the man
who should let it ofl’ my mistake—could these facts


136 THAT LITTLE SQUARE BOX.
lead to any conclusion other than that they were
the desperate emissaries of some body, political or
otherwise, and intended to sacrifice themselves,
their fellow-passengers, and the ship, in one great
holocaust ? The whitish granules which I had seen
one of them pour into the box formed no doubt a
fuse or train for exploding it. I had myself heard
a sound come from it which might have emanated
from some delicate piece of machinery. But what
did they mean by their allusion to to-night? Could
it be that they contemplated putting their horrible
design into execution on the very first evening of
our voyage? The mere thought of it sent a cold
shudder over me, and made me for a moment su-
perior even to the agonies of sea-sickness.
I have remarked that I am a physical coward. I
am a moral one also. It is seldom that the two de-
fects are united to such a degree in the one charac-
ter. I have known many men who were most sen-
sitive to bodily danger, and yet were distinguished
for the independence and strength of their minds.
In my own case, however, I regret to say that my
quiet and retiring habits had fostered a nervous
dread of doing anything remarkable, or making my-
self conspicuous, which exceeded, if possible, my
fear of personal peril. An ordinary mortal placed
under the circumstances in which I now found my-
self would have gone at once to the captain, con-
fessed his fears, and put the matter into his hands.
To me, however, constituted as I am, the idea was
most repugnant. The thought of becoming the
observed of all observers, cross-questioned by a
stranger, and confronted with two desperate con-
spirators in the character of a denouncer, was hate-
ful to me. Might it not by some remote possibility
prove that I was mistaken? What would be my


THAT LITTLE SQUARE BOX. 137
feelings if there should turn out to be no grounds
for my accusation? No, I would procrastinate; I
would keep my eye on the two desperadoes and dog
them at every turn. Anything was better than the
possibility of being wrong.
Then it struck me that even at that moment some
new phase of the conspiracy might be developing
itself. The nervous excitement seemed to have
driven away my incipient attack of sickness, for I
was able to stand up and lower myself from the boat
without experiencing any return of it. I staggered
along the deck with the intention of descending in-
to the cabin and finding how my acquaintances of
the morning were occupying themselves. Just as I
had my hand on the companion-rail, I was aston-
ished by receiving a hearty slap on the back, which
nearly shot me down the steps with more haste than
dignity.
“Is that you, Hammond?” said a voice which I
seemed to recognize.
“God bless me,” I said as Iturned round, “it
can’t be Dick Merton! Why, how are you, old
man ? ” '
This was an unexpected piece of luck in the midst
of my perplexities. Dick was just the man I wanted ;
kindly and shrewd in his nature, and prompt in his
actions, I should have no diff1culty in telling him
my suspicions, and could rely upon his sound sense
to point out the best course to pursue. Since I was
a little lad in the second form at Harrow, Dick had
been my adviser and protector. He saw at a glance
that something had gone wrong with me.
“ Hullo ! ” he said, in his kindly way, “ what’s put
you about, Hammond ? You look as white as a sheet.
Mal dc mew-, eh ? ”
“ No, not that altogether,” said I. “ Walk up and


138 THAT LITTLE SQUARE BOX.
down with me, Dick; I want to speak to you. Give
me your arm.”
Supporting myself on Dick’s stalwart frame, I tot-
tered along by his side; but it was some time before
I could muster resolution to speak.
“Have a cigar? ” said he, breaking the silence.
“ No, thanks,” said I. “Dick, we shall all be
corpses to-night.”
“ That’s no reason against your having a cigar
now,” said Dick, in his cool way, but looking hard
at me from under his shaggy eyebrows as he spoke.
He evidently thought my intellect was a little gone.
“ No,” I continued; “ it’s no laughing matter, and
I speak in sober earnest, I assure you. I have dis-
'covered an infamous conspiracy, Dick, to destroy
this ship and every soul that is in her ;” and I then
proceeded systematically, and in order, to lay before
him the chain of evidence which I had collected.
“ There, Dick," I said, as I concluded, “ what do you
think of that? and, above all, what am I to do? ”
To my astonishment he burst into a hearty fit of
laughter. _
“I’d be frightened,” he said, “if any fellow but
you had told me as much. You always had a way,
Hammond, of discovering mares’ nests. I like to
see the old traits breaking out again. Do you re-
member at school how you swore there was a ghost
in the long room, and how it turned out to be your
own reflection in the mirror? Why, man,” he con-
tinued, “ what object would any one have in destroy-
ing this ship ? We have no great political guns
aboard. On the contrary, the majority of the pas-
sengers are Americans. Besides, in this sober nine-
teenth century, the most wholesale murderers stop
at including themselves among their victims-. De-
pend upon it, you have misunderstood them, and


THAT LITTLE SQUARE BOX. 139
have mistaken a photographic camera, or something
equally innocent, for an infernal machine.”
“ Nothing of the sort, sir,” said I, rather touchily.
“ You will learn to your cost, I fear, that I have
neither exaggerated nor misinterpreted a word. As
to the box, I have certainly never before seen one
like it. It contained delicate machinery; of that I
am convinced, from the way in which the men hand-
led it and spoke of it.”
“ You’d make out every packet of perishable goods
to be a torpedo,” said Dick, “if that is to be your
only test.”
“ The man’s name was Flannigan,” I continued.
“ I don’t think that would go very far in a court of
law,” said Dick ; “ but come, I have finished my
cigar. Suppose we go down together and split a
bottle of claret. You can point out these two Or-
sinis to me if they are still in the cabin.”
“ All right,” I answered ; “ I am determined not to
lose sight of them all day. Don’t look hard at them,
though; for I don’t want them to think that they
are being watched.”
“ Trust me,” said Dick; “I’ll look as unconscious
and guileless as a lamb ; ” and with that we passed
down the companion and into the saloon.
A good many passengers were scattered about the
great central table, some wrestling with refractory
carpet-bags and rug-straps, some having their lunch-
eon, and a few reading and otherwise amusing them-
selves. The objects of our quest were not there.
We passed down the room and peered into every
berth; but there was no sign of them. “Heavens! ”
thought I, “perhaps at this very moment they are
beneath our feet, in the hold or engine-room, pre-
paring their diabolical contrivance! ” It was bet-
ter to know the worst than remain in such suspense.


140 THAT LITTLE’ SQUARE BOX.
“ Steward,” said Dick, “ are there any other gentle-
men about ? ”
“ There’s two in the smoking-room, sir,” answered
the steward.
The smoking-room was a little snuggery, luxuri-
ously fitted up, and adjoining the pantry. We
pushed the door open and entered. A sigh of relief
escaped from my bosom. The very first object on
which my eye rested was the cadaverous face of
Flannigan, with his hard-set mouth and unwinking
eye. His companion sat opposite to him. They were
both drinking, and a pile of cards lay upon the table.
They were engaged in playing as we entered. I
nudged Dick to show him that we had found our
quarry, and we sat down beside them with as uncon-
cerned an air as possible. The two conspirators
seemed to take little notice of our presence. I
watched them both narrowly. The game at which
they were playing was “Napoleon.” Both were
adepts at it; and I could not help admiring the
consummate nerve of men who, with such a secret
at their hearts, could devote their minds to the
manipulating of a long suit or the finessing of a
queen. Money changed hands rapidly; but the run
of luck seemed to be all against the taller of the
two players. At last he threw down his cards on
the table with an oath and refused to go on.
“ No, I’m hanged if I do l ” he said ; “ I haven’t had
more than two of a suit for five hands.”
“Never mind,” said his comrade, as he gathered
up his winnings ; “ a few dollars one way or the other
won’t go very far after to-night’s work.”
I was astonished at the rascal’s audacity, but took
care to keep my eyes fixed abstractedly upon the
ceiling, and drank my wine in as unconscious a man-
ner as possible. I felt that Flannigan was looking


THAT LITTLE SQUARE BOX. 141
toward me with his wolfish eyes to see if I had no-
ticed the allusion. He whispered something to his
companion which I failed to catch. It was a caution,
I suppose, for the other answered, rather angrily :
“Nonsense! Why shouldn’t I say what I like?
Over-caution is just what would ruin us.”
“ I believe you want it not to come ofl',” said Flan-
nigan.
“ You believe nothing of the sort,” said the other,
speaking rapidly and loudly. “You know as well
as I do that when I play for a stake I like to win it.
But I won’t have my words criticised and cut short
by you or any other man ; I have as much interest in
our success as you have—more, I hope.”
He was quite hot about it, and puffed furiously at
his cigar for a few minutes. The eyes of the other
rufiian wandered alternately from Dick Merton to
myself. I knew that I was in the presence of a des-
perate man, that a quiver of my lip might be the
signal for him to plunge a weapon into my heart;
but I betrayed more self-command than I should
have given myself credit for under such trying cir-'
cumstances. As to Dick, he was as immovable and
apparently as unconscious as the Egyptian Sphinx.
There was silence for some time in the smoking-
room, broken only by the crisp rattle of the cards as
the man Muller shuffled them up before replacing
them in his pocket. He still seemed to be somewhat
flushed and irritable. Throwing the end of his cigar
into the spittoon, he glanced defiantly at his com-
panion, and turned toward me.
“Can you tell me, sir,” he said, “ when this ship
will be heard of again? ”
They were both looking at me; but though my
face may have turned a trifle paler, my voice was as
steady as ever as I answered:


142 TIIAT LITTLE SQUARE BOX.
“ I presume, sir, that it will be heard of first when
it enters Queenstown Harbor.”
“ Ha, ha!” laughed the angry little man; “I knew
you would say that. Don’t you kick me under the
table, Flannigan; I won’t stand it. I know what I
am doing. You are wrong, sir,” he continued, turn-
ing to me ; “utterly wrong.”
“Some passing ship, perhaps,” suggested Dick.
“ No, nor that either.”
“ The weather is fine,” I said; “ why should we not
be heard of at our destination ? ”
“I didn’t say we shouldn’t be heard of at our de-
stination. No doubt we shall in the course of time;
but that is not where we shall be heard of first.”
“ Where, then ‘Q ” asked Dick.
“ That you will never know. Sufiice it that a rapid
and mysterious agency will signal our whereabouts,
and that before the day is out. Ha, ha!” and he
chuckled once again.
“ Come on deck!” growled his comrade; “you
have drunk too much of that confounded brandy-and-
water. It has loosened your tongue. Come away!”
and taking him by the arm he half led him, half
forced him out of the smoking-room, and we heard
them stumbling up the companion together, and on
to the deck.
“Well, what do you think now?” I gasped, as I
turned toward Dick. He was as imperturbable as
ever.
“Think!” he said; “why, I think what his com-
panion thinks—that we have been listening to the
ravings of a half-drunken man. The fellow stunk of
brandy.”
“ Nonsense, Dick! you saw how the other tried to
stop his tongue.”
“ Of course he did. He didn’t want his friend to


THAT LITTLE SQUARE BOX. 148
make a fool of himself before strangers. May be
the short one is a lunatic, and the other his private
keeper. It’s quite possible.”
“Oh, Dick, Dick,” I cried; “how can you be so
blind? Don’t you see that every word confirmed
our previous suspicion? ”
“Humbug, man!” said Dick; “you're working
yourself into a state of nervous excitement. Why,
what the devil do you make of all that nonsense
about a mysterious agent who would signal our
whereabouts ? ”
“I’ll tell you what he meant, Dick,” I said, bend-
ing forward and grasping my friend’s arm. “He
meant a sudden glare and a flash seen far out at sea
by some lonely fisherman ofl' the American coast.
That’s what he meant.”
“ I didn’t think you were such a fool, Hammond,”
said Dick Merton, testily. “If you try to fix a
literal meaning on the twaddle that every drunken
man talks, you will come to some queer conclusions.
Let us follow their example, and go on deck. You
need fresh air, I think. Depend upon it, your liver
is out of order. A sea-voyage will do you a world
of good.”
“If ever I see the end of this one,” I groaned,
“I’ll promise never to venture on another. They
are laying the cloth, so it’s hardly worth while my
going up. I’ll stay below and finish my smoke.”
“I hope dinner will find you in a more pleasant
state of mind,” said Dick; and he went out, leaving
me to my thoughts until the clang of the great gong
summoned us to the saloon.
My appetite, I need hardly say, had not been im-
proved by the incidents Which had occurred during
the day. I sat down, however, mechanically at the
table, and listened to the talk which was going on


1-L4: THAT LITTLE SQUARE BOX.
around me. There were nearly a hundred first-class
passengers, and as the wine began to circulate, their
voices combined with the clash of the dishes to form
a perfect Babel. I found myself seated between a
very stout and nervous old lady and a prim little
clergyman; and as neither made any advances, I
retired into my shell, and spent my time in observ-
ing the appearance of my fellow-voyagers. I could
see Dick in the dim distance dividing his attentions
between a jointless fowl in front of him and a self-
possessed young lady at his side. Captain Dowie
was doing the honors at my end, while the surgeon
of the vessel was seated at the other. I was glad to
notice that Flannigan was placed almost opposite to
me. As long as I had him before my eyes I knew
that, for the time at least, we were safe. He was
sitting with what was meant to be a sociable smile
on his grim face. It did not escape me that he drank
largely of wine—so largely that even before the des-
sert appeared his voice had become decidedly husky.
His friend Muller was seated a few places lower
down. He ate little, and appeared to be nervous
and restless. '
“Now, ladies,” said our genial captain, “I trust
that you will consider yourselves at home aboard
my vessel. I have no fears for the gentlemen. A
bottle of champagne, steward. Here’s to a fresh
_ breeze and a quick passage! I trust our friends in
America will hear of our safe arrival in twelve days,
or a fortnight at the very latest.”
I looked up. Quick as was the glance which
passed between Flannigan and his confederate, I
was able to intercept it. There was an evil smile
upon the former’s thin lips.
The conversation rippled on. Politics, the sea,
amusements, religion, each was in turn discussec‘


THAT LITTLE SQUARE BOX. 145
I remained a silent though an interested listener.
It struck me that no harm could be done by intro-
ducing the subject which was ever in my mind. It
could be managed in an off-hand way, and would at
least have the effect of turning the captain’s thoughts
in that direction. I could watch, too, what effect it
would have upon the faces of the conspirators.
There was a sudden lull in the conversation. The
ordinary subjects of interest appeared to be ex-
hausted. The opportunity was a favorable one.
“May I ask, captain,” I said, bending forward
and speaking very distinctly, “what you think of
Fenian manifestoes it ”
The captain’s ruddy face became a shade darker
from honest indignation. _
“They are poor cowardly things,” he said, “as
silly as they are wicked.”
“ The impotent threats of a set of anonymous
scoundrels,” said a pompous-looking old gentleman
beside him. -
“ Oh, captain ! ” said the fat lady at my side, “you
don’t really think they would blow up a ship ? ”
“ I have no doubt they would if they could. But
I am very sure they will never blow up mine.”
“May I ask what precautions are taken against
them ? ” saidan elderly man at the end of the table.
“All goods sent aboard the ship are strictly ex-
amined,” said Captain Dowie.
“ But suppose a man brought explosives aboard
with him ? ” said I.
“They are too cowardly to risk their own lives
in that way.”
During this conversation Flannigan had not be-
trayed the slightest interest in what was going
on. He raised his head now, and looked at the
captain.
10


146 THAT LITTLE SQUARE BOX.
“Don’t you think you are rather underrating
them?” he said. “Every secret society has pro-
duced desperate men—why shouldn’t the Fenians
have them too “! Many men think it a privilege to
die in the service of a cause which seems right in
their eyes though others may think it wrong.”
“Indiscriminate murder cannot be right in any-
body’s eyes,” said the little clergyman.
“The bombardment of Paris was nothing else,”
said Flannigan; “yet the whole civilized world
agreed to look on with folded arms, and change the
ugly word ‘murder’ into the more euphonious one
of ‘ war.’ It seemed right enough to German eyes;
why shouldn’t dynamite seem so to the Fenian?”
“At any rate their empty vaporings have led to
nothing as yet,” said the captain.
“Excuse me,” returned Flannigan, “but is there
not some room for doubt yet as to the fate of the
Dotterel ‘. I have met men in America who asserted
from their own personal knowledge that there was a
coal torpedo aboard that vessel.”
“Then they lied,” said the captain. “It was
proved conclusively at the court-martial to have
arisen from an explosion of coal-gas—but we had
better change the subject, or we may cause the
ladies to have a restless night ; ” and the conver-
sation once more drifted back into its original
channel.
During this little discussion Flannigan had argued
his point with a gentlemanly deference and a quiet
power for which I had not given him credit. I
could not help admiring a man who, on the eve of a
desperate enterprise, could courteously argue upon
a point which must touch him so nearly. He had,
as I have already mentioned, partaken of a consid-
erable quantity of wine; but though there was a


THAT LITTLE SQUARE BOX. 147
slight flush upon his pale cheek, his manner was as
reserved as ever. He did not join in the conversa-
tion again, but seemed to be lost in thought.
A whirl of conflicting ideas was battling in my
own mind. What was I to do? Should I stand up
now and denounce them before both passengers
and captain? Should I demand a few minutes’
conversation with the latter in his own cabin, and
reveal it all? For an instant I was half resolved to
do it, but then the old constitutional timidity came
back with redoubled force. After all there might
be some mistake. Dick had heard the evidence, and
had refused to believe in it. I determined to let
things go on their course. A strange reckless feel-
ing came over me. Why should I help men who
were blind to their own danger’! Surely it was the
duty of the officers to protect us, not ours to give
warning to them. I drank off a couple of glasses of
wine, and staggered upon deck with the determi-
nation of keeping my secret locked in my own
bosom.
It was a glorious evening. Even in my excited
state of mind I could not help leaning against the
bulwarks and enjoying the refreshing breeze. Away
to the westward a solitary sail stood out as a dark
speck against the great sheet of flame left by the
setting sun. I shuddered as I looked at it. It
seemed like a sea of blood. A single star was
twinkling faintly above our main-mast, but a thou-
sand seemed to gleam in the water below with every
stroke of our propeller. The only blot in the fair
scene was the great trail of smoke which stretched
away behind us like a black slash upon a crimson
curtain. It seemed hard to believe that the great
peace which hung over all Nature could be marred
by a poor miserable mortal.


148 THAT LITTLE SQUARE BOX.
I
- “ After all,” I thought, as I gazed upon the blue
depths beneath me, “if the worst comes to the
worst, it is better to die here than to linger in agony
upon a sick-bed on land.” A man’s life seems a
very paltry thing amid the great forces of Nature.
All my philosophy could not prevent my shudder-
ing, however, when I turned my head and saw two
shadowy figures at the other side of the deck, which
I had no difficulty in recognizing. They seemed to
be conversing earnestly, but I had no opportunity
of overbearing what was said; so I contented my-
self with pacing up and down, and keeping a vigi-
lant watch upon their movements.
It was a relief to me when Dick came on deck.
Even an incredulous confidant is better than none
at all.
“Well, old man,” he said, giving me a facetious
dig in the ribs, “ we’ve not been blown up yet.”
“ No, not yet,” said I; “ but that’s no proof that
we are not going to be.”
“Nonsense, man!” said Dick; “I can’t conceive
what has put this extraordinary idea into your
head. I have been talking to one of your supposed
assassins, and he seems a pleasant fellow enough;
quite a sporting character, I should think, from the
way he speaks.”
“Dick,” I said, “ I am as certain that those men
have an infernal machine, and that we are on the
verge of eternity, as if I saw them putting the
match to the fuse.”
“Well, if you really think so,” said Dick, half
awed for the moment by the earnestness of my man-
ner, “it is your duty to let the captain know of your '
suspicions.”
“You are right,” I said; “I will. My absurd
timidity has prevented my doing so sooner. I be-


THAT LITTLE SQUARE BOX. 149
lieve our lives can only be saved by laying the
whole matter before him.”
“Well, go and do it now,” said Dick; “but for
goodness’ sake don’t mix me up in the matter.”
“ I’1l speak to him when he comes ofl the bridge,”
I answered ; “ and in the mean time I don’t mean to
lose sight of them.”
“ Let me know of the result,” said my companion;
and with a nod he strolled away in search, I fancy,
of his partner at the dinner-table.
Left to myself-, I bethought me of my retreat
of the morning, and climbing on the bulwark I
mounted into the quarter-boat, and lay down there.
In it I could reconsider my course of action, and by
raising my head I was able at any time to get a view
of my disagreeable neighbors.
An hour passed, and the captain was still on the
bridge. He was talking to one of the passengers, a
retired naval ofiicer, and the two were deep in de-
bate concerning some abstruse point in navigation.
I could see the red tips of their cigars from where I
lay. It was dark now—so dark that I could hardly
make out the figures of Flannigan and his accom-
plice. They were still standing in the position
which they had taken up after dinner. A few of the
passengers were scattered about the deck, but many
had gone below. A strange stillness seemed to per~
vade the air. The voices of the watch and the rattle
of the wheel were the only sounds which broke the
silence.
Another half-hour passed. The captain was still
upon the bridge. It seemed as if he would never
come down. My nerves were in a state of unnatural
tension, so much so that the sound of two steps
upon the deck made me start up in a quiver of ex-
citement. I peered over the side of the boat, and


150 THAT LITTLE SQUARE BOX.
saw that our suspicious passengers had crossed
from the other side and were standing almost di-
rectly beneath me. The light of a binnacle fell full
upon the ghastly face of the rufiian Flannigan.
Even in that short glance I saw that Muller had the
ulster, whose use I knew so well, slung loosely over
his arm. I sank back with a groan. It seemed
that my fatal procrastination had sacrificed two
hundred innocent lives.
I had read of the fiendish vengeance which
awaited a spy. I knew that men with their lives in
their hands would stick at nothing. All I could do
was to cower at the bottom of the boat and listen
silently to their whispered talk below.
“This place will do,” said a voice.
T‘ Yes, the leeward side is best.”
“ I wonder if the trigger will act ? ”
“I am sure it will.”
“ We were to let it off at ten, were we not? ”
“ Yes, at ten sharp. \Ve have eight minutes yet.”
There was a pause. Then the voice began again—
“ They’ll hear the drop of the trigger, won’t they?”
“ It doesn’t matter. It will be too late for anyone
to prevent its going off.” '
“ That’s true. There will be some excitement
among those we have left behind, won’t there ? ”
“ Rather! How long do you reckon it will be be-
fore they hear of us ? ”
“ The first news will get in in about twenty-four
hours.”
“ That will be mine.”
“ No, mine.”
“ Ha, ha ! we’ll settle that.”
There was a pause here. Then I heard Muller’s
voice in a ghastly whisper, “ There’s only five min-
utes more.”


THAT LITTLE’ /SQUARE’ BOX. 151
How slowly the moments seemed to pass! I
could count them by the throbbing of my heart.
“ It’ll make a sensation on land,” said a voice.
“ Yes, it will make a noise in the newspapers.”
I raised my head and peered over the side of the
boat. There seemed no hope, no help. Death
stared me in the face, whether I did or did not give
the alarm. The captain had at last left the bridge.
The deck was deserted, save for those two dark fig-
ures crouching in the shadow of the boat.
Flannigan had a watch lying open in his hand._
“Three minutes more,” he said. “Put it down
upon the deck.”
“ No, put it here on the bulwarks.”
It was the little square box. I knew by the
sound that they had placed it near the davit, and
almost exactly under my head.
I looked over again. Flannigan was pouring
something out of a paper into his hand. It was
white and granular—the same that I had seen him
use in the morning. It was meant as a fuse, no
doubt, for he shovelled it into the little box, and I
heard the strange noise which had previously ar-
rested my attention.
“A minute and a half more,” he said. “Shall
you or I pull the string ”.l ”
“ I will pull it,” said Muller.
Ho was kneeling down and holding the end in his
hand. Flannigan stood behind with his arms
folded, and an air of grim resolution upon his
face. -
I could stand it no longer. My nervous system
seemed to give way in a moment.
“ Stop!” I- screamed, springing to my feet.
“ Stop, misguided and unprincipled men I”
They both staggered backward. I fancy they


152 THAT LITTLE SQUARE‘ BOX.
thought I was' a spirit, with the moonlight stream-
ing down upon my pale face.
I was brave enough now. I had gone too far to
retreat.
“ Cain was damned!” I cried, “and he slew but
one; would you have the blood of two hundred
upon your souls ? ”
“ He’s mad!” said Flannigan. “ Time’s up!
Let it ofl', Muller.”
I sprang down upon the deck.
“ You shan’t do it I ” I said.
“By what right do you prevent us ? ”
“ By every right, human and divine.”
“ It’s no business of yours. Clear out of this!”
“ Never I ” said I.
“ Confound the fellow! There’s too much at
stake to stand on ceremony. I’ll hold him, Muller,
while you pull the trigger.”
Next moment I was struggling in theherculean
grasp of the Irishman. Resistance was useless; I
was a child in his hands.
He pinned me up against the side of the vessel,
and held me there.
“Now,” he said, “look sharp. He can’t prevent
us.”
I felt that I was standing on the verge of eternity.
Half-strangled in the arms of the taller ruflian, I
saw the other approach the fatal box. He stooped _
over it and seized the string. I breathed one
prayer when I saw his grasp tighten upon it. Then
came a sharp snap, a strange rasping noise. The
trigger had fallen, the side of the box flew out, and
let ofl'—tw0 gray carrier-pigeons /
Little more need be said. It is not a subject on
which I care to dwell. The whole thing is too


THAT LITTLE SQUARE BOX. 153
utterly disgusting and absurd. Perhaps the best
thing I can do is to retire gracefully from the
scene, and let the sporting correspondent of the
lVew Y 01']: Ifemld fill my unworthy place. Here is
an extract clipped from its columns shortly after
our departure from America :
“Pigeon-flying Extraordinary.—A novel match
has been brought off, last week, between the birds
of John H. Flannigan, of Boston, and Jeremiah
Muller, a well-known citizen of Ashport. Both men
have devoted much time and attention to an im-
proved breed of bird, and the challenge is an old-
standing one. The pigeons were backed to a large
amount, and there was considerable local interest
in the result. The start was from the deck of the
Transatlantic steamship Spartan, at ten o’clock on
the evening of the day of starting, the vessel being
then reckoned to be about a hundred miles from the
land. The bird which reached home first was to be
declared the winner. Considerable caution had, we
believe, to be observed, as British captains have a
prejudice against the bringing ofl' of sporting events
aboard their vessels. In spite of some little difii-
culty at the last moment, the trap was sprung al-
most exactly at ten o’clock. Muller’s bird arrived
in Ashport in an extreme state of exhaustion on the
following afternoon, while Flannigan’s has not been
heard of. The backers of the latter have the satis-
faction of knowing, however, that the whole affair
has been characterized by extreme fairness. The
pigeons were confined in a specially invented trap,
which could only be opened by the spring. It was
thus possible to feed them through an aperture in
the top, but any tampering with their wings was
quite out of the question. A few such matches


154 THAT LITTLE SQUARE BOX.
would go far toward popularizing pigeon-flying in
America, and form an agreeable variety to the mor-
bid exhibitions of human endurance which have
assumed such proportions during the last few
years.”


A NIGHT AMONG THE NIHILISTS.
“ ROBINSON, the boss wants you!”
“ The dickens he does I ” thought I ; for Mr. Dick-
son, Odessa agent of Bailey & Co., corn merchants,
was a bit of a Tartar, as I had learned to my cost.
“ What’s the row now ? ” I demanded of my fellow-
clerk; “has he got scent of our Nicolaieff escapade,
or what is it? ”
“ No idea,” said Gregory ; “the old boy seems in
a good enough humor ; some business matter, prob-
ably. But don’t keep him waiting.” So summon-
ing up an air of injured innocence, to be ready
for all contingencies, I marched into the lion’s
den.
Mr. Dickson was standing before the fire in a
Briton’s time-honored attitude, and motioned me
into a chair in front of him. “Mr. Robinson,” he
said, “I have great confidence in your discretion
and common sense. The follies of youth will break
out, but I think that you have a sterling foundation
to your character underlying any superficial levity.”
I bowed.
“I believe,” he continued, “that you can speak
Russian pretty fluently.”
I bowed again.
“ I have, then,” he proceeded, “ a mission which I
wish you to undertake, and-on the success of which
your promotion may depend. I would not trust it
to a subordinate, were it not that duty ties me to
my post at present.”


I56 A NIGHT AMONG THE NIHILIST/S.
“You may depend upon my doing my best, sir,” I
replied.
“Right, sir; quite right! What I wish you to do
is briefly this: The line of railway has just been
opened to Soltefl‘, some hundred miles up the coun-
try. Now, I wish to get the start of the other Odessa
firms in securing the produce of that district, which
I have reason to believe may be had at very low
prices. You will proceed by rail to Solteff, and in-
terview a Mr. Dimidofl', who is the largest landed
proprietor in the town. Make as favorable terms as
you can with him. Both Mr. Dimidoff and I wish
the whole thing to be done as quietly and secretly
as possible—in fact, that nothing should be known
about the matter until the grain appears in Odessa.
I desire it for the interests of the firm, and Mr.
Dimidofi' on account of the prejudice his peasantry
entertain against exportation. You will find your-
self expected_ at the end of your journey, and will
start to-night. Money shall be ready for your ex-
penses. Good-morning, Mr. Robinson; I hope you
won’t fail to realize the good opinion I have of your
abilities.”
“Gregory,” I said, as I strutted into the ofiice,
“I’m off on a mission—a secret mission, my boy;
an affair of thousands of pounds. Lend me your
little portmanteau—mine’s too imposing—and tell
Ivan to pack it. A Russian millionaire expects me
at the end of my journey. Don’t breathe a word of
it to any of Simpkins’s people, or the whole game
will_ be up. Keep it dark l ”
I was so charmed at being, as it were, behind the
scenes, that I crept about the ofiice all day in a sort
of cloak-and-bloody-dagger style, with responsibility
and brooding care marked upon every feature; and
when at night I stepped out and stole down to the


A NIGHT AMONG THE’ NIHILISTS. 157
station, the unprejudiced observer would certainly
have guessed, from my general behavior, that I
had emptied the contents of the strong-box, before
starting, into that little valise of Gregory’s. It was
imprudent of him, by the way, to leave English la-
bels pasted all over it. However, I could only hope
that the “Londons” and “Birminghams” would
attract no attention, or at least that no rival corn-
merchant might deduce from them who I was and
what my errand might be.
Having paid the necessary roubles and got my
ticket, I ensconced myself in the corner of a snug
Russian car, and pondered over my extraordinary
good fortune. Dickson was growing old now, and
if I could make my mark in this matter it might
be a great thing for me. Dreams arose of a
partnership in the firm. The noisy wheels seemed
to clank out “Bailey, Robinson & Co.,” “Bailey,
Robinson & Co.,” in a monotonous refrain, which
gradually sank into a hum, and finally ceased as
I dropped into a deep sleep. Had I known the
experience which awaited me at the end of my
journey it would hardly have been so peaceable.
I awoke with an uneasy feeling that some one
was watching me closely; nor was I mistaken.
A tall dark man had taken up his position on
the seat opposite, and his black sinister eyes
seemed to look through me and beyond me, as
if he wished to read my very soul. Then I saw
him glance down at my little trunk.
“ Good heavens!” thought I, “ here’s Simpkins’s
agent, I suppose. It was careless of Gregory to
leave those confounded labels on the valise.”
I closed my eyes for a time, but on reopening
them I again caught the stranger’s earnest gaze.
“From England, I see,” he said in Russian,


158 ' A NIGHT AMONG THE NHIILISTS.
showing a row of white teeth in what was meant
to be an amiable smile.
“Yes,” I replied, trying to look unconcerned,
but painfully aware of my failure.
“ Travelling for pleasure, perhaps ? ” said he.
“Yes,” I answered eagerly. “ Certainly for pleas-
ure; nothing else.”
“ Of course not,” said he, with a shade of irony in
his voice. “ Englishmen always travel for pleasure,
don’t they ? Oh, no ; nothing else.”
His conduct was mysterious, to say the least
of it. It was only explainable upon two hypoth-
eses—he was either a madman, or he was the
agent of some firm bound upon the same errand
as myself, and determined to show me that he
guessed my little game. They were about equally
unpleasant, and, on the whole, I was relieved when
the train pulled up in the tumble-down shed which
does duty for a station in the rising town of
Soltefil-Soltefl', whose resources I was about to
open out, and whose commerce I was to direct
into the great world channels. I almost expected
to see a triumphal arch as I stepped on to the
platform.
I was to be expected at the end of my journey, so
Mr. Dickson had informed me. I looked about
among the motley crowd, but saw no Mr. Dimidoff.
Suddenly a slovenly, unshaved man passed me
rapidly, and glanced first at me and then at my
trunk—that wretched trunk, the cause of all my
woes. He disappeared in the crowd ; but in a little
time came strolling past me again, and contrived to
whisper as he did so, “Follow me, but at some dis-
tance,” immediately setting off out of -the station
and down the street at a rapid pace. Here was
mystery with a vengeance! I trotted along in his


A NIGHT AMONG THE NIHILISTS. 159
rear with my valise, and on turning the corner found
a rough droschky waiting for me. My unshaven
friend opened the door, and I stepped in.
“Is Mr. Dim—-” I was beginning.
“ Hush!” he cried. “No 'names, no names; the
very walls have ears. You will hear all to-night; ”
and with that assurance he closed the door, and,
seizing the reins, we drove ofl‘ at a rapid pace—so
rapid that I saw my black-eyed acquaintance of the
railway carriage gazing after us in surprise until we
were out of sight.
I thought over the whole matter as we jogged
along in that abominable springless conveyance.
“They say the nobles are tyrants in Russia,” I
mused; “but it seems to me to be the other way
about, for here’s this poor Mr. Dimidofi', who evi-
dently thinks his ex-serfs will rise and murder him
if he raises the price of grain in the district by ex-
porting some out of it. Fancy being obliged to
have recourse to all this mystery and deception in
order to sell one’s own property! Why, it’s worse
than an Irish landlord. It is monstrous! Well, he
doesn’t seem to live in a very aristocratic quarter
either,” I soliloquized, as I gazed out at the narrow
crooked streets and the unkempt dirty Muscovites
whom we passed. “I wish Gregory or some one
was with me, for it’s a cut-throat-looking shop ! By
Jove, he’s pulling up ; we must be there !”
We were there, to all appearance; for the
droschky stopped, and my driver’s shaggy head ap-
peared through the aperture.
“ It is here, most honored master,” he said, as he
helped me to alight.
“Is Mr. Dimi
rupted me again.
“ Anything but names,” he whispered; “ anything
” I commenced; but he inter-


160 A NIGHT AMONG THE NIHILISTS
but that. You are too used to a land that is free.
Caution, oh sacred one !” and he ushered me down a
stone-flagged passage, and up a stair at the end of
it. “ Sit for a few minutes in this room,” he said,
opening a door, “ and a repast will be served for
you; ” and with that he left me to my own reflec-
tions.
“Well,” thought I, “ whatever Mr. Dimidofl"s
house may be like, his servants are undoubtedly
well trained. ‘ Oh sacred one! ’ and ‘revered
master!’ I wonder what he’d call old Dickson
himself, if he is so polite to the clerk! I suppose it
wouldn’t be the thing to smoke in this little crib;
but I could do a pipe nicely. By the way, how con-
foundedly like a cell it looks!”
It certainly did look like a cell. The door was an
iron one, and enormously strong, while the single
window was closely barred. The floor was ofwood,
and sounded hollow and insecure as I strode across
it._ Both floor and walls were thickly splashed with
coffee or some other dark liquid. On the whole, it
was far from being a place where one would be
likely to become unreasonably festive.
I had hardly concluded my survey when I heard
steps approaching down the corridor, and the door
was opened by my old friend of the droschky. He
announced that my dinner was ready, and, with
many bows and apologies for leaving me in what he
called the “dismissal room,” he led me down the pas-
sage, and into a large and beautifully furnished apart-
ment. A table was spread for two in the centre of it,
and by the fire was standing a man very little older
than myself. He turned as I came in, and stepped
forward to meet me with every symptom of profound
respect.
“ So young and yet so honored!” he exclaimed;


A NIGHT AMONG THE NIHILISTS. 161
and then seeming to recollect himself, he continued,
“Pray sit at the head of the table. You must be
fatigued by your long and arduous journey. We
dine 1‘-éte-(1-téte ,' but the others assemble after-
ward.”
“ Mr. Dimidoff, I presume ?” said I.
“ No, sir,” said he, turning his keen gray eyes
upon me. “My name is Petrokine; you mistake me
perhaps for one of the others. But now, not a word
of business until the council meets. Try your chqf’s
soup; you will find it excellent, I think.”
Who Mr. Petrokine or the others might be I could
not conceive. Land stewards of Dimidofi"’s, per-
haps; though the name did not seem familiar to my
companion. However, as he appeared to shun any
business questions at present, I gave in to his hu-
mor, and we conversed on social life in England—a
subject in which he displayed considerable knowl-
edge and acuteness. . His remarks, too, on Malthus
and the laws of population were wonderfully good,
though savoring somewhat of Radicalism.
“ By the way,” he remarked, as we smoked a cigar
over our wine, “we should never have known you
but for the English labels on your luggage ; it was
the luckiest thing in the world that Alexander no-
ticed them. We had had no personal description of
you; indeed we were prepared to expect a somewhat
older man. You are young indeed, sir, to be in-
trusted with such a mission.”
“My employer trusts me,” I replied; “and we
have learned in our trade that youth and shrewd-
ness are not incompatible.” '
“Your remark is true, sir,” returned my newly
made friend; “ but I am surprised to hear you call
our glorious association a trade! Such a term is
gross indeed to apply to a body of _men banded to-
11


162 A NIGHT AMONG THE’ NIHILISTS.
gether to supply the world with that which it is
yearning for, but which, without our exertions, it can
never hope to attain. A spiritual brotherhood would
be a more fitting term.”
“By Jove!” thought I, “how pleased the boss
would be to hear him! He must have been in the
business himself, whoever he is.”
“Now, sir,” said Mr. Petrokine, “ the clock points
to eight, and the council must be already sitting.
Let us go up together, and I will introduce you. I
need hardly say that the greatest secrecy is observed,
and that your appearance is anxiously awaited.”
I turned over in my mind as I followed him how I
might best fulfil my mission and secure the most
advantageous terms. They seemed as anxious as I
was in the matter, and there appeared to be no op-
position, so perhaps the best thing would be to wait
and see what they would propose.
I had hardly come to this 'conclusion when my
guide swung open a large door at the end of a pas-
sage, and I found myself in a room larger and even
more gorgeously fitted up than the one in which I
had dined. A long table, covered with green baize
and strewn with papers, ran down the middle, and
round it were sitting fourteen or fifteen men convers-
ing earnestly. The whole scene reminded me for-
cibly of a gambling hell I had visited some time
before.
Upon our entrance the company rose and bowed.
I could not but remark that my companion attracted
no attention, while every eye was turned upon me
with a strange mixture of surprise and almost ser-
vile respect. A man at the head of the table, who
was remarkable for the extreme pallor of his face as
contrasted with his blue-black'hair and mustache,
waved his hand to a seat beside him, and I sat down.


A NIGHT AMONG THE NIHILISTS. I63
“I need hardly say,” said Mr. Petrokine, “that
Gustave Berger, the English agent, is now hon-
oring us with his presence. He is young, indeed,
Alexis,” he continued to my pale-faced neighbor,
“and yet he is of European reputation.”
“ Come, draw it mild!” thought I, adding aloud,
“If you refer to me, sir, though I am indeed acting
as English agent, my name is not Berger, but Rob-
inson~—Mr. Tom Robinson, at your service.”
A laugh ran round the table.
“So be it, so be it,” said the man they called
Alexis. “I commend your discretion, most honored
sir. One cannot be too careful. Preserve your
English sobriguet by all means. I regret that any
painful duty should be performed upon this auspi-
cious evening ; but the rules of our association must
be preserved at any cost to our feelings, and a dis-
missal is inevitable to-night.”
“\Vhat the deuce is the fellow driving at?”
thought I. “What 'is it to me if he does give his
servant the sack? This Dimidoff, wherever he is,
seems to keep a private lunatic asylum.”
“ Ta/ce out the gag!” The words fairly shot
through me, and I started in my chair. It was Pe-
trokine who spoke. For the first time I noticed that
a burly stout man, sitting at the other end of the
table, had his arms tied behind his chair and a
handkerchief round his mouth. A horrible suspi-
cion began to creep into my heart. Where was I ?
Was I in Mr. Dimidofl"s? Who were these men,
with their strange words?
“ Take out the gag!” repeated Petrokine ; and the
handkerchief was removed.
“ Now, Paul Ivanovitch,” said he, “ what have you
to say before you go? ”
“Not a dismissal, sirs,” he pleaded; “ not a dis-


164 A NIGHT .-mrONa THE NIHILISTS.
missal: anything but that ! I will go into some dis-
tant land, and my mouth shall be closed forever. I
will do anything that the society asks, but pray,
pray do not dismiss me.”
“ You know our laws, and you know your crime,”
said Alexis, in acold, harsh voice. “ Who drove us
from Odessa by his false tongue and his double
face? Who wrote the anonymous letter to the Gov-
ernor? Who cut the wire that would have destroyed
the arch-tyrant ? You did, Paul Ivanovitch ; and you
must die.” '
I leaned back in my chair and fairly gasped.
“Remove him! ” said Petrokine ; and the man of
the droschky, with two others, forced him out.
I heard the footsteps pass down the passage and
then a door open and shut. Then came a sound as
of a struggle, ended by a heavy, crunching blow and
a dull thud.
“ So perish all who are false to their oath,” said
Alexis, solemnly; and a hoarse“ Amen” went up
from his companions.
‘_‘ Death alone can dismiss us from our order,”
said another man further down; “but Mr. Berg—
Mr. Robinson is pale. The scene has been too
much for him after his long journey from England.”
“ Oh, Tom, Tom,” thought I, “if ever you get out
of this scrape you’ll turn over a new leaf. You’re
not fit to die, and that’s a fact.” It was only too
evident to me now that by some strange misconcep-
tion I had got in among a gang of cold-blooded
Nihilists, who mistook me for one of their order. I
felt, after what I had witnessed, that my only chance
of life was to try to play the T616 thus forced upon
me until an opportunity for escape should present
itself‘; so I tried hard to regain my air of self-pos-
session, which had been so rudely shaken.


166 A NIGHT AMONG THE NIHILISTS.
feel justified in divulging even here. In withholding
it I am acting under the direction of the chief com-
missioner.”
“You are right—perfectly right,” said my original
friend Petrokine. “ You will no doubt make your
report to the central oflice at Moscow before enter-
ing into such details.”
“Exactly so,” I replied, only too happy to get a lift
out of my difliculty.
“ We have heard,” said Alexis, “ that you were
sent to inspect the Livadia. Can you give us any
particulars about it ? ”
“Anything you ask I will endeavor to answer,”
I replied, in desperation.
“ Have any orders been made in Birmingham con-
cerning it ? ”
“ None when I left England.”
“Well, well, there’s plenty of time yet,” said the
man with the beard—“ many months. Will the bot-
tom be of wood or iron? ”
“ Of wood,” I answered at random.
“ ’Tis well! ” said another voice. “And what is
the breadth of the Clyde below Greenock? ”
“ It varies much,” I replied; “ on an average about
eighty yards.” 
“ How many men does she carry ? ” asked an
anaemic-looking youth at the foot of the table, who
seemed more fit for a public school than this den of
murder.
“ About three hundred,” said I.
“ A floating coflin I” said the young Nihilist, in a
sepulchral voice.
“Are the store-rooms on a level with or under-
neath the state-cabins ? ” asked Petrokine.
“Underneath,” said I decisively, though I need
hardly say I had not the smallest conception.


A NIGHT AJKONG THE NIHILISTS. 167
“ And now, most honored sir,” said Alexis, “tell
us what was the reply of Bauer, the German social-
ist, to Ravinsky’s proclamation.”
Here was a deadlock with a vengeance. Whether
my cunning would have extricated me from it or not
was never decided, for Providence hurried me from
one dilemma into another and a worse one.
A door slammed downstairs, and rapid footsteps
were heard approaching. Then came a loud tap out-
side, followed by two smaller ones.
“ The sign of the -society I ” said Petrokine ; “ and
yet we are all present ; who can it be ? ”
The door was thrown open, and a man entered,
dusty and travel-stained, but with an air of authority
and power stamped on every feature of his harsh but
expressive face. He glanced round the table, scan-
ning each countenance carefully. There was a start
of surprise in the room. He was evidently a stranger
to them all. _
“ \Vhat means this intrusion, sir? ” said my friend
with the beard.
“ Intrusion ! ” said the stranger. “ I was given to
understand that I was expected, and had looked for-
ward to a warmer welcome from my fellow-associates.
I am personally unknown to you, gentlemen, but I
am proud to think that my name should command
some respect among you. I am Gustave Berger, the
agent from England, bearing letters from the chief
commissioner to his well-beloved brothers of Sol-
teff.”
One of their own bombs could hardly have created
greater surprise had it been fired in the midst of
them. Every eye was fixed alternately on me and
upon the newly arrived agent.
“ If you are indeed Gustave Berger,” said Pe-
trokine, “ who is this ? ”


188 A NIGHT AMONG THE NIHILISTS.
“ That I am Gustave Berger these credentials will
show,” said the stranger, as he threw a packet upon
the table. “Who that man may be I know not;
but if he has intruded himself upon the lodge un-
der false pretences, it is clear that he must never
carry out of the room what he has learned. Speak,
sir,” he added, addressing me: “who and what are
you?”
I felt that my time had come. My revolver was
in my hip-pocket; but what was that against so
many desperate men? I grasped the butt of it,
however, as a drowning man clings to a straw, and
I tried to preserve my coolness as I glanced round
at the cold, vindictive faces turned toward me.
“Gentlemen,” I said, “the 1'6Ie I have played
to-night has been a purely involuntary one on my
part. I am no police spy, as you seem to suspect ;
nor, on the other hand, have I the honor to be a
member of your association. I am an inoffensive
corn-dealer, who by an extraordinary mistake has
been forced into this unpleasant and awkward
position.”
I paused for a moment. Was it my fancy that
there was a peculiar noise in the street a noise
as of many feet treading softly ? No, it had
died away; it was but the throbbing of my own
heart.
“ I need hardly say,” I continued, “that anything
I may have heard to-night will be safe in my
keeping. I pledge my solemn honor as a gentleman
that not one word of it shall transpire through me.”
The senses of men in great physical danger be-
come strangely acute, or their imagination plays
them curious tricks. My back was toward the
door as I sat, but I could have sworn that I heard
heavy breathing- behind it. Was it the three


A NIGHT AMONG THE NIHILISTS. 169
minions whom I had seen before in the performance
of their hateful functions, and who, like vultures,
had sniffed another victim?
I looked round the table. Still the same hard,
cruel faces. Not one glance of sympathy. I cocked
the revolver in my pocket.
There was a painful silence, which was broken by
the harsh, grating voice of Petrokine.
“ Promises are easily made and easily broken,” he
said. “There is but one way of securing eternal
silence. It is our lives or yours. Let the highest
among us speak.”
“You are right, sir,” said the English agent;
“there is but one course open. He must be
dismissed.” '
I knew what that meant in their confounded
jargon, and sprang to my feet.
“ By Heaven,” I shouted, putting my back against
the door, “you shan’t butcher a free Englishman
like a sheep! The first among you ‘who stirs,
drops l ”
A man sprang at me. I saw along the sights of
my Derringer the gleam of a knife and the demo-
niacal face of Gustave Berger. Then I pulled the
trigger, and, with his hoarse scream sounding in my
ears, I was felled to the ground by a crashing blow
from behind. Half-unconscious, and pressed down
by some heavy weight, I heard the noise of shouts
and blows above me, and then I fainted away.
“Then I came to myself I was lying among the
dé?/ris of the door, which had been beaten in on the
top of me. Opposite were a dozen of the men who
had lately sat in judgment upon me, tied two and
two, and guarded by a score of Russian soldiers.
Beside me was the corpse of the ill-fated English
agent, the whole face blown in by the force of the


170 A NIGHT AMONG THE NIHILISTS.
explosion. Alexis and Petrokine were both lying
on the floor like myself, bleeding profusely.
“ Well, young fellow, you’ve had a narrow escape,”
said a hearty voice in my ear.
I looked up, and recognized my black-eyed ac-
quaintance of the railway carriage.
“Stand up,” he continued: “you’re only a bit
stunned; no bones broken. It’s no wonder I mis-
took you for the Nihilist agent, when the very lodge
itself was taken in. Well, you’re the only stranger
who ever came out of this den alive. Come down-
stairs with me. I know who you are, and what
you are after now; I’ll take you to Mr. Dimidofi'.
Nay, don’t go in there,” he cried, as I walked
toward the door of the cell into which I had been
originally ushered. “Keep out of that; you’ve
seen evil sights enough for one day. Come down
and have a glass of liquor.”
He explained as we walked back to the hotel
that the police of Solteff, of which he was the chief,
had had warning and been on the look-out during
some time for this Nihilist emissary. My arrival
in so unfrequented a place, coupled with my air
of secrecy and the English labels on that con-
founded portmanteau of Gregory’s, had completed
the business.
I have little more to tell. My Socialistic ac-
quaintances were all either transported to Siberia
or executed. My mission was performed to the
satisfaction of my employers. My conduct during
the whole business has won me promotion, and my
prospects for life have been improved since that
horrible night, the remembrance of which still
makes me shiver.


BONES.
THE APRIL FOOL or HARvEr’s SLUICE.
ABE DURroN’s cabin was not beautiful. People
have been heard to assert that it was ugly, and, even
after the fashion of Harvey’s Sluice, have gone the
length of prefixing their adjective with a forcible
expletive which emphasized their criticism. Abe,
however, was a stolid and easy-going man, on whose
mind the remarks of an unappreciative public made
but little impression. He had built the house him-
self, and it suited his partner and him, and what
more did they want ? Indeed he was rather touchy
upon the subject. “Though I says it, as raised it,”
he remarked, “ it’ll lay over any shanty in the valley.
Holes? Well, of course there are holes. You
wouldn’t get fresh air without holes. There’s noth-
ing stuffy about my house. Rain ? Well, if it does let
the rain in, ain’t it an advantage to know it’s rainin’
without gettin’ up to unbar the door. Iwouldn’t
own a house that didn’t leak some. As to its bein’
off the perpendic’lar, I like a house with a bit of a
tilt. Anyways it _pleases my pard, Boss Morgan,
and what’s good enough for him is good enough
for you, I suppose.” At which approach to per-
sonalities his antagonist usually sheered off, and
left the honors of the field to the indignant archi-
tect.
But whatever difference of opinion might exist as
to the beauty of the establishment, there could be


1 72 IFONES.
no question as to its utility. To the tired wayfarer,
plodding along the Buckhurst road in the direction
of the Sluice, the warm glow upon the summit of the
hill was a beacon of hope and of comfort. Those
very holes at which the neighbors sneered helped to
diffuse a cheery atmosphere of light around, which
was doubly acceptable on such a night as the pres-
ent.
There was only one man inside the hut, and that
was the proprietor, Abe Durton himself, or “ Bones,”
as he had been christened with the rude heraldry of
the camp. He was sitting in front of the great
wood fire, gazing moodily into its glowing depths,
and occasionally giving a fagot a kick of remon-
strance when it showed any indication of dying into
a smoulder. His fair Saxon face, with its bold sim-
ple eyes and crisp yellow beard, stood out sharp
and clear against the darkness as the flickering
light played over it. It was a manly, resolute coun-
tenance, and yet the physiognomist might have de-
tected something in the lines of the mouth which
showed a weakness somewhere, an indecision which
contrasted strangely with his herculean shoulders
and massive limbs. Abe’s was one of those trusting,
simple natures which are as easy to lead as they are
impossible to drive; and it was this happy pliabil-
ity of disposition which made him at once the butt
and the favorite of the dwellers in the Sluice. Bad-
inage in that primitive settlement was of a some-
what ponderous character, yet no amount of chaff
had ever brought a dark look on Bones’s face, or an
unkind thought into his honest heart. It was only
when his aristocratic partner was, as he thought, be-
ing put upon, that an ominous tightness about his
lower lip and an angry light in his blue eyes, caused
even the most irrepressible humorist in the colony


BONES. - 173
to nip his favorite joke in the bud, in order to di-
verge into an earnest and all-absorbing dissertation
upon the state of the weather.
“The Boss is late to-night,” he muttered, as he
rose from his chair, and stretched himself in a colos-
sal yawn. “My stars, how it does rain and blow!
Don’t it, Blinky?” Blinky was a demure and medi-
tative owl, whose comfort and welfare was a chronic
subject of solicitude to its master, and who at pres-
ent contemplated him gravely from one of the raf-
ters. “Pity you can’t speak, Blinky,” continued
Abe, glancing up at his feathered companion.
“There’s a powerful deal of sense in your face.
Kinder melancholy too. Crossed in love, maybe,
when you was young. Talkin’ of love,” he added,
“ I’ve not seen Susan to-day ; ” and lighting the can-
dle which stood in a black bottle upon the table, he
walked across the room and peered earnestly at one
of the many pictures from stray illustrated papers,
which had been cut out by the occupants and posted
up upon the walls.
The particular picture which attracted him was
one which represented a very tawdrily dressed ac-
tress simpering over a bouquet at an imaginary
audience. ' This sketch had, for some inscrutable
reason, made a deep impression upon the suscepti-
ble heart of the miner. He had invested the young
lady with a human interest by solemnly, and with-
out the slightest warrant, christening her as Susan
Banks, and had then installed her as his standard
of female beauty.
“You see my Susan,” he would say, when some
wanderer from Buckhurst, or even from Melbourne,
would describe some fair Circe whom he had left
behind him. "There ain’t a girl like my Sue. If
ever you go to the old country again, just you ask


1 74 BONES.
to see her. Susan Banks is her name, and I’ve got
her picture up at the shanty.”
Abe was still gazing at his charmer, when the
rough door was flung open, and a blinding cloud of
sleet and rain came driving into the cabin, almost
obscuring for the moment a young man who sprang
in and proceeded to bar the entrance behind him, an
operation which the force of the wind rendered no
easy matter. He might have passed for the genius
of the storm, with the water dripping from his long
hair and running down his pale, refined face.
' “ Well,” he said, in a slightly peevish voice,
“ haven’t you got any supper? ” '
“ Waiting and ready,” said his companion cheer-
ily, pointing to a large pot which bubbled by the
side of the fire. “ You seem sort of damp.” _
“ Damp be hanged! I’m soaked, man, thoroughly
saturated. It’s a night that I wouldn’t have a dog
out, at least not a dog that I had any respect for.
Hand over that dry coat from the peg.”
Jack Morgan, or Boss, as he was usually called,
belonged to a type which was commoner in the
mines during the flush times of the first great rush
than would be supposed. He was a man of good
blood, liberally educated, and a graduate of an Eng-
lish university. Boss should, in the natural course
of things, have been an energetic curate, or strug-
gling professional man, had not some latent traits
cropped out in his character, inherited possibly from
old Sir Henry Morgan, who had founded the family
with Spanish pieces of eight gallantly won upon the
high seas. It was this wild strain of blood no doubt
which had caused him to drop from the bedroom
window of the ivy-clad English parsonage, and leave
home and friends behind him to try his luck with
pick and shovel in the Australian fields. In spite of


BONES. 175
his effeminate face and dainty manners, the rough
dwellers in Harvey’s Sluice had gradually learned
that the little man was possessed of a cool courage
and unflinching resolution, which won respect in a
community where pluck was looked upon as the
highest of human attributes. No one ever knew
how it was that Bones and he had become partners ;
yet partners they were, and the large, simple nature
of the stronger man looked with an almost supersti-
tious reverence upon the clear, decisive mind of his
companion. _
“ That’s better,” said the Boss, as he dropped into
the vacant chair before the fire and watched Abe lay-
ing out the two metal plates, with the horn-handled
knives and abnormally pronged forks. “ Take your
mining boots off, Bones; there’s no use filling the
cabin with red clay. Come here and sit down.”
His gigantic partner came meekly over and perched
himself upon the top of a barrel.
“ What’s up ? ” he asked.
“ Shares are up,” said his companion. “ That’s
what’s up. Look here,” and he extracted a crumpled
paper from the pocket of the steaming coat. “ Here’s
the Buck/au'r'st Sentinel. Read this article—this one
here about a paying lead in the Conemara mine.
We hold pretty heavily in that concern, my boy.
We might sell out to-day and clear something—but
I think we’ll hold on.”
Abe Durton in the mean time was laboriously spell-
ing out the article in question, following the lines
with his great forefinger, and muttering under his
tawny mustache.
“ Two hundred dollars a foot,” he said, looking up.
“ Why, pard, we hold a hundred feet each. It would
give us twenty thousand dollars! We might go
home on that.”


' 176 BONES.
“ Nonsense!” said his companion ; “ we’ve come
out here for something better than a beggarly couple
of thousand pounds. The thing is bound to pay.
Sinclair the assayer has been over there, and says
there’s a ledge of the richest quartz he ever set eyes
on. It is just a case of getting the machinery to
crush it. By the way, what was to-day’s take like ? ”
Abe extracted a small wooden box from his pocket
and handed it to his comrade. It contained what
appeared to be about a teaspoonful of sand and one
or two little metallic granules not larger than a pea.
Boss Morgan laughed, and returned it to his com-
panion.
“ We sha’n’t make our fortune at that rate, Bones,”
he remarked ; and there was a pause in the con-
versation as the two men listened to the wind as it
screamed and whistled past the little cabin.
“Any news from Buckhurst?” asked Abe, rising
and proceeding to extract their supper from the pot.
“ Nothing much,” said his companion. “ Cock-
eyed Joe has been shot by Billy Reid in McFarlane’s
Store.”
“ Ah I ” said Abe, with listless interest.
“ Bushrangers have been around and stuck up the
Rochdale station. They say they are coming over
here.”
The miner whistled as he poured some whiskey into
a jug.
“Anything more 1? ” he asked.
“ Nothing of importance, except that the blacks
have been showing a bit down New Sterling way, and
that the assayer has bought a piano and is going to
have his daughter out from Melbourne to live in the
new house opposite on the other side of the road. So
you see we are going to have something to look at,
my boy,” he added as he sat down, and began attack-


BONES. 17 7
ing the food set before him. “They say she is a
beauty, Bones.”
“She won’t be a patch on my Sue,” returned the
other decisively.
His partner smiled as he glanced round at the
flaring print upon the wall. Suddenly he dropped
his knife and seemed to listen. Amid the wild up-
roar of the wind and the rain there was a low rum-
bling sound which was evidently not dependent upon
the elements.
“ What’s that?”
“ Darned if I know.”
The two men made for the door and peered out
earnestly into the darkness. Far away along the
Buckhurst road they could see a moving light, and
the dull sound was louder than before.
“ It’s a buggy coming down,” said Abe.
“Where is it going to?”
“ Don’t know. Across the ford, I s’pose.”
“ Why, man, the ford will be six feet deep to-night,
and running like a mill-stream.”
The light was nearer now, coming rapidly round
the curve of the road. There was a wild sound of
galloping with the rattle of the wheels.
“Horses have bolted, by thunder!”
“ Bad job for the man inside.”
There was a rough individuality about the inhabi-
tants of Harvey’s Sluice, in virtue of which every
man bore his misfortunes upon his own shoulders,
and had very little sympathy for those of his neigh-
bors. The predominant feeling of the two men
was one of pure curiosity as they watched the
swinging, swaying lanterns coming down the wind-
ing road.
“ If he don’t pull ’em up before they reach the ford
he’s a goner,” remarked Abe Durton resignedly.
13


178 BONES.
Suddenly there came a lull in the sullen splash of
the rain. It was but for a moment, but in that mo-
ment there came down on the breeze a long cry which
caused the two men to start and stare at each other,
and then to rush frantically down the steep incline
toward the road below.
“ A woman, by Heaven! ” gasped Abe, as he sprang
across the gaping shaft of a mine in the recklessness
of his haste.
Morgan was the lighter and more active man. He
drew away rapidly from his stalwart companion.
Within a minute he was standing panting and bare-
headed in the middle of the soft muddy road, while
his partner was still toiling down the side of the de-
clivity.
The carriage was close on him now. He could see
in the light of the lamps the raw-boned' Australian
horse as, terrified by the storm and by its own clatter,
it came tearing down the declivity which led to the
ford. The man who was driving seemed to see the
pale set face in the pathway in front of him, for he
yelled out some incoherent words of warning, and
made a last desperate attempt to pull up. There
was a shout, an oath, and a jarring crash, and Abe,
hurrying down, saw a wild infuriated horse rearing
madly in- the air with a slim dark figure hanging on
to its bridle. Boss, with the keen power of calcula-
tion which had made him the finest cricketer at
Rugby in his day, had caught the rein immediately
below the bit, and clung to it with silent concentra-
tion. Once he was down with a heavy thud in the
roadway as the horse jerked its head violently for-
ward, but when, with a snort of exultation, the ani-
mal pressed on, it was only to find that the prostrate
man beneath its forehoofs still maintained his un-
yielding grasp.


BONES. 179
“ Hold it, Bones,” he said, as a tall figure hurled
itself into the road and seized the other rein.
“All right, old man, I’ve got him;” and the
horse, cowed by the sight of a fresh assailant,
quieted down, and stood shivering with terror.
“ Get up, Boss, it’s safe now.”
But poor Boss lay groaning in the mud.
“ I can’t do it, Bones.” There was a catch in the
voice as of pain. “There’s something wrong, old
chap, but don’t make a fuss. It’s only a shake ; give
me a lift up.”
Abe bent tenderly over his prostrate companion.
He could see that he was very white, and breathing
with difiiculty.
“Cheer up, old Boss,” he murmured. “Hullo!
my stars I ”
The last two exclamations were shot out of the
honest miner’s bosom as if they were impelled by
some irresistible force, and he took a couple of steps
backward in sheer amazement. There at the other
side of the fallen man, and half shrouded in the
darkness, stood what appeared to Abe’s simple soul
to be the most beautiful vision that ever had ap-
peared upon earth. To eyes accustomed to rest
upon nothing more captivating than the ruddy
faces and rough beards of the miners in the Sluice,
it seemed that that fair, delicate countenance must
belong to a wanderer from some better world. Abe
gazed at it with a wondering reverence, oblivious
for the moment even of his injured friend upon the
ground.
“ Oh, papa,” said the apparition, in great distress,
“he is hurt, the gentleman is hurt;” and with a
quick feminine gesture of sympathy, she bent her
lithe figure over Boss Morgan’s prostrate figure.
“Why, it’s Abe Durton and his partner,” said the


BONES. 1 8 1
Amelia in the far-off boarding school at Mel-
bourne.
That did not prevent her from writing a full, true,
and particular account of their little adventure to the
same young lady upon that very night.
“ They stopped the horse, darling, and one poor
fellow was hurt. And oh, Amy, if you had seen the
other one in a red shirt, with a pistol at his waist!
I couldn’t help thinking of you, dear. He was just
your idea. You remember, a yellow mustache and
great blue eyes. And how he did stare at poor me !
You never see such men in Burke Street, Amy ; ”
and so on, for four pages of pretty feminine gossip.
In the mean time poor Boss, badly shaken, had
been helped up the hill by his partner and regained
the shelter of the shanty. Abe doctored him out of
the rude pharmacopoeia of the camp, and bandaged
up his strained arm. Both were men of few words,
and neither made any allusion to what had taken
place. It was noticed, however, by Blinky, that his
master failed to pay his usual nightly orisons before
the shrine of Susan Banks. Whether this sagacious
fowl drew any deductions from this, and from the
fact that Bones sat long and earnestly smoking by
the smouldering fire, I know not. Suflice it that as
the candle died away and the miner rose from his
chair, his feathered friend flew down upon his
shoulder, and was only prevented from giving vent
to a sympathetic hoot by Abe’s warning finger, and
its own strong inherent sense of propriety.
A casual visitor dropping into the straggling
township of Harvey’s Sluice shortly after Miss Gar-
rie Sinclair’s arrival would have noticed a consider-
able alteration in the manners and customs of its in-
habitants. \Vhether it was the refining influence of


182 BONES.
a woman's presence, or whether it sprang from an
emulation excited by the brilliant appearance of
Abe Durton, it is hard to say—probably from a
blending of the two. Certain it is that that young
man had suddenly developed an affection for clean-
liness and a regard for the conventionalities of civ-
ilization, which aroused the astonishment and ridi-
cule of his companions. That Boss Morgan should
pay attention to his personal appearance had long
been set down as a curious and inexplicable phe-
nomenon, depending upon early education; but that
loose-limbed easy-going Bones should flaunt about
in a clean shirt was regarded by every grimy deni-
zen of the Sluice as a direct and premeditated in-
sult. In self-defence, therefore, there was a general
cleaning up after working hours, and such a run up-
on the grocery establishment, that soap went up to
an unprecedented figure, and a fresh consignment had
to be ordered from McFarlane’s store in Buckhurst.
“ Is this here a free minin’ camp, or is it a darned
Sunday-school’? ” had been the indignant query of
Long McCoy, a prominent member of the reaction-
ary party, who had failed to advance with the times,
having been absent during the period of regenera-
tion. But his remonstrance met with but little
sympathy; and at the end of a couple of days a
general turbidity of the creek announced his sur-
render, which was confirmed by his appearance in
the Colonial Bar with a shining and bashful face,
and hair which was redolent of bear’s grease.
“ I felt kinder lonesome,” he remarked apologeti-
cally, “so I thought as I’d have a look what was
under the clay ; ” and he viewed himself approvingly
in the cracked mirror which graced the select room
of the establishment.
Our casual visitor would have noticed a remarka-


BONES. 183
ble change also in the conversation of the commu-
nity. Somehow, when a certain dainty little bonnet
with a sweet girlish figure beneath it was seen in
the distance among the disused shafts and mounds
of red earth which disfigured the sides of the valley,
there was a warning murmur, and a general clear-
ing ofl' of the cloud of blasphemy, which was, I
regret to state, an habitual characteristic of the
working population of Harvey’s Sluice. Such
things only need a beginning; and it was noticea-
ble that long after Miss Sinclair had vanished from
sight there was a decided rise in the moral barome-
ter of the gulches. Men found by experience that
their stock of adjectives was less limited than they
had been accustomed to suppose, and that the less
forcible were sometimes even more adapted for con-
veying their meaning.
Abe had formerly been considered one of the most
experienced valuators of an ore in the settlement.
It had been commonly supposed that he was able to
estimate the amount of gold in a fragment of quartz
with remarkable exactness. This, however, was evi-
dently 'a mistake, otherwise he would never have
incurred the useless expense of having so many
worthless specimens assayed as he now did. Mr.
Joshua Sinclair found himself inundated with such
a flood of fragments of mica, and lumps of rock
containing decimal percentages of the precious
metals, that he began to form a very low opinion of
the young mai1’s mining capabilities. It is even
asselted that Abe shuflled up to the house one morn-
ing with a hopeful smile, and, after some fumbling,
produced half a brick from the bosom of his jersey,
with the stereotyped remark, “ that he thought he’d
struck it at last, and so had dropped in to ask him
to cipher out an estimate.” As this anecdote rests,


18-I BONES.
however, upon the unsupported evidence of Jim
Struggles, the humorist of the camp, there may be
some slight inaccuracy of detail.
It is certain that what with professional business
in the morning and social visits at night, the tall
figure of the miner was a familiar object in the lit-
tle drawing-room of Azalea Villa, as the new house
of the assayer had been magniloquently named. He
seldom ventured upon a remark in the presence of
its female occupant; but would sit on the extreme
edge of his chair in a state of speechless admira-
tion while she rattled off some lively air upon the
newly imported piano. Many were the strange and
unexpected places in which his feet turned up.
Miss Carrie had gradually come to the conclusion
that they were entirely independent of his body,
and had ceased to speculate upon the manner in
which she would trip over them on one side of the
table while the blushing owner was apologizing from
the other. There was only one cloud on honest
Bones’s mental horizon, and that was the periodical
appearance of Black Tom Ferguson, of R-ochdale
Ferry. This clever young scamp had managed to
ingratiate himself with old Joshua, and was a con-
stant visitor at the villa. There were evil rumors
abroad about Black Tom. He was known to be
a gambler, and shrewdly suspected to be worse.
Harvey’s Sluice was not censorious, and yet there
was a general feeling that Ferguson was a man to
be avoided. There was a reckless élan about his
bearing, however, and a sparkle in his conversation,
which had an indescribable charm, and even induced
the Boss, who was particular in such matters, to cul-
tivate his acquaintance while forming a correct esti-
mate of his character. Miss Carrie seemed to hail
his appearance as a relief, and chattered away for


BONES. 185
hours about books and music and the gayeties of
Melbourne. It was on these occasions that poor
simple Bones wo11ld sink into the very lowest
depths of despondency, and either slink away, or sit
glaring at his rival with an earnest malignancy
which seemed to cause that gentleman no small
amusement. '
The miner made no secret to his partner of the
admiration which he entertained for Miss Sinclair.
If he was silent in her company, he was voluble
enough when she was the subject of discourse.
Loiterers upon the Buckhurst road might have
heard a stentorian voice upon the hill-side bellowing
forth a vocabulary of female charms. He submitted
his difliculties to the superior intelligence of the
Boss.
“That loafer from Bochdale,” he said, “he seems
to reel it off kinder nat’ral, while for the life of me I
can’t say a word. Tell me, Boss, what would you
say to a girl like that?”
“ I/Vhy, talk about what would interest her,” said
his companion.
“Ah, that’s where it lies! ”
“Talk about the customs of the place and the
country,” said the Boss, pulling meditatively at his
pipe. “Tell her stories of what you have seen in
the mines, and that sort of thing.”
“Eh? You’d do that, would you?” responded
his comrade more hopefully. “If that’s the hang
of it I am right. I’ll go up now and tell her
about Chicago Bill, an’ how he put them two bul-
lets in the man from the bend the night of the
dance.”
Boss Morgan laughed.
“That’s hardly the thing,” he said. “You’d
frighten her if you told her that. Tell her some-


186 BONES’.
thing lighter, you know; something to amuse her,
something funny.”
“ Funny ? ” said the anxious lover, with less confi-
dence in his voice. “ How you and me made Mat
Houlahan drunk and put him in the pulpit of the
Baptist church, and he wouldn’t let the preacher in
in the morning. How would that do, eh ? ”
“For Heaven’s sake don’t say anything of the
sort,” said his Mentor, in great consternation.
“She’d neverspeak to either of us again. No,
what I mean is that you should tell about the hab-
its of the mines, how men live and work and die
there. If she is a sensible girl that ought to inter-
est her.”
“How they live at the mines? Pard, you are
good to me. How they live? There’s a thing I can
talk of as glib as Black Tom or any man. I’ll try it
on her when I see her.”
“ By the way,” said his partner listlessly, “just
keep an eye on that man Ferguson. His hands arn’t
very clean, you know, and he’s not scrupulous when
he is aiming for anything. You remember how Dick
Williams, of English Town, was found dead in the
bush. Of course it was rangers that did it. They
do say, however, that Black Tom owed him a deal
more money than he could ever have paid. There’s
been one or two queer things about him. Keep
your eye on him, Abe. Watch what he does.”
“ I will,” said his companion.
And he did. He watched him that very night.
Watched him stride out of the house of the assayer
with anger and baflled pride on every feature of his
handsome swarthy face. Watched him clear the
garden paling at a bound, pass in long rapid strides
down the side of the valley, gesticulating wildly
with his hands, and vanish into the bushland be-


BONES. 187
yond. All this Abe Durton watched, and with a
thoughtful look upon his face he relit hispipe and
strolled slowly backward to the hut upon the hill.
'March was drawing to a close in Harvey’s Sluice,
and the glare and heat of the antipodean summer
had toned down into the rich mellow hues of au-
tumn. It was never a lovely place to look upon.
There was something hopelessly prosaic in the two
bare rugged ridges, seamed and scarred by the hand
of man, with iron arms of windlasses, and broken
buckets projecting everywhere through the endless
little hillocks of red earth. Down the middle ran
the deeply rutted road from Buckhurst, winding
along and crossing the sluggish tide of Harper’s
Creek by a crumbling wooden bridge. Beyond the
bridge lay the cluster of little huts with the Colonial
Bar and the Grocery towering in all the dignity of
whitewash among the humble dwellings around.
The assayer’s veranda-lined house lay above the
gulches on the side of the slope nearly opposite the
dilapidated specimen of architecture of which our
friend Abe was so unreasonably proud.
There was one other building which might have
come under the category of what an inhabitant of
the Sluice would have described as a “public edi-
fice ” with a comprehensive wave of his pipe which
conjured up images of an endless vista of colonnades
and minarets. This was the Baptist chapel, a mod-
est little shingle-roofed erection on the bend of the
river about a mile above the settlement. It was
from this that the town looked at its best, when the
harsh outlines and crude colors were somewhat soft-
ened by distance. On that particular morning the
stream looked pretty as it meandered down the val-
ley; pretty, too, was the long rising upland behind,


ISS BONES.
with its luxuriant green covering; and prettiest of
all was Miss Carrie Sinclair, as she laid down the
basket of ferns which she was carrying, and stopped
upon the summit of the rising ground.
Something seemed to be amiss with that young
lady. There was a look of anxiety upon her face
which contrasted strangely with her usual appear-
ance of piquant insouciance. Some recent annoy-
ance had left its traces upon her. Perhaps it was to
walk it off that she had rambled down the valley;
certain it is that she inhaled the fresh breezes of
the woodlands as if their resinous fragrance bore
with them some antidote for human sorrow.
She stood for some time gazing at the view before
her. She could see her father’s house, like a white
dot upon the hill-side, though strangely enough it
was a blue reek of smoke upon the opposite slope
which seemed to attract the greater part of her
attention. She lingered there, watching it with a
wistful look in her hazel eyes. Then the loneliness
of her situation seemed to strike her, and she felt
one of those spasmodic fits of unreasoning terror to
which the bravest women are subject. Tales of
natives and of bushrangers, their daring and their
cruelty, flashed across her. She glanced at the great
mysterious stretch of silent bushland beside her, and
stooped to pick up her basket with the intention-of
hurrying along the road in the direction of the
gulches. She started round, and hardly suppressed
a scream as a long, red-flannelled arm shot out from
behind her and withdrew the basket from her very
grasp.
The figure which met her eye would to some have
seemed little calculated to allay her' fears. The
high boots, the rough shirt, and the broad girdle
with its weapons of death were, however, too famil-


BONES’. 189
iar to Miss Carrie to be objects of terror ; and when
above them all she saw a pair of tender blue eyes
looking down upon her, and a half-abashed smile
lurking under a thick yellow mustache, she knew
that for the remainder of that walk ranger and black
would‘ be equally powerless to harm her.
“Oh, Mr. Durton,” she said, “ how you did startle
me ! ”
“I’m sorry, miss,” said Abe, in great trepidation
at having caused his idol one moment’s uneasiness.
“You see,” he continued, with simple cunning, “the
weather bein’ fine and my partner gone prospectin’,
I thought I’d walk up to Hagley’s Hill and round
back by the bend, and there I sees you accidental-
like and promiscuous a-standin’ on a hillock.” This
astounding falsehood was reeled off by the miner
with great fluency, and an artificial sincerity which
at once stamped it as a fabrication. Bones had con-
cocted and rehearsed it while tracking the little
footsteps in the clay, and looked upon it as the very
depth of human guile. Miss Carrie did not venture
upon a remark, but there was a gleam of amusement
in her eyes which puzzled her lover.
Abe was in good spirits this morning. It may
have been the sunshine, or-it may have been the
rapid rise of shares in the Conemara, which light-
ened his heart. I am inclined to think, however,
that it was referable to neither of these causes.
Simple as he was, the scene which he had witnessed
the night before could only lead to one conclusion.
He pictured himself walking as wildly down the
valley under similar circumstances, and his heart
was touched with pity for his rival. He felt very '
certain that the ill-omened face of Mr. Thomas Fer-
guson of Rochdale Ferry would never more be seen
within the walls of Azalea Villa. Then why did she


190 BONES.
refuse him ? He was handsome, he was fairly rich.
Could it——? no, it couldn’t ; of course it couldn’t ;
how could it! The idea was ridiculous—so very
ridiculous that it had fermented in the young man’s
brain all night, and that he could do nothing but
ponder over it in the morning, and cherish it in his
perturbed bosom.
They passed down the red pathway together, and
along by the river’s bank. Abe had relapsed into
his normal condition of taciturnity. He had made
one gallant effort to hold forth upon the subject of
ferns, stimulated by the basket which he held in his
hand, but the theme was not a thrilling one, and
after a spasmodic flicker he had abandoned the at-
tempt. While coming along he had been full of racy
anecdotes and humorous observations. He had re-
hearsed innumerable remarks which wore to be
poured into Miss Sinclair’s appreciative ear. But
now his brain seemed of a sudden to have become a
vacuum, and utterly devoid of any idea save an in-
sane and overpowering impulse to comment upon
the heat of the sun. No astronomer who ever reck-
oned a parallax was so entirely absorbed in the con-
dition of the celestial bodies as honest Bones while
he trudged along by the slow-flowing Australian
river. '
Suddenly his conversation with his partner came
back into his mind. What was it Boss had said
upon the subject ? “Tell her how they live at the
mines.” He revolved it in his brain. It seemed
a curious thing to talk about; but Boss had said
it, and Boss was always right. He would take the
plunge; so, with a premonitory hem he blurted out:
“They live mostly on bacon and beans in the
valley.”
He could not see what effect this communication


BONES. 191
had upon his companion. He was too tall to be
able to peer under the little_ straw bonnet. She did
not answer. He would try again.
“Mutton on Sundays,” he said.
Even this_ failed to arouse any enthusiasm. In
fact she seemed to be laughing. Boss was evidently
wrong. The young man was in despair. The sight
of a ruined hut beside the pathway conjured up a
fresh idea. He grasped at it as a drowning man to
a straw.
“ Cockney Jack built that,” he remarked. “ Lived
there till he died.”
“ What did he die of? ” asked his companion.
“Three star brandy,” said Abe, decisively. “I
used to come over of a night when he was bad and
sit by him. Poor chap! he had a wife and two
children in Putney. He-’d rave, and call me Polly,
by the hour. He was cleaned out, hadn’t a red
cent; but the boys collected rough gold enough
to see him through. He’s buried there in that shaft ;
that was his claim, so we just dropped him down
it an’ filled it up. Put down his pick too, an’ a
spade an’ a bucket, so’s he’d feel kinder perky and
at home.”
Miss Carrie seemed more interested now.
“ Do they often die like that ? ” she asked.
“ Well, brandy kills many ; but there’s more get’s
dropped—shot, you know.”
“ I don’t mean that. Do many men die alone and
miserable down there, with no one to care for them ‘? ”
and she pointed to the cluster of houses beneath
them. “Is there anyone dying now? It is awful
to think of.”
“There’s none as I knows on likely to throw up
their hand.”
“I wish you wouldn’t_use so much slang, Mr.


192 BONES.
Durton,” said Carrie, looking up at him reprovingly
out of her violet eyes. It was strange what an air
of proprietorship this young lady was gradually
assuming toward her gigantic companion. “You
know it isn’t polite. You should get a dictionary
and learn the proper words.”
“Ah, that’s it I ” said Bones, apologetically. “ It’s
gettin’ your hand on the proper one. When you’ve
not got a steam drill, you’ve got to put up with a
pick.”
“Yes, but it’s easy if you really try. You could
say that a man was ‘ dying,’ or ‘ moribund,’ if you
like.”
“ That’s it,” said the miner, enthusiastically.
“ ‘ Moribund’! That’s a word. Why, you could lay
over Boss Morgan in the matter of words. ‘ Mori-
bund l’ There’s some sound about that.”
Carrie laughed.
“ It’s not the sound you must think of, but whether
it will express your meaning. Seriously, Mr. Dur-
ton, if anyone should be ill in the camp you must
let me know. I can nurse, and I might be of use.
You will, won’t you ? ”
Abe readily acquiesced, and relapsed into silence
as he pondered over the possibility of inoculating
himself with some long and tedious disease. There
was a mad dog reported from Buckhurst. Perhaps
something might be done with that.
“ And now I must say good-morning,” said Carrie,
as they came to the spot where a crooked pathway
branched ofl' from the track and wound up to Azalea
Villa. “ Thank you ever so much for escorting me.”
In vain Abe pleaded for the additional hundred
yards, and adduced the overwhelming weight of the
diminutive basket as a cogent reason. The young
lady was inexorable. She had taken him too far


BONES. 193
out of his way already. She was ashamed of her-
self ; she wouldn’t hear of it.
So poor Bones departed in a mixture of many
opposite feelings. He had interested her. She had
spoken kindly to him. But then she had sent him
away before there was any necessity; she couldn’t
care much about him if she would do that. I think _
he might have felt a little more cheerful, however,
had he seen Miss Carrie Sinclair as she watched his
retiring figure from the garden-gate with a loving
look upon her saucy face, and a mischievous smile
at his bent head and desponding appearance.
The Colonial Bar was the favorite haunt of the
inhabitants of Harvey’s Sluice in their hours of
relaxation. There had been a fierce competition
between it and the rival establishment termed the
Grocery, which, in spite of its innocent appellation,
aspired also to dispense spirituous refreshments.
The importation of chairs into the latter had led to
the appearance of a settee in the former. Spittoons
appeared in the Grocery against a picture in the.
Bar, and, as the frequenters expressed it, the honors
were even. When, however, the Grocery led a win-
dow-curtain, and its opponent returned a snuggery
and a mirror, the game was declared to be in favor
of the latter, and Harvey’s Sluice showed its sense
of the spirit of the proprietor by withdrawing their
custom from his opponent.
Though every man was at liberty to swagger into
the Bar itself, and bask in the shimmer of its many
colored bottles, there was a general feeling that the
snuggery, or special apartment, should be reserved
for the use of the more prominent citizens. It was
in this room that committees met, that opulent com-
panies were conceived and born, and that inquests
were generally held. The latter, I regret to state,
13


194 BONES.
was, in 1861, a pretty frequent ceremony at the
Sluice ; and the findings of the coroner were some-
times characterized by a fine breezy originality.
Witness when Bully Burke, a notorious desperado,
was shot down by a quiet young medical man, and a
sympathetic jury brought in that “the deceased had
met his death in an ill-advised attempt to stop a
pistol-ball while in motion,” a verdict which was
looked upon as a triumph of jurisprudence in the
camp, as simultaneously exonerating the culprit,
and adhering to the rigid and undeniable truth.
On this particular evening there was an assem-
blage of notabilities in the snuggery, though no
such pathological ceremony had called them to-
gether. Many changes had occurred of late which
merited discussion; and it was in this chamber, gor-
geous in all the effete luxury of the mirror and
settee, that Harvey Sluice was wont to exchange
ideas. The recent cleansing of the population was
still causing some ferment in men’s minds. Then
there was Miss Sinclair and her movements to be
commented on, and the paying lead in the Conemara,
and the recent rumors of bushrangers. It was no
wonder that the leading men in the township had
come together in the Colonial Bar.
The rangers were the present subject of discus-
sion. For some few days rumors of their presence
had been flying about, and an uneasy feeling had
pervaded the colony. Physical fear was a thing
little known in Harvey’s Sluice. The miners would
have turned out to hunt down the desperadoes with
as much zest as if they had been so many kangaroos.
It was the presence of a large quantity of gold
in the town which caused anxiety. It was felt that
the fruits of their labor must be secured at any cost.
Messages had been sent over to Buckhurst for as


BONES. 195
many troopers as could be spared, and in the mean
time the main street of the Sluice was paraded at
night by volunteer sentinels.
A fresh impetus had been given to the panic by
the report brought in to-day by Jim Struggles.
Jim was of an ambitious and aspiring turn of mind,
and after gazing in silent disgust at his last week’s
clean up, he had metaphorically shaken the clay of
Harvey’s Sluice from his feet, and had started off
into the woods with the intention of prospecting
round until he could hit upon some likely piece of
ground for himself. Jim’s story was that he was
sitting upon a fallen trunk eating his mid-day da1n-
per and rusty bacon, when his trained ear had
caught the clink of horses’ hoofs. He had hardly
time to take the precaution of rolling off the tree
and crouching down behind it, before a troop of
men came riding down through the bush, and
passed within a stone-throw of him.
“There was Bill Smeaton and Murphy Duff,” said
Struggles, naming two notorious ruflians; “and
there was three more that I couldn’t rightly see.
And they took the trail to the right, and looked
like business all over, with their guns in their
hands.”
Jim was submitted to a searching cross-examina-
tion that evening ; but nothing could shake his testi-
mony or throw a further light upon what he had
seen. He told the story several times and at long
intervals; q and though there might be a pleasing
variety in the minor incidents, the main facts were
always identically the same. The matter began to
look serious.
There were a few, however, who were loudly scep-
tical as to the existence of the rangers, and the most
prominent of these was a young man who was


196 BONES.
perched on a barrel in the centre of the room, and
was evidently one of the leading spirits in the com-
munity. We have already seen that dark curling
hair, lack-lustre eye, and thin cruel lip in the person
of Black Tom Ferguson, the rejected suitor of Miss
Sinclair. He was easily distinguishable from the
rest of the party by a tweed coat, and other symp-
toms of effeminacy in his dress, which might have
brought him into disrepute had he not, like Abe
Durton’s partner, early established the reputation of
being a quietly desperate man. On the present oc-
casion he seemed somewhat under the influence of
liquor, a rare occurrence with him, and probably
to be ascribed to his recent disappointment. He
was almost fierce in his denunciation of Jim Strug-
gles and his story.
“It’s always the same,” he said; “if a man meets
a few travellers in the bush, he’s bound to come
back raving about rangers. If they’d seen Strug-
gles there, they would have gone off with a long
yarn about a ranger crouching behind a tree. As
to recognizing people riding fast among tree-trunks
—it is an impossibility.”
Struggles, however, stoutly maintained his origi-
nal assertion, and all the sarcasms and arguments of
his opponent were thrown away upon his stolid
complacency. It was noticed that Ferguson seemed
unaccountably put out about the whole matter.
Something seemed to be on his mind, too; for occa-
sionally he would spring ofl‘ his perch and pace up
and down the room with an abstracted and very for-
bidding look upon his swarthy face. It was a re-
lief to everyone when suddenly catching up his hat,
and wishing the company a curt “ Good-night,” he
walked ofl' through the bar, and into the street be-
yond.


BONES. 197
“ Seems kinder put out,” remarked Long Mc-
Coy.
“He can’t be afeard of the rangers, surely,” said
Joe Shamus, another man of consequence, and prin-
cipal shareholder of the El Dorado
“ No, he’s not the man to be afraid,” answered an-
other. “ There’s something queer about him the
last day or two. He’s been long trips in the woods
without any tools. They do say that the assayer’s
daughter has chucked him over.”
“ Quite right too. A darned sight too good for
him,” remarked several voices.
“ It’s odds but he has another try,” said Shamus. '
“ He’s a hard man to beat when he’s set his mind on
a thing.”
“ Abe Durton’s the horse to win,” remarked Hou-
lahan, a little bearded Irishman. “ It’s sivin to four
I’d be willin’ to lay on him.”
“ And you’d be afther losing your money, a-vich,”
said a young man with a laugh. “ She’ll want more
brains than ever Bones had in his skull, you bet.”
“ Who’s seen Bones to-day ? ” asked McCoy.
“ I’ve seen him,” said the young miner. “ He
came round all through the camp asking for a dic-
tionary—wanted to write a letter likely.”
“ I saw him readin’ it,” said Shamus. “He came
over to me and told me he’d struck something good
at the first show. Showed me a word about as long
as your arm—‘ abdicate,’ or something.”
“ It’s a rich man he is now, I suppose,” said the
Irishman.
“ I/Vell, he’s about made his pile. He holds a
hundred feet of the Conemara, and the shares go up
every hour. If he’d sell out he’d be about fit to go
home.”
“ Guess he wants to take somebody home with


198 BONES.
him,” said another. “Old Joshua wouldn’t object,
seein’ that the money is there.”
I think it has been already recorded in this narra-
tive that Jim Struggles, the wandering prospector,
had gained the reputation of being the wit of the
camp. It was not only in airy badinage, but in the
conception and execution of more pretentious prac-
tical pleasantries that Jim had earned his reputa-
tion. His adventure in the morning had caused a
certain stagnation in his usual flow of humor; but the
company and his potations were gradually restoring
him to a more cheerful state of mind. He had been
brooding in silence over some idea since the depart-
ure of Ferguson, and he now proceeded to evolve it
to his expectant companions.
“ Say, boys,” he began. “ What day’s this?”
“Friday, ain’t it?”
“ No, not that. What day of the month? ”
“ Darned if I know! ”
“Well, I’ll tell you now. It’s the first 0’ April.
I’ve got a calendar in the hut as says so.”
“ What if it is? ” said several voices.
“ Well, don’t you see, it’s All Fools’ day. Couldn’t
we fix up some little joke on some one, eh? Couldn’t
we get a laugh out of it? Now there’s old Bones, for
instance ; he’ll never smell a rat. Couldn’t we send
him ofif somewhere and watch him go maybe? We’d
have something to chaff him on for a month to
come, eh ? ”
There was a general murmur of assent. A joke,
however poor, was always welcome to the Sluice.
The broader the point, the more thoroughly was it
appreciated. There was no morbid delicacy of feel-
ing in the gulches.
“ Where shall we send him? ” was the query.
Jim Struggles was buried in thought for a mo-


BONES. ' 199
ment. Then an unhallowed inspiration seemed to
come over him, and he laughed uproariously, rubbing
his hands between his knees in the excess of his
delight. .
“ Well, what is it ? ” asked the eager audience.
“ See here, boys. There’s Miss Sinclair. You
was saying as Abe’s gone on her. She don’t fancy
him much you think. Suppose we write him a note
—send it him to-night, you know.” '
“ Well, what then? ” said McCoy.
“ Well, pretend the note is from her, d’ye see?
Put her name at the bottom. Let on as she wants
him to come up an’ meet her in the garden at twelve.
He’s bound to go. He’ll think she wants to go ofl'
with him. It’ll be the biggest thing played this
year.”
There was a roar of laughter. The idea conjured
up of honest Bones mooning about in the garden,
and of old Joshua coming out to remonstrate with a
double-barrelled shot-gun, was irresistibly comic.
The plan was approved of unanimously.
“ Here’s pencil and here’s paper,” said the humor-
ist. “ Who’s goin’ to write the letter?”
“ Write it yourself, Jim,” said Shamus.
“ Well, what shall I say? ”
“ Say what you think right.”
“ I don’t know how she’d put it,” said Jim, scratch-
ing his head in great perplexity. “ However, Bones
will never know the differ. How will this do ?
‘ Dear old man. Come to the garden at twelve to-
night, else I’ll never speak to you again,’ eh? ”
“No, that’s not the style,” said the young miner.
“ Mind, she’s a lass of eddication. She’d put it
kinder flowery and soft.”
“ Well, write it yourself,” said Jim, sulkily, hand-
ing him over the pencil.


200 BONES.
“ This is the sort of thing,” said the miner, mois-
tening the point of it in his mouth. “ ‘ When the
moon is in the sky—’ ”
“There it is. That’s bully,” from the company.
“‘A.nd the stars a-shinin’ bright, meet, O meet
me, Adolphus, by the garden-gate at twelve.’ ”
“ His name ain’t Adolphus,” objected a critic.
“ That’s how the poetry comes in,” said the miner.
“ It’s kinder fanciful, d’ye see. Sounds a darned
sight better than Abe. Trust him for guessing who
she means. I’ll sign it Carrie. There! ”
This epistle was gravely passed round the room
from hand to hand, and reverentially gazed upon as
being a remarkable production of the human brain.
It was then folded up and committed to the care of
a small boy, who was solemnly charged under dire
threats to deliver it at the shanty, and to make off
before any awkward questions were asked him. It
was only after he had disappeared in the darkness
that some slight compunction visited one or two of
the company.
“ Ain’t it playing it rather low on the girl? ” said
Shamus.
“And rough on old Bones? ” suggested another.
However, these objections were overruled by the
majority, and disappeared entirely upon the appear-
ance of a second jorum of whiskey. The matter had
almost been forgotten by the time that Abe had re-
ceived his note, and was spelling it out with a pal-
pitating heart under the light of his solitary candle.
That night has long been remembered in Harvey’s
Sluice. A fitful breeze was sweeping down from the
distant mountains, moaning and sighing among the
deserted claims. Dark clouds were hurrying across
the moon, one moment throwing a shadow over the


BONES. 201
landscape, and the next allowing the silvery radi-
ance to shine down, cold and clear upon the little
valley, and bathe in a weird mysterious light the
great stretch of bushland on either side of it. A
great loneliness seemed to rest on the face of Nature.
Men remarked afterward on the strange eerie at-
mosphere which hung over the little town.
It was in the darkness that Abe Durton sallied
out from his little shanty. His partner, Boss Mor-
gan, was still absent in the bush, so that beyond the
ever-watchful Blinky there was no living being to
observe his movements. A feeling of mild surprise
filled his simple soul that his angel’s delicate fingers
could have formed those great straggling hiero-
glyphics; however, there was the name at the foot,
and that was enough for him. She wanted him, no
matter for what, and with a heart as pure and as
- heroic as any knight-errant, this rough miner went
forth at the summons of his love.
He groped his way up the steep winding track
which led to Azalea Villa. There was a little clump
of small trees and shrubs about fifty yards from the
entrance of the garden. Abe stopped for a moment
when he had reached them in order to collect him-
self. It was hardly twelve yet, so that he had a few
minutes to spare. He stood under their dark canopy
peering at the white house vaguely outlined in front
of him. A plain enough little dwelling-place to any
prosaic mortal, but girt with reverence and awe in
the eyes of the lover.
The miner paused under the shade of the trees,
and then moved on to the garden-gate. There was
no one there. He was evidently rather early. The
moon was shining brightly now, and the country
round was as clear as day. Abe looked past the
little villa at the road which ran like a white wind-


202 BONES.
ing streak over the brow of the hill. A watcher
behind could have seen his square athletic figure
standing out sharp and clear. Then he gave a start
as if he had been shot, and staggered up against the
little gate beside him.
He had seen something which caused even his
sunburned face to become a shade paler as he
thought of the girl so near him. Just at the bend
of the road, not two hundred yards away, he saw a
dark moving mass coming round the curve, and lost
in the shadow of the hill. It was but for a moment;
yet in that moment the quick perception of the
practised woodman had realized the whole situation.
It was a band of horsemen bound for the villa; and
what horsemen would ride so by night save the
terror of the woodlands-—the dreaded rangers of the
bush ?
It is true that on ordinary occasions Abe was as
sluggish in his intellect as he was heavy in his
movements. In the hour of danger, however, he was
as remarkable for cool deliberation as for prompt
and decisive action. As he advanced up the garden
he rapidly reckoned up the chances against him.
There were half a dozen of the assailants at the
most moderate computation, all desperate and fear-
less men. The question was whether he could keep
them at bay for a short time and prevent their forc-
ing a passage into the house. We have already
mentioned that sentinels had been placed in the
main street of the town. Abe reckoned that help
would be at hand within ten minutes of the firing of
the first shot.
Were he inside the house he could confidently
reckon on holding his own for a longer period than
that. Before he could rouse the sleepers and gain
admission, however, the rangers would be upon him.


BONES. 203
He must content himself with doing his utmost. At
any rate he would show Carrie that if he could not
talk to her he could at least die for her. The
thought gave him quite a glow of pleasure, as he
crept under the shadow of the house. He cocked
his revolver. Experience had taught him the ad-
vantage of the first shot.
The road along which the rangers were coming
ended at a wooden gate opening into the upper part
of the assayer’s little garden. This gate had a high
acacia hedge on either side of it, and opened into a
short walk also lined by impassable thorny walls.
Abe knew the place well. One resolute man might,
he thought, hold the passage for a few minutes
until the assailants broke through elsewhere and
took him in the rear. At any rate, it was his best
chance. He passed the front door, but forbore to
give any alarm. Sinclair was an elderly man, and
would be of little assistance in such a desperate
struggle as was before him, and the appearance of
lights in the house would warn the rangers of the
resistance awaiting them. O for his partner the
Boss, for Chicago Bill, for anyone of twenty gallant
men who would have come at his call and stood by
him in such a quarrel! He turned into the narrow
pathway. There was the well-remembered wooden
gate; and there, perched upon the gate, languidly
swinging his legs backward and forward, and peer-
ing down the road in front of him, was Mr. John
Morgan, the very man for whom Abe had been long-
ing from the bottom of his heart.
There was short time for explanations. A few
hurried words announced that the Boss, returning
from his little tour, had come across the rangers
riding on their mission of darkness, and overhearing
their destination, had managed, by hard running and


204 'BONES.
knowledge of the country, to arrive before them.
“ No time to alarm any one,” he explained, still pant-
ing from his exertions ; “ must stop them ourselves
—not come for swag—come for your girl. Only
over our bodies, Bones ; ” and with these few broken
words the strangely assorted friends shook hands
and looked lovingly into each other’s eyes, while
the tramp of the horses came down to them on the
fragrant breeze of the woods. _
There were six rangers in all. One who appeared
to be leader rode in front, while the others followed
in a body. They flung themselves ofl their horses
when they were opposite the house, and after a few
muttered words from their captain, tethered the
animals to a small tree, and walked confidently to-
ward the gate. O
Boss Morgan and Abe were crouching down under
the shadow of the hedge, at the extreme end of the
narrow passage. They were invisible to the rangers,
who evidently reckoned on meeting little resistance
in this isolated house. As the first man came for-
ward and half turned to give some order to his com-
rades, both the friends recognized the stern profile
and heavy mustache of Black Ferguson, the re-
jected suitor of Miss Carrie Sinclair. Honest Abe
made a mental vow that he at least should never
reach the door alive.
The ruflian stepped up to the gate and put his
hand upon the latch. He started as a stentorian
“Stand back! ” came thundering out from among
the bushes. In war, as in love, the miner was a man
of few words.
“There’s no road this way,” explained another
voice, with an infinite sadness and gentleness about
it which was characteristic of its owner when the
devil was rampant in his soul. The ranger recog-


BONES. 205
nized it. He remembered the soft languid address
which he had listened to in the billiard-room of the
Buckhurst Arms, and which had wound up by the
mild orator putting his back against the door, draw-
ing a derringer, and asking to see the sharper who
would dare to force a passage. “It’s that infernal
fool Durton,” he said, “ and his white-faced friend.”
Both were well-known names in the country round.
But the rangers were reckless and desperate men.
They drew up to the gate in a body.
“ Clear out of that!” said their leader, in a grim
whisper; “ you can-’t save the girl. Go ofl' with
whole_ skins while you have the chance.”
The partners laughed.
“ Then curse you, come on!”
The gate was flung open and the party fired a
straggling volley, and made a fierce rush toward the
gravelled walk. '
The revolvers cracked merrily in the silence of the
night from the bushes at the other end. It was hard
to aim with precision in the darkness. The second
man sprang convulsively into the air, and fell upon
his face with his arms extended, writhing horribly
in the moonlight. The third was grazed in the leg
and stopped. The others stopped out of sympathy.
After all, the girl was not for them, and their heart
was hardly in the work. Their captain rushed
madly on, like a valiant blackguard as he was, but
was met by a crashing blow from the butt of Abe
Durton’s pistol, delivered with a fierce energy which
sent him reeling back among his comrades with the
blood streaming from his shattered jaw, and his
capacity for cursing cut short at the very moment
when he needed to draw upon it most.
“ Don’t go yet,” said the voice in the darkness.
However, they had no intention of going yet. A


206 BONES.
few minutes must elapse, they knew, before 1;-Iarvey’s
Sluice could be upon them. There was still time
to force the door if they could succeed in mastering
the defenders. What Abe had feared came to pass.
Black Ferguson knew the ground as well as he did.
He ran rapidly along the hedge, and the five crashed
through it where there was some appearance of a
gap. The two friends glanced at each other. Their
flank was turned. They stood up like men who
knew their fate and did not fear to meet it.
There was a wild medley of dark figures in the
moonlight, and a ringing cheer from well-known
voices. The humorists of Harvey’s Sluice had
found something even more practical than the joke
which they had come to witness. The partners saw
the faces of friends beside them—Shan1us, Strug-
gles, McCoy. There was a desperate rally, a sweep-
ing fiery rush, a cloud of smoke, with pistol-shots
and fierce oaths ringing out of it, and when it lifted,
a single dark shadow flying for dear life to the
shelter of the broken hedge was the only ranger
upon his feet within the little garden. But there
was no sound of triumph among the victors; a
strange hush had come over them, and a murmur
as of grief—for there, lying across the threshold
which he had fought so gallantly to defend, lay poor
Abe, the loyal and simple-hearted, breathing heavily
with a bullet through his lungs.
He was carried inside with all the rough tender-
ness of the mines. There were men there, I think,
who would have borne his hurt to have had the love
of that white girlish figure, which bent over the
blood-stained bed and whispered so softly and so
tenderly in his ear. Her voice seemed to rouse
him. He opened his dreamy blue eyes and looked
about him. They rested on her face.


BONES. 207
“Played out,” he murmured; “pardon, Carrie,
morib——” and with a faint smile he sank back upon
the pillow.
However, Abe failed for once to be as good as
his word. His hardy constitution asserted itself,
and he shook off what might in a weaker man have
proved a deadly wound. Whether it was the
balmy air of the woodlands which came sweeping
over a thousand miles of forest into the sick man’s
room, or whether it was the little nurse who tended
him so gently, certain it is that within two months
we heard that he had realized his shares in the
Conemara, and gone from Harvey’s Sluice and the
little shanty upon the hill forever.
I had the advantage, a short time afterward, of
seeing an extract from the letter of a young lady
named Amelia, to whom we have made a casual al-
lusion in the course of our narrative. We have al-
ready broken the privacy of one feminine epistle,
so we shall have fewer scruples in glancing at
another. “ I was bridesmaid,” she remarks, “and
Carrie looked charming” (underlined) “in the vail
and orange blossoms. Such a man, he is, twice as
big as your Jack, and he was so funny, and blushed,
and dropped the prayer-book. And when they asked
the question you could have heard him roar ‘I
do!’ at the other end of George Street. His best
man was a darling” (twice underlined). “ So quiet
and handsome and nice. Too gentle to take care of
himself among those rough men, I am sure.” I
think it quite possible that in the fulness of time
Miss Amelia managed to take upon herself the
care of our old friend Mr. Jack Morgan, commonly
known as the Boss.
A tree is still pointed out at the bend as Fergu-
son’s gum-tree. There is no need to enter into unsav-


208 BONES.
ory details. Justice is short and sharp in primitive
colonies, and the dwellers in Harvey’s Sluice were a
serious and practical race.
It is still the custom for a select party to meet on
a Saturday evening in the snuggery of the Colonial
Bar. On such occasions, if there be a stranger or
guest to be entertained, the same solemn ceremony
is always observed. Glasses are charged in silence ;
there is a tapping of the same upon the table, and
then, with a deprecating cough, Jim Struggles comes
forward and tells the tale of the April joke, and of
what came of it. There is generally conceded to be
something very artistic in the way in which he
breaks ofl' suddenly at the close of his narrative, by
waving his bumper in the air with “An’ here’s to
Mr. and Mrs. Bones. God bless ’em I ” a sentiment
in which the stranger, if he be a prudent man, will
most cordially acquiesce.


SELECTING A GHOST.
THE GHOSTS or eonnsrnonrn GRANGE.
I AM sure that Nature never'intended me to be a
self-made man. There are times when I can hardly
bring myself to realize that twenty years of my life
were spent behind the counter of a grocer’s shop in
the East End of London, and that it was through
such an avenue that I reached a wealthy indepen-
dence and the possession of Goresthorpe Grange.
My habits are Conservative, and my tastes refined
and aristocratic. I have a soul which spurns the
vulgar herd. Our family, the D’Odds, date back to
a prehistoric era, as is to be inferred from the fact
that their advent into British history is not com-
mented on by any trustworthy historian. Some in-
stinct tells me that the blood of a Crusader runs in
my veins. Even now, after the lapse of so many
years, such exclamations as “ By’r Lady!” rise nat-
urally to my lips, and I feel that, should circum-
stances require it, I am capable of rising in my stir-
rups and dealing an infidel a blow—say with a mace
—which would considerably astonish him.
Goresthorpe Grange is a feudal mansion—or so it
was termed in the advertisement which originally
brought it under my notice. Its right to this adjec-
tive had a most remarkable effect upon its price, and
the advantages gained may possibly be more senti-
mental than real. Still, it is soothing to me to know
that I have slits in my staircase through which I can
14


210 SELEYJTING A GHOST.
discharge arrows; and there is a sense of power in
the fact of possessing a complicated apparatus by
means of which I am enabled to pour molten lead
upon the head of the casual visitor. These things
chime in with my peculiar humor, and I do not
grudge to pay for them. I am proud of my battle-
ments and of the circular uncovered sewer which
girds me round. I am proud of my portcullis and
donjon and keep. There is but one thing wanting to
round ofl' the medizevalism of my abode, and to
render it symmetrically and completely antique.
Goresthorpe Grange is not provided with a ghost.
Any man with old-fashioned tastes and ideas as
to how such establishments should be conducted,
would have been disappointed at the omission. In
my case it was particularly unfortunate. From my
childhood I had been an earnest student of the
supernatural, and a firm believer in it. I have
revelled in ghostly literature until there is hardly a
tale bearing upon the subject which I have not pe-
rused. I learned the German language for the sole
purpose of mastering a book upon demonology.
When an infant I have secreted myself in dark
rooms in the hope of seeing some of those bogies
with which my nurse used to threaten me ; and the
same feeling is as strong in me now as then. It was
_a proud moment when I felt that a ghost was one of
the luxuries which my money might command.
It is true that there was no mention of an ap-
parition in the advertisement. On reviewing the
mildewed walls, however, and the shadowy corridors,
I had taken it for granted that there was such a
thing on the premises. As the presence of a kennel
presupposes that of a dog, so I imagined that it was
impossible that such desirable quarters should be
untenimted by one or more restless shades. Good


SELEOTING A GHOST. 211
he'avens, what can the noble family from whom I
purchased it have been doing during these hundreds
of years! Was there no member of it spirited
enough to make away with his sweetheart, or take
some other steps calculated to establish a hereditary
spectre ? Even now I can hardly write with patience
upon the subject.
For a long time I hoped against hope. Never did
rat squeak behind the wainscot, or rain drip upon
the attic floor, without a wild thrill shooting through
me as I thought that at last I had come upon traces
of some unquiet soul. I felt no touch of fear upon
these occasions. If it occurred in the night-time, I
would send Mrs. D’Odd—who is a strong-minded
woman—to investigate the matter, while I covered
up my head with the bedclothes and indulged in an
ecstasy of expectation. Alas, the result was always
the same! The suspicious sound would be traced to
some cause so absurdly natural and commonplace
that the most fervid imagination could not clothe it
with any of the glamour of romance.
I might have reconciled myself to this state of
things, had it not been for Jorrocks of Havistock
Farm. J orrocks is a coarse, burly, matter-of-fact
fellow, whom I only happened to-know through the
accidental circumstance of his fields adjoining my
demesne. Yet this man, though utterly devoid of all
appreciation of archaeological unities, is in posses-
sion of a well-authenticated and undeniable spectre.
Its existence only dates back, I believe, to the reign
of the Second George, when a young lady cut her
throat upon hearing of the death of her lover at the
battle of Dettingen. Still, even that gives the house
an air of respectability, especially when coupled with
blood stains upon the floor. J orrocks is densely
unconscious of his good fortune; and his language


212 SELEOTING A GHOST.
when he reverts to the apparition is painful to listen
to. He little dreams how I covet everyone of those
moans and nocturnal wails which he describes with
unnecessary objurgation. Things are indeed com-
ing to a pretty pass when democratic spectres are
allowed to desert the landed proprietors and annul
every social distinction by taking refuge in the
houses of the great unrecognized.
I have a large amount of perseverance. Nothing
else could have raised me into my rightful sphere,
considering the uncongenial atmosphere in which I
spent the earlier part of my life. I felt now that a
ghost must be secured, but how to set about secur-
ing one was more than either Mrs. D’Odd or myself
was able to determine. My reading taught me that
such phenomena are usually the outcome of crime.
What crime was to be done, then, and who was to do
it ? A wild idea entered my mind that Watkins, the
house-steward, might be prevailed upon—for a con-
sideration—to immolate himself or someone else in
the interests of the establishment. I put the matter
to him in a half-jesting manner; but it did not
seem to strike him in a favorable light. The other
servants sympathized with him in his opinion —
at least, I cannot' account in any other way for
their having left the house in a body the same after-
noon.
“My dear,” Mrs. D’Odd remarked to me one day
after dinner, as I sat moodily sipping a cup of sack
—I love the good old names—“ my dear, that odious
ghost of J orrocks’ has been gibbering again.”
“ Let it gibber I ” I answered, recklessly.
Mrs. D’Odd struck a few chords on her virginal
and looked thoughtfully into the fire.
“ I’ll tell you what it is, Argentine,” she said at
last, using the pet name which we usually substi-


SELECTING A GHOST. 213
tuted for Silas, “we must have a ghost sent down
from London.” ' '
“ How can you be so idiotic, Matilda} ” I remarked,
severely. “ Who could get us such a tning? ”
“ My cousin, Jack Brocket, could,” she answered,
confidently.
Now, this cousin of Matilda’s was rather a sore_
subject between us. He was a rakish, clever young
fellow, who had tried his hand at many things, but
wanted perseverance to succeed at any. He was, at
that time, in chambers in London, professing to be
a general agent, and really living, to a great extent,
upon his wits. Matilda managed so that most of
our business should pass through his hands, which
certainly saved me a great deal of trouble; but I
found that Jack’s commission was generally con-
siderably larger than all the other items of the bill
put together. It was this fact which made me feel
inclined to rebel against any further negotiations
with the young gentleman.
“O yes, he could,” insisted Mrs. D., seeing the
look of disapprobation upon my face. “You remem-
ber how well he managed that business about the
crest '2 ”
“It was only a resuscitation of the old family
coat-of-arms, my dear,” I protested.
Matilda smiled in an irritating manner. “ There
was a resuscitation of the family portraits, too, dear,”
she remarked. “ You must allow that Jack selected
them very judiciously.”
I thought of the long line of faces which adorned
the walls of my banqueting-hall, from the burly
Norman robber, through every gradation of casque,
plume, and ruff, to the sombre Chesterfieldian indi-
vidual who appears to have staggered against a pil-
lar in his agony at the return of a maiden MS. which


214; SELEOTING A GHOST.
he grips convulsively in his right hand. I was fain
to confess that in that instance he had done his work
well, and that it was only fair to give him an order-
with the usual commission—for a family spectre,
should such a thing be attainable.
It is one of my maxims to act promptly when once
my mind is made up. Noon of the next day found
me ascending the spiral stone staircase which leads
to Mr. Brocket’s chambers, and admiring the succes-
sion of arrows and fingers upon the whitewashed
wall, all indicating the direction of that gentleman’s
sanctum. As it happened, artificial aids of the sort
were entirely unnecessary, as an animated flap-dance
overhead could proceed from no other quarter,
though it was replaced by a deathly silence as I
groped my way up the stair. The door was opened
by a youth evidently astounded at the appearance of
a client, and I was ushered into the presence of my
young friend, who was writing furiously in a large
ledger—upside down, as I afterward discovered.
After the first greetings, I plunged into business
at once. '
“Look here, Jack,” I said, “ I want you to get me
a spirit, if you can.”
“Spirits you mean!” shouted my wife’s cousin,
plunging his hand into the waste-paper basket and
producing a bottle with the celerity of a conjuring
trick. “ Let’s have a drink!”
I held up my hand as a mute appeal against such
a proceeding so early in the day; but on lowering it
again I found that I had almost involuntarily closed
my fingers round the tumbler which my adviser had
pressed upon me. I drank the contents hastily off,
lest anyone should come in upon us and set _me
down as a toper. After all there was something
very amusing about the young fellow’s eccentric-ities.


SELEOTING .4 erzOsr. 215
/
“Not spirits,” I explained, smilingly ; “ an appari-
tion—a ghost. If such a thing is to be had, I should
be very willing to negotiate.”
“A ghost for Goresthorpe Grange?” inquired Mr.
Brocket, with as much coolness as if I had asked for
a drawing-room suite.
“ Quite so,” I answered.
“ Easiest thing in the world,” said my companion,
filling up my glass again in spite of my remon-
strance. “ Let us see ! ” Here he took down a large
red note-book, with all the letters of the alphabet in
a fringe down the edge. “A ghost you said, didn’t
you ? That’s G. G—gems—gimlets—gas-pipes—
gauntlets-guns—galleys. Ah, here we are. Ghosts.
Volume nine, section six, page forty-one. Excuse
me!” And Jack ran up a ladder and began rum-
maging among a pile of ledgers on a high shelf. I
felt half inclined to empty my glass into the spittoon
when his back was turned ; but on second thoughts
I disposed of it in a legitimate way.
“ Here it is!” cried my London agent, jumping
off the ladder with a crash, and depositing an enor-
mous volume of manuscript upon the table. “ I
have all these things tabulated, so that I may lay
my hands upon them in a moment. It’s all right—
it’s quite weak” (here he fille_d our glasses again).
“ What were we looking up, again? ”
“ Ghosts,” I suggested.
“ Of course ; page 41. Here we are. ‘ J. H. Fow-
ler & Son, Dunkel Street, suppliers of mediums to
the nobility and gentry ; charms sold—love philtres
—inummies—horoscopes cast.’ Nothing in your
line there, I suppose.
I shook my head despondently.
“ ‘Frederick Tabb,’ ” continued my wife’s cousin,
“ ‘ sole channel of communication between the living


216 SELEOTING A GHOST.
and the dead. Proprietor of the spirits of Byron,
Kirke White, Grimaldi, Tom Cribb, and Inigo Jones.’
That’s about the figure!”
“Nothing romantic enough there,” I objected.
“ Good heavens! Fancy a ghost with a black eye
and a handkerchief tied round its waist, or turning
summersaults, and saying, ‘ How are you to-mor-
row?”’ The very idea made me so warm that I
emptied my glass and filled it again.
“Here is another,” said my companion, “ ‘ Chris-
topher McCarthy; bi-weekly séances—attended by
all the eminent spirits of ancient and modern times.
Nativities — charms — abracadabras, messages from
the dead.’ He might be able to help us. However,
I shall have a hunt round myself to-morrow, and see
some of these fellows. I know their haunts, and it’s
odd if I can’t pick up something cheap. So there’s
an end of business,” he concluded, hurling the ledger
into the corner, “and now we’ll have something to
drink.”
We had several things to drink—so many that my
inventive faculties were dulled next morning, and
I had some little difliculty in explaining to Mrs.
D’Odd why it was that I hung my boots and specta-
cles upon a peg along with my other garments be-
fore retiring to rest. The new hopes excited by the
confident manner in which my agent had undertaken
the commission, caused me to rise superior to alco-
holic reaction, and I paced about the rambling cor-
ridors and old-fashioned rooms, picturing to myself
the appearance of my expected acquisition, and de-
ciding what part of the building would harmonize
best with its presence. After much consideration,
I pitched upon the banqueting-hall as being, on the
whole, most suitable for its reception.' It was a long
low' room, hung round with valuable tapestry and


srrnorzzva A anOsr. 217
interesting relics of the old family to whom it had
belonged. Coats of mail and implements of war
glimmered fitfully as the light of the fire played
over them, and the wind crept under the door, moving
the hangings to and fro with a ghastly rustling. At
one end there was the raised dais, on which in ancient
times the host and his guests used to spread their
table, while a descent of a couple of steps led to the
lower part of the hall, where the vassals and retain-
ers held wassail. The floor was uncovered by any
sort of carpet, but a layer of rushes had been scat-
tered over it by my direction. In the whole room
there was nothing to remind one of the nineteenth
century ; except, indeed, my own solid silver plate,
stamped with the resuscitated family arms, which
was laid out upon an oak table in the centre. This,
I determined, should be the haunted room, suppos-
ing my wife’s cousin to succeed in his negotiation
with the spirit-mongers. There was nothing for it
now but to wait patiently until I heard some news
of the result of his inquiries.
A letter came in the course of a few days, which,
if it was short, was at least encouraging. It was
scribbled in pencil on the back of a playbill, and
sealed apparently with a tobacco-stopper. “Am on
the track,” it said. “ Nothing of the sort to be had
from any professional spiritualist, but picked up a
fellow in a pub yesterday who says he can manage
it for you. Will send him down unless you wire
to the contrary. Abrahams is his name, and he has
done one or two of these jobs before.” The letter
wound up with some incoherent allusions to a
check, and was signed by my affectionate cousin,
John Brocket.
I need hardly say that I did not wire, but awaited
the arrival of Mr. Abrahams with all impatience.


SELECTING A GHOST. 219
artificial, grin. His sole stock-in-trade seemed to
consist of a small leather bag jealously locked and
strapped, which emitted a metallic chink upon being
placed on the stone flags of the hall.
“And ’ow are you, sir? ” he asked, wringing my
hand with the utmost effusion. “And the missus, ’ow
is she ? And all the others—’ow’s all their ’ealth ‘? ”
I intimated that we were all as well as could rea-
sonably be expected, but Mr. Abrahams happened
to catch a glimpse of Mrs. D’Odd in the distance,
and at once plunged at her with another string of
inquiries as to her health, delivered so volubly and
with such an intense earnestness, that I half ex-
pected to see him terminate his cross-examination
by feeling her pulse and demanding a sight of her
tongue. All this time his little eyes rolled round
and round, shifting perpetually from the floor to the
ceiling, and from the ceiling to the walls, taking in
apparently every article of furniture in a single
comprehensive glance.
Having satisfied himself that neither of us was in
a pathological condition, Mr. Abrahams suffered me
to lead him upstairs, where a repast had been laid
out for him to which he did ample justice. The
mysterious little bag he carried along with him, and
deposited it under his chair during the meal. It was
not until the table had been cleared and we were
left together that he broached the matter on which
he had come down.
“I hunderstand,” he remarked, pufiing at a trich-
inopoly, “that you want my ’elp in fitting up this
’ere ’ouse with a happarition.”
I acknowledged the correctness of his surmise,
while mentally wondering at those restless eyes of
his, which still danced about the room as if he were
making an inventory of the contents.


220 srsrrornva A armsr.
“And you won’t find a better man for the job,
though I says it as shouldn’t,” continued my com-
panion. “Wot did I say to the young gent wot
spoke to me in the bar of the Lame Dog? ‘ Can
you do it ?’ says he. ‘ Try me,’ says I, ‘ me and my
bag. Just try me.’ I couldn’t say fairer than that.”
My respect for Jack Br0cket’s business capacities
began to go up very considerably. He certainly
seemed to have managed the matter wonderfully
well. “ You don’t mean to say that you carry ghosts
about in bags?” I remarked, with difiidence.
Mr. Abrahams smiled a smile of superior knowl-
edge. “ You wait,” he said; “give me the right
place and the right hour, with a little of the essence
of Lucoptolycus ”—here he produced a small bottle
from his waistcoat pocket—“ and you won’t find no
ghost that I ain’t up to. You’ll see them yourself,
and pick your own, and I can’t say fairer than that.”
As all Mr. Abrahams’ protestations of fairness
were accompanied by a cunning leer and a wink
from one or other of his wicked little eyes, the im-
pression of candor was somewhat weakened.
“When are you going to do it?” I asked, rever-
entially.
“Ten minutes to one in the morning,” said Mr.
Abrahams, with decision. “Some says midnight,
but I says ten to one, when there ain’t such a crowd,
and you can pick your own ghost. And now,” he
continued, rising to his feet, “ suppose you trot me
round the premises, and let me see where you wants
it; for there’s some places as attracts ’em, and some
as they won’t hear of—not if there was no other
place in the world.”
Mr. Abrahams inspected our corridors and cham-
bers with a most critical and observant eye, fingering
the old tapestry with the air of a connoisseur, and


SELEGTING A GHOST. 221
remarking in an undertone that it would “match
uncommon nice.” It was not until he reached the
banqueting-hall, however, which I had myself picked
out, that his admiration reached the pitch of enthu-
siasm. “ ’Ere’s the place I ” he shouted, dancing, bag
in hand, round the table on which my plate was
lying, and looking not unlike some quaint little
goblin himself. “’Ere’s the place; we won’t get
nothin’ to beat this! A fine room—noble, solid,
none of your electro-plate trash! That’s the way
as things ought to be done, sir. Plenty of room for
’em to glide here. Send up some brandy and the '
box of weeds; I’ll sit here by the fire and do the
preliminaries, which is more trouble than you’d
think; for them ghosts carries on hawful at times,
before they finds out who they’ve got to deal with.
If you was in the room they’d tear you to pieces
as like as not. You leave me alone to tackle them,
and at half-past twelve come in, and I lay they’ll
be quiet enough by then.”
Mr. Abrahams’ request struck me as a reasonable
one, so I left him with his feet upon the mantel-
piece, and his chair in front of the fire, fortifying
himself with stimulants against his refractory vis-
itors. From the room beneath, in which I sat with
Mrs. D’Odd, I could hear that, after sitting for some
time, he rose up and paced about the hall with quick
impatient steps. We then heard him try the lock
of the door, and afterward drag some heavy article
of furniture in the direction of the window, on which,
apparently, he mounted, for I heard the creaking
of the rusty hinges as the diamond-paned casement
folded backward, and I knew it to be situated
several feet above the little man’s reach. Mrs.
D’Odd says that she could distinguish his voice
speaking in low and rapid whispers after this, but


222 SELEOTING A GHOST.
that may have been her imagination. I confess that
I began to feel more impressed than I had deemed
it possible to be. There was something awesome
in the thought of the solitary mortal standing by
the open window and summoning in from the gloom
outside the spirits of the nether world. It was with
a trepidation which I could hardly disguise from
Matilda that I observed that the clock was pointing
to half-past twelve, and that the time had come for
me to share the vigil of my visitor.
He was sitting in his old position when I entered,
. and there were no signs of the mysterious move-
ments which I had overheard, though his chubby
face was flushed as with recent exertion.
“Are you succeeding all right‘.l” I asked as I
came in, putting on as careless an air as possible,
but glancing involuntarily round the room to see
if we were alone.
“Only your help is needed to complete the
matter,” said Mr. Abrahams, in a solemn voice.
“You shall sit by 1ne and partake of the essence
of Lucoptolycus, which removes the scales from our
earthly eyes. Whatever you may chance to see,
speak not and make no movement, lest you break
the spell.” His manner was subdued, and his usual
cockney vulgarity had entirely disappeared. I took
the chair which he indicated, and awaited the re-
sult.
My companion cleared the rushes from the floor in
our neighborhood, and, going down upon his hands
and knees, described a half-circle with chalk, which
enclosed the fireplace and ourselves. Round the
edge of this half-circle he drew several hieroglyphics,
not unlike the signs of the zodiac. He then stood
up and uttered a long invocation, delivered so rapidly
that it sounded like a single gigantic word in some


224 SELECTING A GHOST.
had I not been recalled to myself by the opening of
the door at the other end of the hall.
This door led on to the raised dais, which, as I
have mentioned, the heads of the house used to re-
serve for their own use. As it swung slowly back
upon its hinges, I sat up in my chair, clutching
at the arms, and staring with a horrified glare at the
dark passage outside. Something was coming down
it—something unformed and intangible, but still a
something. Dim and shadowy, I saw it flit across
the threshold, while a blast of ice-cold air swept
down the room, which seemed to blow through me,
chilling my very heart. Iwas aware of the myste-
rious presence, and then I heard it speak in a voice
like the sighing of an east wind among pine-trees
on the banks of a desolate sea.
It said: “I am the invisible nonentity. I have
afiinities and am subtle. I am electric, magnetic,
and spiritualistic. I am the great ethereal sigh-
heaver. I kill dogs. Mortal, wilt thou choose
me ? ”
I was about to speak, but the words seemed to be
choked in my throat; and, before I could get them
out, the shadow flitted across the hall and vanished
in the darkness at the other side, while a long-drawn
melancholy sigh quivered through the apartment.
I turned my eyes toward the door once more,
and beheld, to my astonishment, a very small old
woman, who hobbled along the corridor and into
the hall. She passed backward and forward sev-
eral times, and then, crouching down at the very
edge of the circle upon the floor, she disclosed aface
the horrible malignity of which shall never be ban-
ished from my recollection. Every foul passion ap-
peared to have left its mark upon that hideous coun-
tenance.


SELEOTING A GHOST. 225
“Ha! ha!” she screamed, holding out her wiz-
ened hands like the talons of an unclean bird. “ You
see what I am. I am the fiendish old woman. I
wear snufi”-colored silks. My curse descends on
people. Sir Walter was partial to me. Shall I be
thine, mortal?”
I endeavored to shake my head in horror; on
which she aimed a blow at me with her crutch,
and vanished with an eldritch scream.
By this time _my eyes turned naturally toward
the open door, and I was hardly surprised to see a
man walk in of tall and noble stature. His face was
deadly pale, but was surmounted by a fringe of dark
hair which fell in ringlets down his back. A short
pointed beard covered his chin. He was dressed in
loose-fitting clothes, made apparently of yellow
satin, and a large white ruff surrounded his neck.
He paced across the room with slow and majestic
strides. Then turning, he addressed me in a sweet,
exquisitely modulated voice. _
“ I am the cavalier,” he remarked. “ I pierce and
am pierced. Here is my rapier. I clink steel. This
is a blood stain over my heart. I can emit hollow
groans. I am patronized by many old Conservative '
families. I am the original manor-house appari-
tion. I work alone, or in company with shrieking
damsels.”
He bent his head courteously, as though awaiting
my reply, but the same choking sensation prevented
me from speaking; and, with a deep bow, he disap-
peared.
He had hardly gone before a feeling of intense
horror stole over me, and I was aware of the pres-
ence of a ghastly creature in the room, of dim out-
lines and uncertain proportions. One moment it
seemed to pervade the entire apartment, while at
15


226 SELEOTING A GHOST.
another it would become invisible, but always leav-
ing behind it a distinct consciousness of its presence.
Its voice, when it spoke, was quavering and gusty.
It said: “ I am the leaver of footsteps and the spiller
of gouts of blood. Itramp upon corridors. Charles
Dickens has alluded to me. I make strange and dis-
agreeable noises. I snatch letters and place invisible
hands on people’s wrists. I am cheerful. I burst
into peals of hideous laughter. Shall I do one
now ? ” I raised my hand in a deprecating way, but
too late to prevent one discordant outbreak which
echoed through the room. Before I could lower it
the apparition was gone.
I turned my head toward the door in time to see
a man come hastily and stealthily into the chamber.
He was a sunburnt powerfully built fellow, with
ear-rings in his ears and a Barcelona handkerchief
tied loosely round his neck. His head was bent
upon his chest, and his whole aspect was that of
one afliicted by intolerable remorse. He paced
rapidly backward and forward like a caged tiger,
and I observed that a drawn knife glittered in one
_ of his hands, while he grasped what appeared to be
a piece of parchment in the other. His voice, when
he spoke, was deep and sonorous. He said, “I am
a murderer. I am a rufiian. I crouch when I walk.
I step noiselessly. I know something of the Span-
ish Main. I can do the lost treasure business. I
have charts. Am able-bodied and a good walker.
Capable of haunting a large park.” He looked
toward me beseechingly, but before I could make a
sign I was paralyzed by the horrible sight which
appeared at the door.
It was a very tall man, if, indeed, it might be
called a man, for the gaunt bones were protruding
through the corroding flesh, and the features were


SELEOTING A GHOST. 227
of a leaden hue. A windinglsheet was wrapped
round the figure, and formed a hood over the head,
from under the shadow of which two fiendish eyes,
deep set in their grisly sockets, blazed and sparkled
like red-hot coals. The lower jaw had fallen upon
the breast, disclosing a withered, shrivelled tongue
and two lines of black and jagged fangs. I shud-
dered and drew back as this fearful apparition ad-
vanced to the edge of the circle.
“ I am the American blood-curdler,” it said, in a
voice which seemed to come in a hollow murmur
from the earth beneath it. “None other is genuine.
I am the embodiment of Edgar Allan Poe. I am
circumstantial and horrible. I am a low-caste
spirit-subduing spectre. Observe my blood and my
bones. I am grisly and nauseous. No depending
on artificial aid. Work with grave-clothes, a coflin-
lid, and a galvanic battely. Turn hair white in a
night.” The creature stretched out its fleshless
arms to me as if in entreaty, but I shook my
head; and it vanished, leaving a low, sickening,
repulsive odor behind it. I sank back in my
chair, so overcome by terror and disgust that I
would have very willingly resigned myself to dis-
pensing with a ghost altogether, could I have been
sure that this was the last of the hideous proces-
s1on.
A faint sound of trailing garments warned me
that it was not so. I looked up, and beheld a white
figure emerging from the corridor into the light.
As it stepped across the threshold I saw that it' was
that of a young and beautiful woman dressed in the
fashion of a bygone day. Her hands were clasped
in front of her, and her pale proud face bore traces
of passion and of suffering. She crossed the hall
with a gentle sound, like the rustling of autumn


228 ' SELECTING A GHOST.
leaves, and then, turning her lovely and unutterably
sad eyes upon me, she said,
“ I am the plaintive and sentimental, the beautiful
and ill-used. I have been forsaken and betrayed.
I shriek in the night-time and glide down passages.
My antecedents are highly respectable and gener-
ally aristocratic. My tastes are aesthetic. Old oak
furniture like this would do, with a few more coats
of mail and plenty of tapestry. Will you not take
me ‘? ”
Her voice died away in a beautiful cadence as she
concluded, and she held out her hands as if in sup-
plication. I am always sensitive to female influ-
ences. Besides, what would J orrocks’s ghost be to
this? Gould anything be in better taste? Would
I not be exposing myself to the chance of injuring
my nervous system by interviews with such creat-
ures as my last visitor, unless I decided at once?
She gave me a seraphic smile, as if she knew what
was passing in my mind. That smile 'settled the
matter. “She will do!” I cried; “I choose this
one; ” and as, in my enthusiasm, I took a step
toward her I passed over the magic circle which had
girdled me round.
“Argentine, we have been robbed! ”
I had an indistinct consciousness of these words
being spoken, or rather screamed, in my ear a great
number of times without my being able to grasp
their meaning. A violent throbbing in my head
seemed to adapt itself to their rhythm, and I closed
my eyes to the lullaby of “ Robbed, robbed, robbed.”
A vigorous shake caused me to open them again,
however, and the sight of Mrs. D’Odd in the scanti-
est of costumes 'and most furious of tempers was
sufliciently impressive to recall all my scattered
thoughts, and make me realize that I was lying on


SELEOTING A GHOST. 229
my back on the floor, with my head among the
ashes which had fallen from last night’s fire, and
a small glass phial in my hand.
I staggered to my feet, but felt so weak and giddy
that I was compelled to fall back into a chair. As
my brain became clearer, stimulated by the exclama-
tions of Matilda, I began gradually to recollect the
events of the night. There was the door through
which my supernatural visitors had filed. There was
the circle of chalk with the hieroglyphics round the
edge. There was the cigar-box and brandy-bottle
which had been honored by the attentions of Mr.
Abrahams. But the seer himself—where was he?
and what was this open window with'a rope running
out of it? And where, O where, was the pride of
Goresthorpe Grange, the glorious plate which was
to have been the delectation of generations of
D’Odc1s ? And why was Mrs. D. standing in the
gray light of dawn, wringing her hands and repeat-
ing her monotonous refrain ? It was only very
gradually that my misty brain took 'these things in,
and grasped the connection between them.
Reader, I have never seen Mr. Abrahams since;
I have never seen the plate stamped with the resus-
citated family crest; hardest of all, I have never
caught a glimpse of the melancholy spectre with the
trailing garments, nor do I expect that I ever shall.
In fact my night’s experiences have cured me of my
mania for the supernatural, and quite reconciled me
to inhabiting the humdrum nineteenth-century ed-
ifice on the outskirts of London which Mrs. D. has
long had in her mind’s eye.
As to the explanation of all that occurred—that
is a matter which is open to several surmises. That
Mr. Abrahams, the ghost-hunter, was identical with
Jemmy ‘Wilson, alias the Nottingham crackster, is


230 SELEOTING A GHOST.'
considered more than probable at Scotland Yard,
and certainly the description of that remarkable
burglar tallied very well with the appearance of my
visitor. The small bag which I have described was
picked up in a neighboring field next day, and
found to contain a choice assortment of jemmies and
centrebits. Footmarks deeply imprinted in the mud
on either side of the moat showed that an accom-
plice from below had received the sack of precious
metals which had been let down through the open
window. No doubt the pair of scoundrels, while
looking round for a job, had overheard Jack Brock-
et’s indiscreet inquiries, and promptly availed them-
selves of the tempting opening.
And now as to my less substantial visitors, and -
the curious grotesque vision which I had enjoyed»-
am I to lay it down to any real power over occult
matters possessed by my Nottingham friend? For
a long time I was doubtful upon the point, and
eventually endeavored to solve it by consulting a
well-known analyst and medical man, sending him
the few drops of the so-called essence of Lucoptoly-
cus which remained in my phial. I append the let-
ter which I received from him, only too happy to
have the opportunity of winding up my little narra-
tive by the weighty words of a man of learning =
“ ARUNDEL STREET.
“DEAR SIR: Your very singular case has inter-
.ested me extremely. The bottle which you sent
contained a strong solution of chloral, and the quan-
tity which you describe yourself as having swallowed
must have amounted to at least eighty grains of the
pure hydrate. This would of course have reduced
you to a partial state of insensibility, gradually
going on to complete coma. In this semi-uncon-


.5'Ii'LF1G'l'1JVG A GHOST. 231
scious state of chloralism it is not unusual for cir-
cumstantial and bizarre visions to present them-
selves—more especially to individuals unaccustomed
to the use of the drug. You tell me in your note
that your mind was saturated with ghostly litera-
ture, and that you had long taken a morbid interest
in classifying and recalling the various forms in
which apparitions have been said to appear. You
must also remember that you were expecting to see
something of that very nature, and that your ner-
vous system was worked up to an unnatural state of
tension. Under the circumstances, I think that, far
from the sequel being an astonishing one, it would
have been very surprising indeed to any one versed
in narcotics had you not experienced some such
effects.—I remain, dear sir, sincerely yours,
“T. E. STUBE, M.D.
“ARGENTINE D’Onn, Esq.
“Tun ELMS, BB1x'roN.”


THE MYSTERY OF SASASSA VALLEY.
A SOUTH AFRICAN sronr.
D0 I know why Tom Donahue is called “Lucky
Tom?” Yes; I do; and that is more than one in
ten of those who call him so can say. I have knocked
about a deal in my time, and seen some strange
sights, but none stranger than the way in which
Tom gained that sobriquet, and his fortune with it.
For I was with him at the time.'—Tell it ? ' Oh, cer-
tainly; but it is a longish story and a very strange
one; so fill up your glass again, and light another
- cigar while I try to reel it ofi‘. Yes, a very strange
one; beats some fairy stories I have heard; but it-’s
true, sir, every word of it. There are men alive at
Cape Colony now who’ll remember it and confirm
what I say. Many a time has the tale been told
round the fire in Boers’ cabins from Orange State to
Griqualand; yes, and out in the Bush and at the
Diamond Fields too. _
I’m roughish now, sir; but I was entered at the
Middle Temple once, and studied for the Bar. Tom
—worse luck !—was one of my fellow-students; and
a wildish time we had of it, until at last our finances
ran short, and we were compelled to give up our so-
called studies, and look about for some part of the
world where two young fellows with strong arms
and sound constitutions might make their mark.
In those days the tide of emigration had scarcely
begun to set in toward Africa, and so we thought


THE MYSTERY OF SASASSA VALLEY. 2->3
1'}
our best chance would be down at Cape Colony.
IVel1—to make a long story short—we set sail, and
were deposited in Cape Town with less than five
pounds in our pockets; and there we parted. We
each tried our hands at many things, and had ups
and downs; but when, at the end of three years,
chance led each of us up-country and we met again,
_we were, I regret to say, in almost as bad a plight
as when we started.
Well, this was not much of a commencement;
and very disheartened we were, so disheartened that
Tom spoke of going back to England and getting a
clerkship. For you see we didn’t know that we had
played out all our small cards, and that the trumps
were going to turn up. No ; we thought our “ hands "
were bad all through. It was a very lonely part of
the country that we were in, inhabited by a few scat-
tered farmers, whose houses were stockaded and
fenced in to defend them against the Kaflirs. Tom
Donahue and I had a little hut right out in the
Bush; but we were known to possess nothing, and
to be handy with our revolvers, so we had little to
fear. There we waited, doing odd jobs, and hoping
that something would_turn up. \Vell, after we had
been there about a month something did turn up
upon a certain night, something which was the mak-
ing of both of us; and it’s about that night, sir, that
I’m going to tell you. I remember it well. The
wind was howling past our cabin, and the rain
threatened to burst in our rude window. We had
a great wood-fire crackling and sputtering on the
hearth, by which I was sitting mending a whip, while
Tom was lying in his bunk groaning disconsolately
at the chance which had led him to such a place.
“Cheer up, Tom—cheer up,” said I. “No man
ever knows what may be awaiting him.”


23d _ THE MYSTERY OF’ SASASSA VALLEY.
“ Ill-luck, ill-luck, Jack,” he answered. “ I always
was an unlucky dog. Here have I been three years
in this abominable country; and I see lads fresh
from England jingling the money in their pockets,
while I am as poor as when I landed. Ah, Jack, if
you want to keep your head above water, old friend,
you must try your fortune away from me.”
“Nonsense, Tom; you’re down in your luck to-
night. But hark I Here’s some one coming outside.
Dick Wharton, by the tread ; he’ll rouse you, if any
man can.”
Even as I spoke the door was flung open, and
honest Dick Wharton, with the water pouring from
him, stepped in, his hearty red face looming through
the haze like a harvest-moon. He shook himself,
and after greeting us sat down by the fire to warm
himself.
“Whereaway, Dick, on such a night as this?”
said I. “You’ll find the rheumatism a worse foe
than the Kafiirs, unless you keep more regular
hours.” '
Dick was looking unusually serious, almost fright-
ened, one would say, if one did not know the man.
“Had to go,” he replied—“ had to go. One of
Madison’s cattle was seen straying down Sasassa
Valley, and of course none of our blacks would go
down that Valley at night ; and if we had waited till
morning, the brute would have been in Kafiirland.”
“Why wouldn’t they go down Sasassa Valley at
night ? ” asked Tom.
“ Kaflirs, I suppose,” said I.
“ Ghosts,” said Dick.
We both laughed.
“I suppose they didn’t give such a lnatter-of-
fact fellow as you a sight of their charms?” said
Tom, from the bunk.


THE MYSTERY OF SASA/SSA VALLEY. 235 '
“Yes,” said Dick, seriously—“ yes; I saw what
the niggers talk about; and I promise you, lads, I
don’t want ever to see it again.”
Tom sat up in his bed. “ Nonsense, Dick; you’re
joking, man! Come, tell us all about it. The le-
gend first, and your own experience afterward. Pass
him over the bottle, Jack.”
“ Well, as to the legend,” began Dick—“ it seems
that the niggers have had it handed down to them
that that Sasassa Valley is haunted by a frightful
fiend. Hunters and wanderers passing down the
defile have seen its glowing eyes under the shadows
of the cliff; and the story goes that whoever has
chanced to encounter that baleful glare has had his
after-life blighted by the malignant power of this
creature. Whether that be true or not,” continued
Dick, ruefully, “ I may have an opportunity of judg-
ing for myself.”
“ Go on, D_ick—go on,” cried Tom. “Let’s hear
about what you saw.”
“Well, I was groping down the Valley, looking
for that cow of Madison’s, and I had, I suppose, got
half-way down, where a black craggy clifi‘ juts into
the ravine on the right, when I halted to have a pull
at my flask. I had my eye fixed at the time upon
the projecting clifl' I have mentioned, and noticed
nothing unusual about it. I then put up my flask
and took a step or two forward, when in a moment
there burst, apparently from the base of the rock,
about eight feet from the ground and a hundred
yards from me, a strange, lurid glare, flickering and
oscillating, gradually dying away and then reap-
pearing again.—No, no; I’ve seen many a glow-
worm and fire-fly—nothing of that sort. There it
was, burning away, and I suppose I gazed at it,
trembling in every limb, for fully ten minutes. Then


236 THE MYSTERY 011' SASASSA VALLEY.
I took a step forward, when instantly it vanished,
vanished like a candle blown out. I stepped back
again ; but it was some time before I could find the
exact spot and position from which it was visible.
At last, there it was, the weird reddish light, flicker-
ing away as before. Then I screwed up my cour-
age, and made for the rock; but the ground was so
uneven that it was impossible to steer straight ; and
though I walked along the whole base of the cliff, I
could see nothing. Then I made tracks for home;
and I can tell you, boys, that until you remarked it, I
never knew it was raining, the whole way along.—
But hollo! what’s the matter with Tom ? ”
What indeed ? Tom was now sitting with his legs
over the side of the bunk, and his whole face be-
traying excitement so intense as to be almost pain-
ful. “ The fiend would have two eyes. How many
lights did you see, Dick ? Speak out! ”
“ Only one.”
“ Hurrah!” cried Tom—“that’s better.” Where-
upon he kicked the blankets into the middle of the
room, and began pacing up and down'with long,
feverish strides. Suddenly he stopped opposite
Dick,'and laid his hand upon his shoulder : “ I say,
Dick, could we get to Sasassa Valley before sun-
rise ? ”
“ Scarcely,” said Dick.
“Well, look here ; we are old friends, Dick Whar-
ton, you and I. Now, don’t you tell any other man
what you have told us, for a week. You’ll promise
that ; won’t you?”
I could see by the look on Dick’s face as he ac-
quiesced that he considered poor Tom to be mad;
and indeed I was myself completely mystified by his
conduct. I had, however, seen so many proofs of
my friend’s good sense and quickness of apprehen-


THE MYSTERY OF’ SASASSA VALLEY. 237
sion, that I thought it quite possible that Wharton’s
story had had a meaning in his eyes which I was too
obtuse to take in.
All night Tom Donahue was greatly excited, and
when Wharton left he begged him to remember his
promise, and also elicited from him a description of
the exact spot at which he had seen the apparition, as
well as the hour at which it appeared. After his de-
parture, which must have been about four in the
morning, I turned into my bunk and watched Tom
sitting by the fire splicing two sticks together, until
I fell asleep. I suppose I must have slept about
two hours; but when I awoke Tom was still sit-
ting working away in almost the same position. He
had fixed the one stick across the top of the other
so as to form a rough T, and was now busy in
fitting a smaller stick into the angle between
them, by manipulating which, the cross one could
be either cocked up or depressed to any extent.
He had cut notches, too, in the perpendicular stick,
so that by the aid of the small prop, the cross one
could be kept in any position for an indefinite
time.
“Look here, Jack!” he cried, whenever he saw_
that I was awake. “Come and give me your
opinion. Suppose I put this cross-stick pointing
straight at a thing, and arranged this small one so
as to keep it so, and left it, I could find that thing
again if I wanted it—don’t you think I could, Jack
—don’t you think so "8 ” he continued nervously,
clutching me by the arm.
“ Well,” I answered, “it would depend on how far
off the thing was, and how accurately it was pointed.
If it were any distance, I’d cut sights on your cross-
stick ; then a string tied to the end of it, and held in
a plumb-line forward, would lead you pretty near


238 THE MYSTERY OF SASASSA. VALLEY.
what you wanted. But surely, Tom, you don’t in-
tendto localize the ghost in that way ? ”
“ You’ll see to-night, old friend—you’ll see to-
night. I’ll carry this to the Sasassa Valley. You
get the loan of Madison’s crowbar, and come with
me ; but mind you tell no man where you are going,
or what you want it for.”
All day Tom was walking up and down the room,
' or working hard at the apparatus. His eyes were
glistening, his cheeks hectic, and he had all the
symptoms of high fever. “ Heaven grant that
Dick’s diagnosis be not correct!” Ithought, as I
returned with the crowbar; and yet, as evening
drew near, I found myself imperceptibly sharing the
excitement.
About six o’clock Tom sprang to his feet and
seized his sticks. “ I can stand it no longer, Jack,”
he cried; “up with your crowbar, and hey for Sa-
sassa Valley! To-night’s work, my lad, will either
make us or mar us! Take your six-shooter, in case
we meet the Kafiirs. I daren’t take mine, J ack.” he
continued, putting his hands upon my shoulders—
“I daren’t take mine; for if my ill-luck sticks to
me to-night, I don’t know what I might not do with
it.”
VVell, having filled our pockets with provisions,
we set out, and as we took our wearisome way tow-
ard the Sasassa Valley, I frequently attempted to
elicit from my companion some clew as to his inten-
tions. But his only answer was : “ Let us hurry on,
Jack. Who knows how many have heard of Whar-
ton’s adventure by this time! Let us hurry on, or
we may not be first in the field! ”
Well, sir, we struggled on through the hills for
a matter of ten miles; till at last, after descending
a crag, we saw opening out in front of us a ravine so


THE MYSTERY OF SASASSA VALLEY. 239
sombre and dark that it might have been the gate
of Hades itself; clifl's many hundred feet shut in
on every side the gloomy bowlder-studded passage
which led through the haunted defile into Kafiirland.
The moon, rising above the crags, threw into strong
relief the rough, irregular pinnacles of rock by which
they were topped, while all below was dark as Ere-
bus.
“ The Sasassa Valley ? ” said I.
“Yes,” said Tom.
I looked at him. He was calm now; the flush and
feverishness had passed away; his actions were de-
liberate and slow. Yet there was a certain rigidity
in his face and glitter in his eye which showed that
a crisis had come. _
We entered the pass, stumbling along amid the
great bowlders. Suddenly I heard a short quick ex-
clamation from To1n. “That’s the crag!” he cried,
pointing to a great mass looming before us in the
darkness. “ Now, Jack, for any favor use your eyes!
We’re about a hundred yards from that cliff, I take
it ; so you move sl0wly_ toward one side and I’ll do
the same toward the other. When you see anything,
stop, and call out. Don’t take more than twelve
inches in a step, and keep your eye fixed on the
cliff about eight feet from the ground. Are you
ready ‘2 ”
“Yes.” I was even more excited than Tom by
this time. What his intention or object was I could
not conjecture, beyond that he wanted to examine
by daylight the part of the clifl' from which the
light came. Yet the influence of the romantic situ-
ation and my companion’s suppressed excitement
was so great that I could feel the blood coursing
through my veins and count the pulses throbbing
at my temples.


221:0 THE MYSTERY OF SASASSA VALLEY.
“ Start ! ” cried Tom ; and we moved ofl', he to the
right, I to the left, each with our eyes fixed intently
on the base of the crag. I had moved perhaps
twenty feet, when in a moment it burst upon me.
Through the growing darkness there shone a small,
ruddy, glowing point, the light from which waned
and increased, flickered and oscillated, each change
producing a more weird effect than the last. The
old Kaflir superstition came into my mind, and I felt
a cold shudder pass over me. In my excitement I
stepped a pace backward, when instantly the light
went out, leaving utter darkness in its place; but
when I advanced again, there was the ruddy glare
glowing from the base of the cliff. “ Tom, Tom ! ” I _
cried.
“ Ay, ay! ” I heard him exclaim, as he hurried
over toward me.
“ There it is—there, up against the cliff I ”
Tom was at my elbow. “ I see nothing,” said he.
“ IVhy, there, there, man, in front of you!” I
stepped to the right as I spoke, when the light in-
stantly vanished from my eyes.
But from Tom’s ejaculations of delight it was
clear that from my former position it was visible to
him also. “ Jack,” he cried, as he turned and wrung
my hand —“ Jack, you and I can never complain of
our luck again. Now heap up a few stones where
we are standing. That’s right. Now we must fix
my sign-post firmly in at the top. There! It would
take a strong wind to blow that down ; and we only
need it to hold out till morning. O Jack, my boy,
to think that only yesterday we were talking of be-
coming clerks, and you saying that no man knew
what was awaiting him, too I By Jove, Jack, it
would make a good story! ”
By this time we had firmly fixed the perpendicular


TIIE MYSTERY OF SASASSA VALLEY. 24.-1
stick i11 between two large stones; and Tom bent
down and peered along the horizontal one. For
fully a quarter of an hour he was alternately raising
and depressing it, until at last, with a sigh of satis-
faction, he fixed the prop into the angle, and stood
up. “Look along, Jack,” he said. “You have as
straight an eye to take a sight as any man I know
of.”
I looked along. There beyond the further' sight
was the ruddy scintillating speck, apparently at the
end of the stick itself, so accurately had it been
adjusted.
“And now, my boy,” said Tom, “let’s have some
supper and a sleep. There’s nothing more to be
done to-night; but we’ll need all our wits and
strength to-morrow. Get some sticks and kindle a
fire here, and then we’ll be able to keep an eye on
our signal-post, and see that nothing happens to it
during the night.”
Well, sir, we kindled a fire, and had supper with
the Sasassa demon’s eye rolling and glowing in
front of us the whole night through. Not always in
the same place though; for after supper, when I
glanced along the sights to have another look at it,
it was nowhere to be seen. The information did not,
however, seem to disturb Tom in any way. He
merely remarked: “It’s the moon, not the thing,
that has shifted;” and coiling himself up, went to
sleep.
By early dawn we were both up, and gazing along
our pointer at the cliff ; but we could make out
nothing save the one dead monotonous slaty sur-
face, rougher perhaps at the part we were examining
than elsewhere, but otherwise presenting nothing
remarkable. “
“Now for your idea, Jack!” said Tom Donahue,
16


242 THE MYSTERY OF’ SASASSA VALLEY.
unwinding a long thin cord from round his waist.
“ You fasten it, and guide me while I take the other
end.” So saying, he walked off to the base of the
cliff, holding one end of the cord, while I drew the
other taut, and wound it round the middle of
the horizontal stick, passing it through the sight
at the end. By this means I could direct Tom to
the right or left, until we had our string stretching
from the point of attachment, through the sight,
and on to the rock, which it struck about eight feet
from the ground. Tom drew a chalk circle of about
three feet diameter round the spot, and then called
to me to come and join him. “ We’ve managed this
business together, Jack,” he said, “and we’ll find
what we are to find, together.” The circle he had
drawn embraced a part of the rock smoother than
the rest, save that about the centre there were a few
rough protuberances or knobs. One of these Tom
pointed to with a cry of delight. It was a roughish,
brownish mass about the size of a man’s closed fist,
and looking like a bit of dirty glass let into the
wall of the cliff. “ That’s it I ” he cried—“ that’s it l ”
“ That’s what?”
“ Why, man, a diamonrl, and such a one as there
isn’t a monarch in Europe but would envy Tom
Donahue the possession of. Up with your crowbar,
and we’ll soon exorcise the demon of Sasassa Val-
ley I ”
I was so astounded that for a moment I stood
speechless with surprise, gazing at the treasure
which had so unexpectedly fallen into our hands.
“Here, hand me the crowbar,” said Tom. “ Now,
by using this little round knob which projects from
the clifl' here, as a fulcrum, we may be able to lever
'it ofl.—Yes ; there it goes. I never thought it could
have come so easily. Now, Jack, the sooner we get


THE M YSTER Y OF SASASSA VALLEY. 243
back to our hut and then down to Cape Town, the
better.”
We wrapped up our treasure, and made our way
across the hills toward home. On the way, Tom
told me how, while a law-student in the Middle
Temple, he had come upon a dusty pamphlet in
the library, by one J ans van Hounym, which told
of an experience very similar to ours, which had
befallen that worthy Dutchman in the latter_ part
of the seventeenth century, and which resulted in
the discovery of a luminous diamond. This tale
it was which had come into Tom’s head as he
_listened to honest Dick Wharton’s ghost-story;
while the means which he had adopted to verify
his supposition sprang from his own fertile Irish
brain.
“We’ll take it down to Cape Town,” continued
Tom, “ and if we can’t dispose of it with advantage
there, it will be worth our while to ship for London
with it. Let us go along to Madison’s first, though ;
he knows something of these things, and can per-
haps give us some idea of what we may consider a
fair price for our treasure.”
We turned ofl' from the track accordingly, before
reaching our hut, and kept along the narrow path
leading to Madison’s farm. He was at lunch when
we entered ; and in a minute we were seated at each
side of him, enjoying South African hospitality.
“Well,” he said, after the servants were gone,
“what’s in the wind now?' I see you have some-
thing to say to me. What is it ? ”
Tom produced his packet, and solemnly untied
the ha-ndkerchiefs which enveloped it. “There!”
he said, putting his crystal on the table; “ what
would you say was a fair price for that ? ”
Madison took it up and examined it critically.


244 THE MYSTERY OF SASASSA VALLEY.
“Well,” he said, laying it down again, “ inits crude
state about twelve shillings per ton.”
“ Twelve shillings! ” cried Tom, starting to his
feet. “ Don’t you see what it is?”
“ Bock-salt ! ” '
“ Rock-salt be d—d! a diamond.”
“ Taste it!” said Madison.
Tom put it to his lips, dashed it down with a dread-
ful exclamation, and rushed out of the room.
I felt sad and disappointed enough myself; but
presently, remembering what Tom had said about the
pistol, I, too, left the house, and 'made for the hut,
leaving Madison open-mouthed with astonishment.
When I got in, I found Tom lying in his bunk with
his face to the wall, too dispirited apparently to
answer my consolations. Anathematizing Dick and
Madison, the Sasassa demon, and everything else, I
strolled out of the hut, and refreshed myself with a
pipe after our wearisome adventure. I was about
fifty yards from the hut, when I heard issuing from
it the sound which of all others I least expected to
hear. Had it been a groan or an oath, I should have
taken it as a matter of course ; but the sound which
caused me to stop and take the pipe out of my mouth
was a hearty roar of laughter! Next moment, Tom
himself emerged from the door, his whole face radiant
with delight. “Game for another ten-mile walk, old
fellow ‘? ”
“\Vhat! for another lump of rock-salt, at twelve
shillings a ton ? ”
“ ‘ No more of that, Hal, an’ you love me,’ ” grinned
Tom. “Now look here, Jack. What blessed fools
we are to be so floored by a trifle! Just sit on this
stump for five minutes, and I’ll make it as clear as
daylight. You’ve seen many a lump of rock-salt
stuck in a crag, and so have I, though we did make


THE MY'TERY OF SASASSA I/'ALLEY. 245
such a mull of this one. Now, Jack, did any of the
pieces you have ever seen shine in the darkness
brighter than any fire-fly ? ”
“ Well, I can’t say they ever did.”
“I’d venture to prophesy that if we waited until
night, which we wonit do, we would see that light
still glimmering among the rocks. Therefore, Jack,
when we took away this worthless salt, we took the
wrong crystal. It is no very strange thing in these
hills that a piece of rock-salt should be lying within
a foot of a diamond. It caught our eyes, and we
were excited, and so we made fools of ourselves, and
left the real stone behind. Depend upon it, Jack, the
Sasassa gem is lying within that magic circle of chalk
upon the face of yonder cliff. Come, old fellow, light
your pipe and stow your revolver, and we’ll be off
before that fellow Madison has time to put two and
two together.”
I don’t know that I was very sanguine this time.
I had begun in fact to look upon the diamond as a
most unmitigated nuisance. However, rather than
throw a damper on Tom’s expectations, I announced
myself eager to start. What a walk' it was! Tom
was always a good mountaineer, but his excitement
seemed to lend him wings that day, while I scrambled
along after him as best I could. When we got within
half a mile he broke into the “double,” and never
pulled up until he reached the round white circle
upon the cliff. Poor old Tom! when I came up, his
mood had changed, and he was standing with his
hands in his pockets, gazing vacantly before him
with a rueful countenance.
“Look!” he said—“ look ! ” and he pointed at the
cliff. Not a sign of anything in the least resembling
a diamond there. The circle included nothing but
fiat slate-colored stone, with one large hole, where


246 THE MYSTERY OF SASASSA VALLEY.
we had extracted the rock-salt, and one or two smaller
depressions. No sign of the gem.
“ I’ve been over every inch of it,” said poor Tom.
“ It’s not there. Someone has been here and noticed
the chalk, and taken it. Come home, Jack ; I feel
sick and tired. Oh! had any man ever luck like
mine I ”
I turned to go, but took one last look at the cliff
first. Tom was already ten paces off.
“Hollol” I cried, “don’t you see any change in
that circle since yesterday?”
“ What d’ye mean ? ” said Tom.
“ Don’t you miss a thing that was there before '1? ”
“ The rock-salt ? ” said Tom.
“ No ; but the little round knob that we used for a
fulcrum. I suppose we must have wrenched it ofl' in
using the lever. Let’s have a look at what it’s made
of.”
Accordingly, at the foot of the cliff we searched
about among the loose stones. .
“Here you are, Jack! We’ve done it at last!
We’re made men!”
I turned round, and there was Tom radiant with
delight, and with a little corner of black rock in his
hand. At first sight it seemed to be merely a chip
from the cliff ; but near the base there was projecting
from it an object which Tom was now exultingly
pointing out. It looked at first something like a
glass eye ; but there was a depth and brilliancy about
it such as glass never exhibited. There was no-mis-
take this time; we had certainly got possession of a
jewel of great value; and with light hearts we turned
from the valley, bearing away with us the “fiend”
which had so long reigned there.
There, sir; I’ve spun my story out too long, and
tired you perhaps. You see, when I get talking of -


THE MYSTERY On sasassa VALLEY. 247
those rough old days, I kind of see the little cabin
again, and the brook beside it, and the bush around,
and seem to hear Tom’s honest voice once more.
There’s little for me to say now. We prospered on
the gem. Tom Donahue, as you know, has set up
here, and is well known about town. I have done
well, farming and ostrich-raising in Africa. We set
old Dick Wharton up in business, and he is one of
our nearest neighbors. If you should ever be com-
ing up our way, sir, y'ou’ll not forget to ask for Jack
Turnbull—Jack Turnbull -of Sasassa Farm.


THE AMERICANS TALE.
“IT air strange, it air,” he was saying as I opened
the door of the room where our social little semi-
literary society met; “but I could tell you queerer
thingsthan that ’ere—almighty queer things. You
can’t learn everything out of books, sirs, nohow. You
see, it ain’t the men as can string English together
and as has had good eddications, as finds themselves
in the queer places I’ve been in. They’re mostly
rough men, sirs, as can scarce speak aright, far less
tell with pen and ink the things they’ve seen ; but if
they could they’d make some of your European’s
har riz_ with astonishment. They would, sirs, you
bet!”
His name was Jefferson Adams, I believe ; I know
his initials were J. A., for you may see them yet
deeply 'whittled on the right-hand upper panel of
our smoking-room door. He left us this legacy, and
also some artistic patterns done in tobacco juice
upon our Turkey carpet; but beyond these reminis-
cences our American story-teller has vanished from
our ken. He gleamed across our ordinary quiet
conviviality like some brilliant meteor, and then was
lost in the outer darkness. That night, however,
our Nevada friend was in full swing ; and I quietly
lit my pipe and dropped into the nearest chair,
anxious not to interrupt his story.
“Mind you,” he continued, “I hain’t got no grudge
against your men of science. I likes and respects a
chap as can match every beast and plant, from a


THE’ A]l{ERIO'AN’S TALE. 2-19
huckleberry to a grizzly with a jaw-breakin’ name;
but if you wants real interestin’ facts, something a
bit juicy, you go to your whalers and your frontiers-
men, and your scouts and Hudson Bay men, chaps
who mostly can scarce sign their names.”
There was a pause here, as Mr. Jefferson Adams
produced a long cheroot and lit it. We preserved
a strict silence in the room, for we had already
learned that on the slightest interruption our Yankee
drew himself into his shell again. He glanced round
with a self-satisfied smile as he remarked our expect-
ant looks, and continued through a halo of smoke :
“Now, which of you gentlemen has ever been ins
Arizona? None, I’ll warrant. And of all English
or Americans as can put pen to paper, how many
has been 'in Arizona? Precious few, I calc’late.
I’ve been there, sirs, lived there for years; and when
I think of what I’ve seen there, why, I can scarce get
myself to believe it now.
“Ah, there’s a country! I was one of \Valker’s
filibusters, as they chose to call us ; and after we’d
busted up, and the chief was shot, some on us made
tracks and located down there. A reg’l-ar English
and American colony, we was, with our wives and_
children, and all complete. I reckon there’s some of
the old folk there yet, and that they hain’t forgotten
what I’m agoing to tell you. No, I warrant they
hain’t, never on this side of the grave, sirs.
“I was talking about the country, though; and I
guess I could astonish you considerable if I spoke
of nothing else. To think of such a land being built
for a few ‘Greasers’ and half-breeds! It’s a mis-
using of the gifts of Providence, that’s what I calls
it. Grass as hung over a chap’s head as he rode
through it, and trees so thick that you couldn’t catch
a glimpse of blue sky for leagues and leagues, and


250 THE AIIIERIOAZWS TALE.
orchids’ like umbrellas! Maybe some on you has
seen a plant as they calls the ‘fly-catcher,’ in some
parts of the States?”
“ Dianoea muscipula,” murmured Dawson, our
scientific man par excellence.
“Ah, ‘Die near a municipal,’ that’s him! You’ll
see a fly stand on that ’ere plant, and then you’ll see
the two sides of a leaf snap up together and catch it
between them, and grind' it up and mash it to bits,
for all the world like some great sea squid with its
beak; and hours after, if you open the leaf, you’ll
see the body lying half-digested, and in bits. We1l,
I’ve seen those fly-traps in Arizona with leaves eight
and ten feet long, and thorns or teeth a foot or more ;
why, they c0uld—But darn it, I’m going too fast!
“ It’s about the death of Joe Hawkins I was going
to tell you ; ’bout as queer a thing, I reckon, as ever
you heard tell on. There wasn’t nobody in Montana
as didn’t know of Joe I-Iawkins—‘ Alabama ’ Joe, as
he was called there. A reg’lar out and outer, he
was, ’bout the darndest skunk as ever man clapt
eyes on. He was a good chap enough, mind ye, as
' long as you stroked him the right way; but rile him
anyhow, and he were worse nor a wild-cat. I’ve
seen him empty his six-shooter into a crowd as
chanced to jostle him a—going into Simps0n’s bar
when there was a dance on; and he bowied Tom
Hooper ’cause he spilt his liquor over 'his weskit by
mistake. No, he didn’t stick at murder, Joe didn’t ;
and he weren’t a man to be trusted further nor you
could see him. _
“Now, at the time I tell on, when Joe Hawkins
was swaggerin’ about the town and layin’ down the
law with his shootin’-irons, there was an Englishman
there of the name of Scott—Tom Scott, if I rec’lects
aright. This chap Scott was a thorough Britisher


THE AMERIOAN ‘S TALE. 251
(beggin’ the present company’s pardon), and yet he
didn’t freeze much to the British set there, or they
didn’t freeze much to him. He was a quiet, simple
man, Scott was—rather too quiet for a rough set
like that; sneakin’ they called him, but he weren’t
that. He kept hisself mostly apart, and didn’t inter-
fere with nobody so long as he were left alone.
Some said as how he’d been kinder ill-treated at
home~—been a Chartist, or something of that sort,
and had to up stick and run ; but he never spoke of
it hisself, an’ never complained. Bad luck or good,
that chap kept a stiff lip on him.
“ This chap Scott was a sort 0’ butt among the men
about Montana, for he was so quiet an’ simple-like.
There was no party either to take up his grievances;
for, as I’ve been saying, the Britishers hardly
counted him one of them, and many a rough joke
they played on him. He never cut up rough, but
was polite to all hisself. I think the boys got to
think he hadn’t much grit in him till he showed ’em
their mistake.
“ It was in Simpson’s bar as the row got up, an’
that led to the queer thing I was going to tell you
of. Alabama Joe and one or two other rowdies were
dead on the Britishers in those days, and they spoke
their opinions pretty free, though I warned them as
there’d be an almighty muss. That partic’lar night
Joe was nigh half drunk, an’ he swaggered about
the town with his six-shooter, lookin’ out for a'
quarrel. Then he turned into the bar, where he
know’d he’d find some o’ the English as ready for
one as he was hisself. Sure enough, there was half
a dozen lounging about, an’ Tom Scott standin’
alone before the stove. Joe sat down by the table,
and put his revolver and bowie down in front of
him. ‘Them’s my arguments, Jefl',’ he says to me,


252 ' THE AMERIO'AN‘S TALE.
‘if any white-livered Britisher dares give me the
lie.’ I tried to stop him, sirs; but he weren’t a
man as you could easily turn, an’ he began to speak
in a way as no chap could stand. Why, even a
‘Greaser’ would flare up if you said as much of
Greaserland! There was a commotion at the bar, an’
every man laid his hands on his wepin’s; but afore
they could draw we heard a quiet’ voice from the
stove: ‘Say your prayers, Joe Hawkins; for, by
Heaven, you’re a dead man!’ Joe turned_ round,
and looked like grabbin’ at his iron ; but it weren’t
no manner of use. Tom Scott was standing up,
covering him with his derringer; a smile on his
white face, but the very devil shining in his eye.
‘It ain’t that the old country has used me over-
well,’ he says, ‘but no man shall speak agin’ it
afore me, and live.’ ‘ For a second or two I could see
his finger tighten round the trigger, an’ then he gave
a laugh, an’ threw the pistol on the floor. ‘No,’
he says, ‘I can’t shoot a half-drunk man. Take
your dirty life, Joe, an’ use it better nor you have
done. You’ve been nearer the grave this night than
you will be agin until your time comes. You’d best
make tracks now, I guess. Nay, never look black at
me, man; I’m not afeard at your shootin’-iron. A
bully’s nigh always a coward.’ And he swung con-
temptuously round, and relit his half-smoked pipe
from the stove; while Alabama slunk out o’ the bar,
with the laughs of the Britishers ringing in his ears. _
I saw his face as he passed me, and on it I saw
murder, sirs_1nurder, as plain as ever I seed any-
thing in my life.
“I stayed in the bar after the row, and watched
Tom Scott as he shook hands with the men about.
It seemed kinder queer to me to see him smilin’ and
cheerful-like; for I knew Joe’s bloodthirsty mind,


THE A.l[ERIO'AN’S TALE. 253
and that the Englishman had small chance of ever
seeing the morning. He lived in an out-of-the-way
sort of place, you see, clean ofl' the trail, and had to
pass through the Flytrap Gulch to get to it. This
here gulch was a marshy gloomy place, lonely
enough during the day even; for it were always a
creepy sort o’ thing to see the great eight- and ten-
foot leaves snapping up if aught touched them ; but
at night there were never a soul near. Some parts
of the marsh, too, were soft and deep, and a body
thrown in would be gone by the morning. I could
see Alabama Joe crouchin’ under the leaves of the
great Flytrap in the darkest part of the gulch, with
a scowl on his face and a revolver in his hand; I
could see it, sirs, as plain as with my two eyes.
“ ’Bout midnight Simpson shuts up his bar, so
out we had to go. Tom Scott started off for his
three-mile walk at a slashing pace. I just dropped
him a hint as he passed me, for I kinder liked the
chap. ‘ Keep your derringer loose in your belt,
sir,’ I says, ‘for you might chance to need it.’ He
looked round at me with his quiet smile, and then I
lost sight of him in the gloom. I never thought to
see him again. He’d hardly gone afore Simpson
comes up to me and says, ‘ There’ll be a nice job in
the Flytrap Gulch to-night, Jeff; the boys say that
Hawkins started half an hour ago to wait for Scott
and shoot him on sight. I calc’late the coroner ’ll
be wanted to-morrow.’
“ What passed in the gulch that night? It were a
question as were asked pretty free next morning. A
half-breed was in Ferguson’s store after daybreak,
_ and he said as he’d chanced to be near the gulch
’bout one in the morning. It warn’t easy to get at
his story, he seemed so uncommon scared; but he
told us, at last, as he’d heard the fearfullest screams


254 THE AMERIOAN ‘S TALE.
in the stillness of the night. There weren’t no shots,
he said, but scream after scream, kinder muflied,
like a man with a serapé over his head, an’ in mortal
pain. Abner Brandon and me, and a few more, was
in the store at the time; so we mounted and rode
out to Scott’s house, passing through the gulch on
the way. There weren’t nothing partic’lar to be
seen there—no blood nbr marks of a fight, nor
nothing; and when we gets up to Scott’s house, out
he comes to meet us as fresh as a lark. ‘Hullo,
Jeff!’ says he, ‘no need for the pistols after all.
Come in an’ have a cocktail, boys.’ ‘ Did ye see or
hear nothing as ye came home last night?’ says I.
‘No,’ says he; ‘all was quiet enough. An owl
kinder moaning in the Flytrap Gulch—that was all.
Come, jump off and have a glass.’ ‘Thank ye,’
says Abner. So off we gets, and Tom Scott rode
into the settlement with us when we went back.
“An allfired commotion was on in Main Street
as we rode into it. The ’Merican party seemed to
have gone clean crazed. Alabama Joe was gone,
not a darned particle of him left. Since he went
out to the gulch nary eye had seen him. As we
got off our horses there was a considerable crowd
in front of Simpson’s, and some ugly looks at Tom
Scott, I can tell you. There was a clickin’ of pistols,
and I saw as Scott had his hand in his bosom too.
There weren’t a single English face about. ‘Stand
aside, Jeff Adams,’ says Zebb Humphrey, as great a
scoundrel as ever lived,‘ you hain’t got no hand in
this game. Say, boys, are we, free Americans, to
be murdered by any darned Britisher '2 ’ It was the -
quickest thing as ever I seed. There was a rush an’
a crack; Zebb was down, with Scott’s ball in his
thigh, and Scott hisself was on the ground with a
dozen men holding him. It weren’t no use strug-


THE A]t{E'RIO'AN’S TALE. 255
gling, so he lay quiet. They seemed a bit uncertain
what to do .with him at first, but then one of Ala-
bama’s special chums put them up to it. ‘Joe’s
gone,’ he said; ‘nothing ain’t surer nor that, an’
there lies the man as killed him. Some on you
knows as Joe went on business to the gulch last
night; he never came back. That ’ere Britisher
passed through after he’d gone; they’d had a row,
screams is heard ’mong the great flytraps. I say
agin he has played poor Joe some 0’ his sneakin’
tricks, an’ thrown him into the swamp. It ain’t no
wonder as the body is gone. But air we to stan’
by and see English murderin’ our own chums? I
guess not. Let Judge Lynch try him, that’s what
I say.’ ‘Lynch him!’ shouted a hundred angry
voices—for all the rag-tag an’ bobtail o’ the settle-
ment was round us by this time. ‘ Here, boys, fetch
a rope, and swing him up. Up with him over Simp-
son’s door K1’ ‘ See here, though,’ says another, com-
ing forrard ; ‘ let’s hang him by the great flytrap in
the gulch. Let Joe see as he’s revenged, if so be as
he’s buried ’b0ut theer.’ There was a shout for this,
an’ away they went, with Scott tied on his mustang
in the middle, and a mounted guard, with cocked
revolvers, round him; for we knew as there was a
score or so Britishers about, as didn’t seem to recog-
nize Judge Lynch, and was dead on a free fight.
“I went out with them, my heart bleedin’ for
Scott, though he didn’t seem a cent' put out, he
didn’t. He were game to the backbone. Seems
kinder queer, sirs, hangin’ a man to a fiytrap; but
our’n were a reg’lar tree, and the leaves like a brace
of boats with a hinge between ’em and thorns at the
bottom.
“We passed down the gulch to the place where
the great one grows, and there we seed it with the


256 TIIE AJIIERIOAN ’S TALE’.
leaves, some open, some shut. But we seed some-
thing worse nor that. Standin’ round the tree was
some thirty men, Britishers all, an’ armed to the
teeth. They was waitin’ for us evidently, an’ had
a business-like look about ’em, as if they’d come for
something and meant to have it. There was the
raw material there for about as warm a scrimmidge
as ever I seed. As we rode up, a great red-bearded
Scotchman—Cameron were his name—stood out
afore the rest, his revolver cocked in his hand.
‘ See here, boys,’ he says, ‘you’ve got no call to
hurt a hair of that man’s head. You hain’t proved
as Joe is dead yet ; and if you had, you hain’t proved
as Scott killed him. Anyhow, it were in self-de-
fence ; for you all know as he was lying in wait for
Scott, to shoot him on sight; so I say agin, you
hain’t got no call to hurt that man; and what’s
more, I’ve got thirty six-barrelled arguments against
your doin’ it.’ ‘ It’s an interestirf pint, and worth
arguin’ out,’ said the man as was Alabama Joe’s
special chum. There was a clickin’ of pistols, and
a loosenin’ of knives, and the two parties began to
draw up to one another, an’ it looked like a rise
in the mortality of Montana. Scott was standing
behind with a pistol at his ear if he stirred, lookin’
quiet and composed as having no money on the
table, when sudden he gives a start an’ a shout as
rang in our ears like a trumpet. ‘Joe!’ he cried,
‘Joe! Look at him! In the flytrap!’ We all
turned an’ looked where he was pointin’. Jerusalem!
I think we won’t get that picter out of our minds
agin. One of the great leaves of the flytrap, that
had been shut and touchin’ the ground as it lay, was
slowly rolling back upon its hinges. There, lying
like a child in its cradle, was Alabama Joe in the
hollow of the leaf. The great thorns had been


THE AMERI(]AN’S TALE. 257
slowly driven through his heart as it shut upon'
him. We could see as he’d tried to cut his way
out, for there was a slit in the thick fleshy leaf, an’
his bowie was in his hand; but it had smothered
him first. He’d lain down on it likely to keep the
damp off while he were awaitin’ for Scott, and it had
closed on him as you’ve seen your little hothouse
ones do on a fly ; an’ there he were as we found him,
torn and crushed into pulp by the great jagged
teeth of the man-eatin’ plant. There, sirs, I think
you’ll own as that’s a curious story.” _
“And what became of Scott?” asked Jack Sin-
clair. ' '
“Why, we carried him back on our shoulders,
we did, to Simpson’s bar, and he stood us liquors
round. Made a speech too-—a darned fine speech-
from the counter. Somethin’ about the British lion
an’ the ’Merican eagle walkin’ arm in arm forever
an’ a day. And now, sirs, that yarn was long, and
my cheroot’s out, so I reckon I’ll make tracks afore
it’s later;” and with a “ Good-night!” he left the
room.
“ A most extraordinary narrative!” said Dawson.
“ Who would have thought a Dianoea had such
power I ”
_ “ Deuced rum yarn! ” said young Sinclair.
“ Evidently a matter-of-fact, truthful man,” said
the doctor.
“ Or the most original liar that ever lived,” said I.
I wonder which he was.
17


OUR DERBY SWEEPSTAKES.
“ BOB I ” I shouted.
No answer. '
“Bob! "
A rapid crescendo of snores ending in a prolonged
gasp.
“Wake up, Bob I ”
“What the deuce is the row ‘? ” said a very sleepy
voice.
“ It’s nearly breakfast-time,” I explained.
“ Bother breakfast - time ! ” said the rebellious
spirit in the bed.
“ And here’s a letter, Bob,” said I.
“ Why on earth couldn’t you say so at once "? Come
on with it ; ” on which cordial invitation I marched
into my brother’s room and perched myself upon the
side of his bed.
“Here you are,” said I: “ Indian stamp—Brindisi
postmark. Who is it from ? ”
“ Mind your own business, Stumpy,” said my
brother, as he pushed back his curly tangled locks,
and, after rubbing his eyes, proceeded to break the
seal. Now, if there is one appellation for which
above all others I have a profound contempt, it is
this one of “Stumpy.” Some miserable nurse, im-
pressed by the relative proportions of my round
grave face and little mottled legs, had dubbed me
with the odious nickname in the days of my child-
hood. I am not really a bit more stumpy than any
other girl of seventeen. On the present occasion I


OUR DERBY SWEEPSTAKES. 259
rose in all the dignity of wrath, and was about to
dump my brother on the head with the pillow by
way of remonstrance, when a look of interest in his
face stopped me.
“Who do you think is coming. Nelly? ” he said.
“ An old friend of yours.”
“ What I from India ‘? Not Jack Hawthorne ? ”
“Even so,” said Bob. “Jack is coming back and
going to stay with us. He says he will be here al-
most as soon as his letter. Now don’t dance about
like that. You’ll knock down the guns, or do some
damage. Keep quiet like a good girl, and sit down
here again.” Bob spoke with all the weight of the
two-and-twenty summers which had passed over his
towsy head, so I calmed down and settled into my
former position.
“ Won’t it be jolly?” I cried. “ But, Bob, the last
time he was here he was a boy, and now he is a man.
He won’t be the same Jack at all.”
“Well, for that matter,” said Bob, “ you were only
a girl then—a nasty little girl with ringlets, while
now--”
“ What now ‘? ” I asked.
Bob seemed actually on the eve of paying me a
compliment.
“Well, you haven’t got the ringlets, and you are
ever so much bigger, you see, and nastier.”
Brothers are a blessing for one thing. There is no
possibility of any young lady getting unreasonably
conceited if she be endowed with them.
I think they were all glad at breakfast-time to
hear of Jack Hawthorne’s promised advent. By “all ”
I mean my mother and Elsie and Bob. Our cousin
Solomon Barker looked anything but overjoyed
when I made the announcement in breathless tri-
umph. I never thought of it before, but perhaps


260 OUR DERBY SWEEPSTAKES.
that young man is getting fond of Elsie, and is
afraid of a rival; otherwise I don’t see why such a
simple thing should have caused him to push away
his egg, and declare that he had done famously, in
an aggressive manner which at once threw doubt
upon his proposition. Grace Maberly, Elsie’s friend,
seemed quietly contented, as is her wont.
As for me, I was in a riotous state of delight.
Jack and I had been children together. He was like
an elder brother to me until he became a cadet and
left us. How often Bob and he had climbed old
Brown’s apple-trees, while I stood beneath and col-
lected the spoil in my little white pinafore! There
was hardly a scrape or adventure which I could re-
member in which Jack did not figure as a prominent
character. But he was “Lieutenant” Hawthorne
now, had been through the Afghan War, and was, as
Bob said, “quite the warrior.” Whatever would he
look like ‘? Somehow the “ warrior ” had conjured up
an idea of Jack in full armor with plumes on his
head, thirsting for blood, and hewing at somebody
with an enormous sword. After doing that sort of
thing I was afraid he would never descend to romps
and charades and the other stock amusements of
Hatherley House. -
Cousin Sol was certainly out of spirits during the
next few days. He could be hardly persuaded to
make a fourth at lawn-tennis, but showed an extra-
ordinary love of solitude and strong tobacco. We
used to come across him in the most unexpected
places, in the shrubbery and down by the river, on
which occasions, if there was any possibility of
avoiding us, he would gaze rigidly into the distance,
and utterly ignore feminine shouts and the waving
of parasols. It was certainly very rude of him. I
got hold of him one evening before dinner, and


OUR DERBY SWEEPSTAKES. 261
drawing myself up to my full height of five feet four
and a half inches, I proceeded to give him a piece of
my mind, a process which Bob characterizes as the
height of charity, since it consists in my giving away
what I am most in need of myself.
Cousin Sol was lounging in a rocking-chair with
the Times before him, gazing moodily over the top
of it into the fire. I ranged up alongside and poured
in my broadside.
“We seem to have given you some offence, Mr.
Barker,” I remarked, with lofty courtesy.
“What do you mean, Nell?” asked my cousin,
looking up at me in surprise. He had a very curious
way of looking at me, had cousin Sol.
“ You appear to have dropped our acquaintance,” I
remarked; and then suddenly descending from my
heroics, “ You are stupid, Sol! What’s been the
matter with you ?”
“Nothing, Nell. At least, nothing of any conse-
quence. You know my medical examination is in
two months, and I am reading for it.”
“Oh,” said I, in a bristle of indignation, “ if that’s
it, there’s no more to be said. Of course, if you prefer
bones to your female relations, it’s all right. There
are young men who would rather make themselves
agreeable than mope in‘ corners and learn how to
prod people with knives.” With which epitome of
the noble science of surgery, I proceeded to straight-
en some refractory antimacassars with unnecessary
violence.
I could see Sol looking with an amused smile at
the angry little blue-eyed figure in front of him.
“Don’t blow me up, Nell,” he said; “I have been
plucked once, you know. Besides,” looking grave,
“ you’ll have amusement enough when this—what is
his name ‘?—Lieutenant Hawthorne comes.”


262 OUR DERBY SWEEPSTAKES.
“Jack won’t go and associate with mummies and
skeletons, at any rate,” I remarked.
“ Do you always call him Jack ? ” asked the
student.
“ Of course I do, John sounds so stiff.”
“ Oh, it does, does it ‘? ” said my companion,
doubtfully.
I still had my theory about Elsie running in my
head. I thought I might try and set the matter in
a more cheerful light. Sol had got up, and was star-
ing out of the open window. I went over to him
and glanced up timidly into his usually good-
humored face, which was now looking very dark
and discontented. He was a shy man, as a rule, but
I thought that with a little leading he might be
brought to confess.
“ You’re a jealous old thing,” I remarked.
The young man colored and looked down at me.
“ I know your secret,” said I, boldly.
“ What secret ? ” said he, coloring even more.
“Never you mind. I know it. Let me tell you
this,” I added, getting bolder : “that Jack and Elsie
never got on very well. There is far more chance of
J ack’s falling in love with me. We were always
friends.” _
If I had stuck the knitting-needle which I held in
my hand into cousin Sol, he could not have given a
greater jump. “ Good heavens!” he said, and I
could see his dark eyes staring at me through the
twilight. “ Do you really think that it is your sister
that I care for ? ”
“ Certainly,” said I, stoutly, with a feeling that I
was nailing my colors to the mast.
Never did a single word produce such an effect.
Cousin Sol wheeled round with a gasp of astonish-
ment, and sprang right out of the window. He


OUR DERBY SWEEPSTAKES. 263
always had curious ways of expressing his feelings,
but this one struck me as being so entirely original
that I was utterly bereft of any idea save that of
wonder. I stood staring out into the gathering
darkness. Then there appeared, looking in at me
from the lawn, a very much abashed and still rather
astonished face. “ It’s you I care for, Nell,” said the
face, and at once vanished, while I heard the noise
of somebody running at the top of his speed down
the avenue. He certainly was a most extraordinary
young man.
Things went on very much the same at Hatherley
House in spite of cousin Sol’s characteristic declara-
tion of affection. He never sounded me as to my
sentiments in regard to him, nor did he allude to
the matter for several days. He evidently thought
that he had done all which was needed in such
cases. He used to discompose me dreadfully at
times, however, by coming and planting himself
opposite me, and staring at me with a stony rigidity
which was absolutely appalling.
“Don’t do that, Sol,” I said to him one day;
“you give me the creeps all over.”
“ Why do I give you the creeps, Nelly 2 ” said he.
“ Don’t you, like me ? ”
“Oh yes, I like you well enough,” said I. “ I like
Lord Nelson, for that matter; but I shouldn’t like
his monument to come and stare at me by the hour.
It makes me feel quite all-overish.”
“What on earth put Lord Nelson into your
head ? ” said my cousin.
“ I’m sure I don’t know.”
“Do you like me the same way you like Lord
Nelson, Nell ? ”
“ Yes,” I said, “only more.” With which small
ray of encouragement poor Sol had to be content,


264 OUR DERBY SWEEPSTAKES.
as Elsie and Miss Maberly came rustling into the
room and put an end to our téte-d-téte.
I certainly did like my cousin. I knew what a
simple true nature lay beneath his quiet exterior.
The idea of having Sol Barker for a lover, however
-——-Sol, whose very name was synonymous with bash-
fulness—was too incredible. Why couldn’t he fall
in love with Grace or with Elsie "? They might have
known what to do with him; they were older than
I, and could encourage him, or snub him, as they
thought best. Gracie, however, was carrying on a
mild flirtation with my brother Bob, and Elsie
seemed utterly unconscious of the whole matter. I
have one characteristic recollection of my cousin
which I cannot help introducing here, though it has
nothing to do with the thread of the narrative. It
was on the occasion of his first visit to Hatherley
House. The wife of the Rector called one day, and
the responsibility of entertaining her rested with
Sol and myself. We got on very well at first. Sol
was unusually lively and talkative. Unfortunately
a hospitable impulse came upon him; and in spite
of many warning nods and winks, he asked the
visitor if he might offer her a glass of wine. Now,
as ill luck would have it, our supply had just been
finished, and though we had written to London, a
fresh consignment had not yet arrived. I listened
breathlessly for the answer, trusting she would re-
fuse; but to my horror she accepted with alacrity.
“Never mind ringing, Nell,” said Sol, “I’ll act as
butler;” and with a confident smile he marched
into the little cupboard in which the decanters were
usually kept. It was not until he was well in that
he suddenly recollected having heard us mention in
the morning that there was none in the house. His
mental anguish was so great that he spent the re-


OUR DERBY SWEEPSTAKES. 265
mainder of Mrs. Salter’s visit in the cupboard,
utterly refusing to come out until after her depart-
ure. Had there been any possibility of the wine-
press having another egress, or leading anywhere,
matters would not have been so bad; but I knew
that old Mrs. Salter was as well up in the geography
of the house as I was myself. She stayed for three-
quarters of an hour waiting for Sol’s reappearance,
and then went away in high dudgeon. “My dear,”_
she said, recounting the incident to her husband,
and breaking into semi-scriptural language in the _
violence of her indignation, “the cupboard seemed
to open and swallow him 1”
“Jack is coming down by the tw'o o’clock train,”
said Bob one morning, coming in to breakfast with a
telegram in his hand.
I could see Sol looking at me reproachfully; but
that did not prevent me from showing my delight at
the intelligence.
“ \Ve’ll have awful fun when he comes,” said Bob.
“We’ll drag the fish-pond, and have no end of a
lark. Won’t it be jolly, Sol? ”
Sol’s opinion of its jollity was evidently too great
to be expressed in words ; for he gave an inarticu-
late grunt as answer.
I had a long cogitation on the subject of Jack in
the garden that morning. After all, I was becom-
ing a big girl, as Bob had forcibly reminded me. I
must be circumspect in my conduct now. A real
live man had actually looked upon me with the eyes
of love. It was all very well when I was a child to
have Jack following me about and kissing me ; but
I must keep him at a distance now. I remembered
how he presented me with a dead fish once which he
had taken out of the Hatherley Brook, and how I


266 OUR DERBY SWEEPSTAKES.
treasured it up among my most precious posses-
sions, until an insidious odor in the house had
caused the mother to send an abusive letter to Mr.
Burton, who had pronounced our drainage to be all
that could be desired. I must learn to be formal
and distant. I pictured our meeting to myself, and
went through a rehearsal of it. The holly-bush
represented Jack, and I approached it solemnly,
made it a stately courtesy, and held out my hand
with, “ So glad to see you, Lieutenant Hawthorne!”
Elsie came out while I was doing it, but made no
remark. I heard her ask Sol at luncheon, however,
whether idiocy generally ran in families, or was
simply confined to individuals; at which poor Sol
blushed furiously, and became utterly incoherent in
his attempts at an explanation.
Our farmyard opens upon the avenue about half-
way between Hatherley House and the lodge. Sol
and I and Mr. Nicholas Cronin, the son of a neigh-
boring squire, went down there after lunch. This
imposing demonstration was for the purpose of
quelling a mutiny which had broken out in the hen-
house. The earliest tidings of the rising had been
conveyed to the House by young Bayliss, son and
heir of the henkeeper, and my presence had been
urgently requested. Let me remark in parenthesis
that fowls were my special department in domestic
economy, and that no step was ever taken in their
management without my advice and assistance.
Old Bayliss hobbled out upon our arrival, and in-
formed us of the full extent of the disturbance. It
seems that the crested hen and the Bantam cock had
developed such length of wing that they were en-
abled to fly over into the park ; and that the exam-
ple of these ringleaders had been so contagious,


OUR DERBY SWEEPSTAKES. 267
that even such steady old matrons as the bandy-
legged Cochin China had developed roving propen-
sities, and pushed their way into forbidden ground.
A council of war was held in the yard, and it was
unanimously decided that the wings of the recalci-
trants must be clipped.
What a scamper we had! By “we ” I mean Mr.
Cronin and myself ; while cousin Sol hovered about
in the background with the scissors, and cheered us
on. The two culprits clearly knew that they were
wanted ; for they rushed under the hayricks and
over the coops, until there seemed to be at least half
a dozen crested hens and Bantam cocks dodging
about in the yard. The other hens were mildly in-
terested in the proceedings, and contented them-
selves with an occasional derisive cluck, with the
' exception of the favorite wife of the Bantam, who
abused us roundly from the top of the coop. The
ducks were the most aggravating portion of the
community; for though they had nothing to do
with the original disturbance, they took a warm in-
terest in the fugitives, waddling behind them as fast
as their little yellow legs would carry them, and
getting in the way of the pursuers. '
“ We have it! ” I gasped, as the crested hen was
driven into a corner. “ Catch it, Mr. Cronin! Oh,
you’ve missed it! you’ve missed it ! Get in the way,
Sol. Oh, dear, it’s coming to me I ”
“Well done, Miss Montague!” cried Mr. Cronin,
as I seized the wretched fowl by the leg as it flut-
tered past me, and proceeded to tuck it under my-
arm to prevent any possibility of escape. “ Let me
carry it for you.”
“ No, no; I want you to catch the cock. There it
goes! There—behind the hayrick. You go to one
side, and I’ll go to the other.”


268 OUR DERBY SWEEPSTAKES.
- “ It’s going through the gate ! ” shouted Sol.
“Shoo!” cried I. “Shoo! Oh, it’s gone!” and
We both made a dart into the park in pursuit, tore
round the corner into the avenue, and there I found
myself face to face with a sunburned young man in
a tweed suit, who was lounging along in the direc-
tion of the house.
There was no mistaking those laughing gray eyes,
though I think if I had never looked at him some
instinct would have told me that it was Jack. How
could I be dignified with the crested hen tucked
under my arm? I tried to pull myself up ; but the
miserable bird seemed to think that it had found a
protector at last, for it began to cluck with redoub-
led vehemence. I had to give it up in despair, and
burst into a laugh, while Jack did the same.
“How are you, Nell?” he said, holding out his
hand; and then, in an astonished voice, “Why,
you’re not a bit the same as when I saw you last ! ”
“Well, I hadn’t a hen under my arm then,” said I.
“ Who would have thought that little Nell would
have developed into a woman ? ” said Jack, still lost
in amazement.
“You didn’t expect me to develop into a man, did
you?” said I, in high indignation; and then, sud-
denly dropping all reserve, “ We’re awfully glad
you’ve come, Jack. Never mind going up to the
house. Come and help us to catch that Bantam
cock.”
“ Right you are,” said Jack, in his old cheery way,
still keeping his eyes firmly fixed upon my counte-
nance. “ Come on!” and away the three of us scam-
pered across the park, with poor Sol aiding and
abetting with the scissors and the prisoner in the
rear. Jack was a very crumpled-looking visitor by
the time he paid his respects to the mother that


OUR DERBY SWEEPSTAKES. 269
afternoon, and my dreams of dignity and reserve
were scattered to the winds.
We had quite a party at Hatherley House that
May. There were Bob, and Sol, and -Jack Haw-
thorne, and Mr. Nicholas Cronin; then there were
Miss Maberly, and Elsie, and mother, and myself.
On an emergency we could always muster half a
dozen visitors from the houses round, so as to have
an audience when charades or private theatricals
were attempted. Mr. Cronin, an easy-going athletic
young Oxford man, proved to be a great acquisition,
having wonderful powers of organization and execu-
tion. Jack was not nearly as lively as he used to be,
in fact we unanimously accused him of being in
love ; at which he looked as silly as young men usu-
ally d'o on such occasions, but did not attempt to
deny the soft impeachment.
“ What shall we do to-day ? ” said Bob one morn-
ing. “ Can anybody make a suggestion ? ”
“Drag the pond,” said Mr. Cronin.
“ Haven’t men enough,” said Bob ; “anything
else ? ”
“We must get up a sweepstakes for the Derby,”
remarked Jack.
“O, there’s plenty of time for that. It isn’t run
till the week after next. Anything else ? ”
“ Lawn-tennis,” said Sol, dubiously.
“ Bother lawn-tennis I ”
“You might make a picnic to Hatherley Abbey,”
said I. -
“ Capital!” cried Mr. Cronin. “ The very thing.
What do you think, Bob? "
“ First-class,” said my brother, grasping eagerly at
the idea. Picnics are very dear to those who are in
the first stage of the tender passion.


27O OUR DERBY SWEEPSTAKES.
“ Well, how are we to go, Nell? ” asked Elsie.
“I won’t go at all,” said I; “ I’d like to awfully,
but I have to plant those ferns Sol got me. You
had better walk. It is only three miles, and young
Bayliss can be sent over with the basket of pro-
visions.”
“ You’ll come, Jack ? ” said Bob.
Here was another impediment. The Lieutenant
had twisted his ankle ye_sterday. He had not men-
tioned it to anyone at the time; but it was begin-
ning to pain him now.
“ Couldn’t do it, really,” said Jack. “ Three miles
there and three back.”
“ Come on. Don’t be lazy,” said Bob.
“My dear fellow,” answered the Lieutenant, “I
have had walking enough to last me the rest of my
life. If you had seen how that energetic general of
ours bustled me along from Cabul to Candahar, you’d
sympathize with me.”
“Leave the veteran alone,” said Mr. Nicholas
Cronin.
“Pity the war-worn soldier,” remarked Bob.
“None of your chaff,” said Jack. “I’ll tell you
what I’ll do,” he added, brightening up. “ You let
me have the trap, Bob, and I’ll drive over with Nell
as soon as she has finished planting her ferns. We
can take the basket with us. You’ll come, won’t
you, Nell? ”
“All right,” said I. And Bob having given his
assent to the arrangement, and everybody being
pleased, except Mr. Solomon Barker, who glared
with mild malignancy at the soldier, the matter was
finally settled, and the whole party proceeded to get
ready, and finally departed down the avenue.
It was an extraordinary thing how that ankle im-


OUR DERBY SWEEPSTAKES. 271
proved after the last of the troop had passed round
the curve of the hedge. By the time the ferns were
planted andthe gig got ready Jack was as active
and lively as ever he was in his life.
“You seem to have got better very suddenly,” I
remarked, as we drove down the narrow winding
country lane.
“ Yes,” said Jack. “ The fact is, Nell, there never
was anything the matter with me. I wanted to have
atalk with you.”
“You don’t mean to say you would tell a lie in
order to have a talk with me ? ” I remonstrated.
“ Forty,” said Jack, stoutly.
I was too lost in contemplation of the depths of
guile in Jack’s nature to make any further remark.
I wondered whether Elsie would be flattered or in-
dignant were anyone to offer to tell so many lies in
her behalf.
“ We used to be good friends when we were chil-
dren, Nell,” remarked my companion.
“ Yes,” said I, looking down at the rug which was
thrown over my knees. I was beginning to be quite
an experienced young lady by this time, you see, and
to understand certain inflections of the masculine
voice, which are only to be acquired by practice.
“You don’t seem to care for me now as much as
you did then,” said Jack.
I was still intensely absorbed in the leopard’s skin
in front of me.
“ Do you know, Nelly,” continued Jack, “ that
when I have been camping out in the frozen passes
of the Himalayas, when I have seen the hostile array
in front of me ; in fact,” suddenly dropping into
bathos, “all the time I was in that beastly hole
Afghanistan, I used to think of the little girl I had
left in England.”


272 O UR DERBY S WEEPS TAKES.
“ Indeed!” I murmured.
“ Yes,” said Jack, “I bore the memory of you in
my heart, and then when I came back you were a lit-
tle girl no longer. I found you a beautiful woman,
Nelly, and I wondered whether' you had forgotten
the days that were gone.”
Jack was becoming quite poetical in'his enthusi-
asm. By this time he had left the old bay pony
entirely to its own devices, and it was indulging in
its chronic propensity of stopping and admiring the
v1ew.
“Look here, Nelly,” said Jack, with a gasp like a
man who is about to pull the string of his shower-
bath, “ one of the things you learn in campaigning
is to secure a good thing whenever you see it.
Never delay or hesitate, for you never know that
some other fellow may not carry it off while you are
making up your mind.”
“It’s coming now,” I thought in despair, “and
there’s no window for Jack to escape by after he has
made the plunge.” I had gradually got to associ-
ate the ideas of love and jumping out of windows,
ever since poor Sol’s confession.
“ Do you think, Nell,” said Jack, “that you could
ever care for me enough to share my lot forever?
could you ever be my wife, Nell ? ”
He didn’t even jump out of the trap. He sat there
beside me, looking at me with his eager gray eyes,
while the pony strolled along, cropping the wild
flowers on either side of the road. It was quite evi-
dent that he intended having an answer. Somehow
as I looked down I seemed to see a pale, shy face
looking in at me from a dark background, and to
hear Sol’s voice as he declared his love. Poor fel
low! he was first in the field at any rate.
“ Could you, Nell ? ” asked Jack once more.


OUR DERBY SWEEPSTAKES. ' 273
“I like you very much, Jack,” said I, looking up
at him nervously; “but "—how his face changed at
that monosyllable I — “ I don’t think I like you
enough for that. Besides, I’m so young, you know.
I suppose I ought to be very much complimented
and that sort of thing by your ofi"er; but you mustn’t
think of me in that light any more.”
“You refuse me, then ? ” said Jack, turning a lit-
tle white.
“Why don’t you go and ask Elsie?” cried I in
despair. “ Why should you all come to me.”
“ I don’t want Elsie,” cried Jack, giving the pony
a cut with his whip which rather astonished that
easy-going quadruped. “ What do - you mean by
‘all,’ Nell?”
No answer.
“I see how it is,” said Jack, bitterly ; “ I’ve noticed
how that cousin of yours has been hanging round
you ever since I have been here. You are engaged
to him.”
“ N0, I’m not,” said I.
“ Thank God for that! ” responded Jack, devoutly.
“There is some hope yet. Perhaps you will come
to think better of it in time. Tell me, Nelly, are you
fond of that fool of a medical student ? ”
“He isn’t a fool,” said I, indignantly, “ and I am
quite as fond of him as I shall ever be of you.”
“ You might not care for him much and still be
that,” said Jack, sulkily; and neither of us spoke
again until a joint bellow from Bob and Mr. Cronin
announced the presence of the rest of the company.
If the picnic was a success, it was entirely due to
the exertions of the latter gentleman. Three lovers
out of four was an undue proportion, and it took all
his convivial powers to make up for the shortcom-
ings of the rest. Bob seemed entirely absorbed in
18


274 OUR DERBY SWEEPSTAKES.
Miss Maberley’s charms, poor Elsie was left out
in the cold, while my two admirers spent their time
in glaring alternately at me and at each other.
Mr. Cronin, however, fought gallantly against the
depression, making himself agreeable to all, and ex-
ploring ruins or drawing corks with equal vehe-
mence and energy.
Cousin Sol was particularly disheartened and out
of spirits. He thought, no doubt, that my solitary
ride with Jack had been a prearranged thing be-
tween us. There was more sorrow than anger in his
eyes, however, while Jack, I regret to say, was de-
cidedly ill-tempered. It was this fact which made
me choose out my cousin as my companion in the
ramble through the woods which succeeded our
lunch. Jack had been assuming a provoking air
of proprietorship lately, which I was determined to
quash once for all. I felt angry with him, too, for
appearing to consider himself ill used at my refusal,
and for trying to disparage poor Sol behind his
back. I was far from loving either the one or the
other, but somehow my girlish ideas of fair play re-
volted at either of them taking what I considered an
unfair advantage. I felt that if Jack had not come
I should, in the fulness of time, have ended by
accepting my cousin; on the other hand, if it had
not been for Sol, I might never have refused Jack.
At present I was too fond of them both to favor
either. “How in the world is it to end "? ” thought
I. I must do something decisive one way or the
other; or perhaps the best thing would be to wait
and see what the future might bring forth.
Sol seemed mildly surprised at my having selected
him as my companion, but accepted the offer with
a grateful smile. His mind seemed to have been
vastly relieved.


01712 DERBY SWEEPSTAKES. 275
“ So I haven’t lost you yet, Nell," he murmured,
as we branched ofl' among the great tree-trunks and
heard the voices of the party growing fainter in the
distance. .
“Nobody can lose me,” said I, “for nobody has
won me yet. For goodness’ sake don’t talk about
it any more. Why can’t you talk like your old
self two years ago, and not be so dreadfully senti-
mental ? ”
“ You’ll know why some day, Nell,” said the stu-
dent, reproachfully. “ Wait until you are in love
yourself, and you will understand it.”
I gave a little incredulous sniff.
“ Sit here, Nell,” said Cousin Sol, manoeuvring
me into a little bank of wild strawberries and mosses,
and perching himself upon a stump of a tree beside
me. “ Now all I ask you to do is to answer one or
two questions, and I’ll never bother you any more.”
I sat resignedly, with my hands in my lap.
“ Are you engaged to Lieutenant Hawthorne? ”
“ No I ” said I, energetically.
“Are you fonder of him than of me ? ”
“ No, I’m not.” -
Sol’s thermometer of happiness up to a hundred
in the shade at least.
“ Are you fonder of me than of him, Nelly 2 ” in a
very tender voice.
“ No.”
Thermometer down below zero again.
“ Do you mean to say that we are exactly equal in
your eyes ? ”
“Yes.”
“ But you must choose between us some time,
you know,” said Cousin Sol, with mild reproach in
his voice.
“ I do wish you wouldn’t bother me so! ” I cried,


0U1.- DERBY SWEEPSTAKES. 277
hadn’t we ‘. I wonder where they are by this
time ? ” '
It didn’t take very long to find that out. At first
we heard shouting and laughter coming echoing
through the long glades, and then, as we made our
way in that direction, we were astonished to meet
the usually phlegmatic Elsie careering through the
wood at the very top of her speed, her hat off, and
her hair streaming in the wind. My first idea was
that some frightful catastrophe had occurred—brig-
ands possibly, or a mad dog—-and I saw my com-
panion’s big hand close round his stick ; but on meet-
ing the fugitive it proved to be nothing more tragic
than a game of hide-and-seek which the indefatiga-
ble Mr. Cronin had organized. What fun we had,
crouching and running and dodging among the
Hatherley oaks ! and how horrified the prim old ab-
bot who planted them would have been, and the long
series of black-coated brethren who have muttered
their orisons beneath the welcome shade! Jack re-
fused to play on the excuse of his weak ankle, and lay
smoking under a tree in high dudgeon, glaring in a
baleful and gloomy fashion at Mr. Solomon Barker ;
while the latter gentleman entered enthusiastically
into the game, and distinguished himself by always
getting caught, and never by any possibility catching
anybody else.
Poor Jack! He was certainly unfortunate that
day. Even an accepted lover would have been
rather put out, I think, by an incident which oc-
curred during our return home. It was agreed that
all of us should walk, as the trap had been already
sent off with the empty baskets, so we started
down Thorny Lane and through the fields. We
were just getting over a stile to cross old Brown’s
ten-acre lot, when Mr. Cronin pulled up, and re-


278 OUR DERBY SWEEPSTAKES.
marked that he thought we had better get into the
road. '
“ Road? ” said Jack. “Nonsense! We save a
quarter of a mile by the field.”
“Yes, but it’s rather dangerous. VVe’d better go
round.”
“ Where’s the danger "F ” said our military man,
contemptuously twisting his mustache.
“ O, nothing,” said Cronin. “ That quadruped in
the middle of the field is a bull, and not a very good-
tempered one either. That’s all. I don’t think that
the ladies should be allowed to go.”
“ We won’t go,” said the ladies in chorus.
“ Then come round by the hedge and get into the
road,” suggested Sol.
“ You may go as you like,” said Jack rather tes-
tily, “ but I am going across the field.”
“ Don’t be a fool, Jack,” said my brother.
“ You fellows may think it right to turn tail at an
old cow, but I don’t. It hurts my self-respect, you
see, so I shall join you at the other side of the farm.”
With which speech Jack buttoned up his coat in a
truculent manner, waved his cane jauntily, and
swaggered off into the ten-acre lot.
We clustered about the stile and watched the pro-
ceedings with anxiety. Jack tried to look as if he
were entirely absorbed in the view and in the prob-
able state of the weather, for he gazed about him
and up into the clouds in an abstracted manner.
His gaze generally began and ended, however, some-
where in the direction of the bull. That animal,
after regarding the intruder with a prolonged stare,
had retreated into the shadow of the hedge at one
side, while Jack was walking up the long axis of the
field.
“ It’s all right,” said I. “ It’s got out of his way.”


Orm DERBY SWEEPSTAKES 279
“I think it’s leading him on,” said Mr. Nicholas
Cronin. “ It’s a vicious, cunning brute.”
Mr. Cronin had hardly spoken before the bull
emerged from the hedge, and began pawing the
ground, and tossing its wicked black head in the
air. Jack was in the middle of the field by this time,
and affected to take no notice of his companion,
though he quickened his pace slightly. The bull’s
next manoeuvre was to run rapidly round in two or
three small circles; and then it suddenly stopped,
bellowed, put down its head, elevated its tail, and
made for Jack at the very top of its speed.
There was no use pretending to ignore its exist-
ence any longer. Jack faced round and gazed at it
for a moment. He had only his little cane in his
hand to oppose to the half ton of irate beef which
was charging toward him. He did the only thing
that was possible, namely, to make for the hedge at
the other side of the field.
At first Jack hardly condescended to run, but went
off with a languid contemptuous trot, a sort of
compromise between his dignity and his fear, which
was so ludicrous that, frightened as we were,
we burst into a chorus of laughter. By degrees,
however, as he heard the galloping of hoofs sound-
ing nearer and nearer, he quickened his pace,
until ultimately he was in full flight for shelter, with
his hat gone and his coat-tails fluttering in the
breeze, while his pursuer was not ten yards behind
him. If all Ayoub Khan’s cavalry had been in his
rear, our Afghan hero could not have done the dis-
tance in a shorter time. Quickly as he went, the
bull went quicker still, and the two seemed to gain
the hedge almost at the same moment. We saw
Jack spring boldly into it, and the next moment he
came flying out at the other side as if he had been


280 OUR DERBY SWEEPSTAKES.
discharged from a cannon, while the bull indulged in
a series of triumphant bellows through the hole
which he had made. It was a relief to us all to see
Jack gather himself up and start off for home with-
out a glance in our direction. He had retired to his
room by the time we arrived, and~ did not appear
until breakfast next morning, when he limped in
with a very crestfallen expression. None of us was
hard-hearted enough to allude to the subject, how-
ever, and by judicious treatment we restored him be-
fore lunch-time to his usual state of equanimity.
It was a couple of days after the picnic that our
great Derby sweepstakes was to come off. This was
an annual ceremony never omitted at Hatherley
House, where, between visitors and neighbors, there
were generally quite as many candidates for tickets
as there were horses entered.
“The sweepstakes, ladies and gentlemen, comes
off to-night,” said Bob in his character of head of
the house. “ The subscription is ten shillings.
Second gets quarter of the pool, and third has his
money returned. No one is allowed to have more
than one ticket, or to sell his ticket after drawing it.
The drawing will be at seven thirty.” All of which
Bob delivered in a very pompous and oflicial voice,
though the effect was rather impaired by a sonorous
“Amen!” from Mr. Nicholas Cronin.
I must now drop the personal style of narrative
for a time. Hitherto my little story has consisted
simply in a series of extracts from my own private
journal ,' but now I have to tell of a scene which only
came to my ears after many months.
Lieutenant Hawthorne, or Jack, as I cannot help
calling him, had been very quiet since the day of


0 UR DERBY SWEEPSTAKES. 281
the picnic, and given himself up to reverie. Now,
as luck would have it, Mr. Solomon Barker sauntered
into the smoking-room after luncheon on the day of
the sweepstakes, and found the Lieutenant pufiing
moodily in solitary grandeur upon one of the settees.
It would have seemed cowardly to retreat, so the
student sat down in silence, and began turning over
the pages of the Graphic. Both the rivals felt the
situation to be an awkward one. They had been in
the habit of studiously avoiding each other’s society,
and now they found themselves thrown together
suddenly, with no third person to act as a buffer.
The silence began to be oppressive. The Lieutenant
yawned and coughed with over-acted nonchalance,
while honest Sol felt very hot and uncomfortable,
and continued to stare gloomily at the paper in his
hand. The ticking of the clock, and the click of the
billiard-balls across the passage, seemed to grow un-
endurably loud and monotonous. Sol glanced across
once ; but catching his companion’s eyein an exactly
similar action, the two young men seemed simulta-
neously to take a deep and all-absorbing interest in
the pattern of the cornice.
“ Why should I quarrel with him? ” thought Sol
to himself. “ After all, I want nothing but fair
play. Probably I shall be snubbed; but I may as
well give him an opening.”
Sol’s cigar had gone out; the opportunity was too
good to be neglected. '
“ Could you oblige me with a fusee, Lieutenant?”
he asked.
The Lieutenant was sorry—extremely sorry—but
he was not in possession of a fusee.
This was a bad beginning. Chilly politeness was
even more repulsing than absolute rudeness. But
Mr. Solomon Barker, like many other shy men, was


OUR DERBY SWEEPSTAKES. 283
hitherto, “that Nelly—Miss Montague, I mean—is
rather fonder of you than of me; but still, as you
say, fond enough of me not to prefer my rival openly
in my presence.”
“ I dqn’t think you’re right,” said the student.
“In fact, I know you are not; for she told me as
much with her own lips. However, what you say
makes it easier for us to come to an understanding.
It is quite evident that as long as we show ourselves
to be equally fond of her, neither of us can have the
slightest hope of winning her.”
“ There’s some sense in that,” said the Lieuten-
ant, reflectively ; “ but what do you propose ? ”
“I propose that one of us stand out, to use your
own expression. There is no alternative.”
“ But who is to stand out ? ” asked Jack.
“Ah, that is the question!”
“ I can claim to having known her longest.”
“ I can claim to having loved her first.”
Matters seemed to have come to a deadlock.
Neither of the young men was in the least inclined
to abdicate in favor of his rival.
“ Look here,” said the student, “ let us decide the
matter by lot.”
This seemed fair, and was agreed to by both. A
new difliculty arose, however. Both of them felt
sentimental objections toward risking their angel
upon such a paltry chance as the turn of a coin or
the length of a straw. It was at this crisis that
an inspiration came upon Lieutenant Hawthorne.
“ I’ll tell you how we will decide it,” he said.
“ You and I are both entered for our Derby sweep-
stakes. If your horse beats mine, I give up my
chance; if mine beats yours, you leave Miss Monta-
gue forever. Is it a bargain? ”
“I have only one stipulation to make,” said Sol.


284: OUR DERBY SWEEPSTAKES.
“ It is ten days yet before the race will be run. Dur-
ing that time neither of us must attempt to take an
unfair advantage of the other. WVe shall both agree
not to press our suit until the matter is decided.”
“ Done!” said the soldier.
“ Done!” said Solomon.
And they shook hands upon the agreement.
I had, as I have already observed, no knowledge
of the conversation which had taken place between
my suitors. I may mention incidentally that during
the course of it I was in the library, listening to
Tennyson, read aloud in the deep musical voice of
Mr. Nicholas Cronin. I observed, however, in the
evening that these two young men seemed remarka-
bly excited about their horses, and that neither of
them was in the least inclined to make himself
ageeable to me, for which crime I am happy to say
that they were both punished by drawing rank out-
siders. Eurydice, I think, was the name of Sol’s;
while Jack’s was Bicycle. Mr. Cronin drew an
American horse named Iroquois, and all the others
seemed fairly well pleased. I peeped into the smok-
ing-room before going to bed, and was amused to
see Jack consulting the sporting prophet of the
Field, while Sol was deeply immersed in the Gazette.
This sudden mania for the Turf seemed all the more
strange, since I knew that if my cousin could dis-
tinguish a horse from a cow, it was as much as any
of his friends would give him credit for.
The ten succeeding days were voted very slow by
various members of the household. I cannot say
that I found them so. Perhaps that was because I
discovered something very unexpected and pleasing
in the course of that period. It was a relief to be
free of any fear of wounding the susceptibilities of


OUR DERBY SWEEPSTAKES. 285
either of my former lovers. I could say what I
chose and do what I liked now; for they had deserted
me completely, and handed me over to the society
of my brother Bob and Mr. Nicholas Cronin. The
new excitement of horse-racing seemed to have
driven their former passion completely out of their
minds. Never was a house so deluged with special
tips and every vile print which could by any possi-
bility have a word bearing upon the training of the
horses or their antecedents. The very grooms in the
stable were tired of recounting how Bicycle was
descended from Velocipede, or explaining to the
anxious medical student how Eurydice was by Or-
' pheus out of Hades. One of them discovered that
her maternal grandmother had come in third for
the Ebor Handicap; but the curious way in which
he stuck the half-crown which he received into his
left eye, while he winked at the coachman with his
right, throws some doubt upon the veracity of his
statement. As he remarked in a beery whisper that
evening, “ The bloke’ll never know the differ, and
it’s worth ’arf a dollar for him to think as it’s true.”
As the day drew nearer the excitement increased.
Mr. Cronin and I used to glance across at each other
and smile as Jack and Sol precipitated themselves
upon the papers at breakfast, and devoured the list
of the betting. But matters culminated upon the
evening immediately preceding the race. The Lieu-
tenant had run down to the station to secure the
latest intelligence, and now he came rushing in,
waving a crushed paper frantically over his head.
“ Eurydice is scratched!” he yelled. “ Your horse
is done for, Barker!”
“ What ! ” roared Sol.
“ Done for—utterly broken down in training—
won’t run at all!”


Q 8 fl OUR DERB Y S WEEPSTAKES.
“Let me see,” groaned my cousin, seizing the
paper; and then, dropping it, he rushed out of the
room, and banged down the stairs, taking four at
a time. We saw no more of him until late at night,
when he slunk in, looking very dishevelled, and
crept quietly off to his room. Poor fellow, I should
have condoled with him had it not been for his re-
cent disloyal conduct toward myself.
Jack seemed a changed man from that moment.
He began at once to pay me marked attention, very
much to the annoyance of myself and of -some one
else in the room. He played and sang and proposed
round games, and, in fact, quite usurped the 1'6le
usually played by Mr. Nicholas Cronin.
I remember that it struck me as remarkable that
on the morning of the Derby-day the Lieutenant
should have entirely lost his interest in the race.
He was in the greatest spirits at breakfast, but did
not even open the paper in front of him. It was
Mr. Cronin who unfolded it at last and glanced over
its columns.
“ What’s the news, Nick? ” asked my brother Bob.
“Nothing much. O yes, here’s 'something.
Another railway accident. Collision, apparently.
Westinghouse brake gone wrong. Two killed, seven
hurt, and—by Jove! listen to this: ‘Among the
victims was one of the competitors in the equine
Olympiad of to-day. A sharp splinter had pene-
trated its side, and the valuable animal had to be
sacrificed upon the shrine of humanity. The name
of the horse is Bicycle.’ Hullo, you’ve gone and
spilled your coffee all over the cloth, Hawthorne!
Ah! I forgot, Bicycle was your horse, wasn’t it?
Your chance is gone, I am afraid. I see that Iro-
quois, who started low, has come to be first favolite
now.”


OUR DERBY SWEEPSTAKES. 287
Ominous words, reader, as no doubt your nice
discernment has taught you during, at the least,
the last three columns. Don’t call me a flirt and a
coquette until you have weighed the facts. Consider
my pique at the sudden desertion of my admirers,
think of my delight at the confession from a man
whom I had tried to conceal from myself even that
I loved, think of the opportunities which he en-
joyed during the time that Jack and Sol were sys-
tematically avoiding me, in accordance with their
ridiculous agreement. Weigh all this, and then
which among you will throw 'the first stone at the
blushing little prize of the Derby Sweep ”?
Here it is as it appeared at the end of three
short months in the rlfcrning Post .' “ August 12th.—
At Hatherley Church, Nicholas Cronin, Esq., eldest
son of Nicholas Cronin, Esq., of the Woodlands,
Cropshire, to Miss Eleanor Montague, daughter of
the late James Montague, Esq., J .P., of Hatherley
House.”
Jack set off with the declared intention of vol-
unteering for a ballooning expedition to the North
Pole. He came back, however, in three days, and
said that he had changed his mind, but intended to
walk in Stanley’s footsteps across Equatorial
Africa. Since then he has dropped one or two
gloomy allusions to forlorn hopes and the unutter-
able joys of death; but on the whole he is coming
round very nicely, and has been heard to grumble
of late on such occasions as the under-doing of the
mutton and the over-doing of the beef, which may
be fairly set down as a very healthy symptom.
'Sol took it more quietly, but I fear the iron went
deeper into his soul. However, he pulled himself
together like a dear brave fellow as he is, and act-
ually had the hardihood to propose the brides-


288 OUR DERBY SWEEPSTAKES.
maids, on which occasion he became inextricably
mixed up in a labyrinth of words. He washed his
hands of the mutinous sentence, however, and re-
sumed his seat in the middle of it, overwhelmed with
blushes and applause. I hear that he has confided
his woes and his disappointments to Grace Maber-
ley’s sister, and met with the sympathy which he
expected. Bob and Gracie are to be married in a
few months, so possibly there may be another wed-
ding about that time.


THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW


COPYRIGHT, 1891,
nv
UNITED STATES BOOK COMPANY.
[A ll rzlg/at: rc:er1/ed.]


4 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW.
1
caught the light so richly upon its shoulder. In his
mouth only there was something, a suspicion of coarse-
ness, a possibility of weakness, which in the eyes of
some, and of his sister among them, marred the grace
and beauty of his features. Yet, as he was wont him-
self to say, when one thinks that each poor mortal is heir
to a legacy of every evil trait or bodily taint of so vast a
line of ancestors, lucky indeed is the man who does
not find that nature has scored up some long-owing
family debt upon his features.
And indeed in this case the remorseless creditor had
gone so far as to exact a claim from the lady also,
though in her case the extreme beauty of the upper part
of the face drew the eye away from any weakness which
might be found in the lower. She was darker than
her brother, so dark that her heavily-coiled hair
seemed to be black until the light shone slantwise
across it. The delicate half-petulant features, the finely
traced brows, and the thoughtful humorous eyes were
all perfect in their way, and yet the combination left
something to be desired. There was a vague sense of a
flaw somewhere in feature or in expression, which re-
solved itself, when analyzed, in a slight out-turning and
droop of the lower lip, small indeed, and yet pronounced
enough to turn what would have been a beautiful face
into a merely pretty one. Very despondent and some-
what cross she looked as she leaned back in the arm-
chair, a tangle of bright-colored silks and of drab hol-
land upon her lap, her hands clasped behind her head,
with her snowy forearms and little pink elbows pro-
jectiug on either side.
“I know he won’t come,” she repeated.
“Nonsense, Laura! Of course he'll come. A sailor
and afraid of the weather! ”


THE DOINGS OF RAEELES HA W. 5
“Ha! ” She raised her finger and a smile of triumph
played over her face, only to die away again into a blank
look of disappointment. “It is only papa,” she mur-
mured.
A shuflling step was heard in the hall, and a little
peaky man, with his slippers very much down at the
heel, came shambliug into the room. Mr. McIntyre,
senior, was pale and furtive-looking, with a thin strag-
gling red beard shot with gray, and a sunken downcast
face. Ill-fortune and ill-health had both left their
marks upon him. Ten years before he had been one
of the largest and richest gunmakers in Birmingham,
but a long run of commercial bad luck had sapped his
great fortune and had finally driven him into the
bankruptcy court. The death of his wife on the very
day of the declaration of his insolvency had filled his
cup of sorrow, and he had gone about since with a
stunned half-dazed expression upon his weak pallid face
which spoke of a mind unhinged. So complete had
been his downfall that the family would have been re-
duced to absolute poverty were it not for a small legacy
of two hundred a year which both the children had
received from one of their uncles upon the mother’s
side, who had amassed a fortune in Australia. By com-
bining their incomes, and by taking a house in the quiet
country district of Tamfield, some fourteen miles from
the great Midland City, they were still able to live with
some approach to comfort. The change, however, was
a bitter one to all; to Robert, who had to forego the
luxuries dear to his artistic temperament, and to think
of turning what had been merely an overruling hobby
into a means of earning a living; and even more to
Laura, who winced before the pity of her old friends,
and found the lanes and fields of Tamfield intolerably


6 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES _HA W.
dull after the life and bustle of Edgbaston. Their dis-
comfort was aggravated by the conduct of their father,
whose life now was one long wail over his misfortunes,
and who alternately sought comfort in the prayer-book
and in the decanter for the ills which had befallen him.
To Laura, however, Tamfield presented one attrac-
tion which was now about to be taken from her. Their
choice of the little country hamlet as their residence
had been determined by the fact of their old friend, the
Reverend John Spurling, having been nominated as the
vicar. Hector Spurling, the elder son, two months
Laura’s senior, had been engaged to her for some years,
and was indeed upon the point of marrying her when
the sudden financial crash had disarranged their plans.
A sub-lieutenant in the navy, he was home on leave at
present, and hardly an evening passed without his mak-
ing his way from the vicarage to Elmdene, where the
Mclntyres resided. To-day, however, a note had reached
them to the effect that he had been suddenly ordered on
duty and that he must rejoin his ship at Portsmouth by
the next evening. He would look in, were it but for
half an hour, to bid them adieu.
“ Why, where’s Hector?" asked Mr. McIntyre, blink-
ing round from side to side.
“He’s not come, father. How could you expect him
to come on such a night as this! Why, there must be
two feet of snow in the Glebe field.”
“ Not come, eh?” croaked the old man, throwing
himself down upon the sofa. “ Well, well, it only wants
him and his father to throw us over and the thing will
be complete.” _
“How can you even hint at such a thing, father?”
cried Laura, indignantly. “They have been as true
as steel. What would they think if they heard you !”


THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW. 7
“I think, Robert,” he said, disregarding his daugh-
ter's protest, “that I will have a drop, just the very
smallest possible drop, of brandy. A mere thimbleful
will do, but I rather think I have caught cold during
the snowstorm to-day.” _
Robert went on sketching stolidly in his folding-book,
but Laura looked up from her work. “ I'm afraid that
there is nothing in the house, father,” she said.
“Laura! Laura!" He shook his head as one more
in sorrow than in anger. “You are no longer a girl,
Laura. You are a woman, the manager of a household,
Laura. We trust in you. We look entirely toward you.
And yet you leave your poor brother Robert without
any brandy, to say nothing of me, your father. Good
heavens, Laura, what would your mother have said!
Think of accidents, think of sudden illness, think of
apoplectic fits, Laura. It is a very grave res—a very
grave respons—a very great risk that you run.”
“I hardly touch the stuff,” said Robert, curtly.
“Laura need not provide any for me."
“As a medicine it is invaluable, Robert. To be used,
you understand, and not to be abused. That’s the whole
secret of it. But I’ll step down to the Three Pigeons
for half an hour."
“ My dear father,” cried the young man, “ you surely
are not going out upon such a night! If you must
have brandy, could I not send Sarah for some? Please
let me send Sarah. Or I would go myself, or ”
Pip! came a little paper pellet from his sister’s
chair onto the sketch-book in front of him. He un-
rolled it and held it to the light. “ For heaven’s sake,
let him go ! ” was scrawled across it.
“ Well, in any case, wrap yourself up warm,” he con-
tinued, laying bare his sudden change of front with a


THE DOINGS OF’ RAFFLES HAW. 9
brother. They are all cast in a common mould, the
products of a system which teaches early self~reliance,
hardihood, and manliness—a fine type upon the whole,
less refined and less intellectual perhaps than their broth-
ers of the land, but full of truth, and energy, and hero-
ism. Iu figure he was straight, tall, and well knit, with
keen gray eyes, and the sharp prompt manner of a man
who has been accustomed both to command and to
obey. '
“ You had my note ? ” he said, as he entered the room.
‘:1 have to go again, Laura. Isn't it beastly? Old
Smithers is short-handed and wants me back at once.”
He sat down by the girl, and put his brown hand across
her white one. “It won’t be a very large order this
time,” he continued. “ It's the flying squadron business
-—Madeira, Gibraltar, Lisbon, and home. I shouldn't
wonder if we were back in Marchi"
“It seems only the other day that you landed,” she au-
sered.
“ Poor little girl l But it won’t be long. Mind you
take good care of her, Robert, when I am gone. And
when I come again, Laura, it will be the last time, mind!
Hang the money! There are plenty who manage on
less. We need not have a house. Why should we? You
can get very nice rooms in Southsen. at two pounds a
week. McDougal, our paymaster, has just married, and
he only gives thirty shillings. You would not be afraid,
Laura ? ”
“ No, indeed.”
“ The dear old governor is so awfully cautious. Wait,
wait, wait—that’s always his cry. I tell him that he
ought to have been in the Government Heavy Ordnance
Department. But I’ll speak to him to-night. I’ll talk
him round. See if I don't ! And you must speak to your


10 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW.
own governor. Robert here will back you up. And here
are the ports and the dates that we are due at each.
Mind that you have a letter waiting for me at every
one.” He took a slip of paper from the side pocket of
his coat, but instead of handing it to the young lady he
remained staring at it with the utmost astonishment
upon his face.
“Well, I never!” he exclaimed. “Look here, Robert,
what do you call this ? ”
“Hold it to the light ! Why, it’s a fifty-pound Bank
of England note. Nothing remarkable about it that I
can see.” -
“On the contrary, it’s the queerest thing that ever
happened to me. I can’t make head or tail of it.”
_ “Come then, Hector,” cried Miss McIntyre, with a
challenge in her eyes. “Something very queer hap-
pened to me also to-day. I’ll bet a pair of gloves that
my adventure was more out of the common than yours,
though I have nothing so nice to show at the end of it.”
“Come, I’ll take that, and Robert here shall be the
judge.”
“State your cases.’ The young artist shut up his
sketch-book and rested his head upon his hands with a
face of mock solemnity. “Ladies first! Go along,
Laura, though I think I know something of your advent-
ure already.”
“It was this morning, Hector,” she said. “Oh, by
the way, the. story will make you wild. I had forgotten
that. However, you mustn’t mind, because really the
poor fellow was perfectly mad."
“ What on earth was it?” asked the young oflicer, his
eyes travelling from the bank-note to his fiancée.
“ Oh, it was harmless enough, and yet you will confess
that it was very queer. I had gone out for a walk, but
2


12 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HA W.
“It was nothing. I shall never see the poor fellow again.
He was evidently a stranger to this part of the coun-
try. But that was my little adventure. Now let us
have yours.”
The young man crackled the bank-note between his
finger and thumb while he passed his other hand over
his hair with the action of a man who strives to collect
himself.
“It is some ridiculous mistake,” he said ; “I must try
and set it right. Yet I don’t know how to set about it
either. I was going down to the village from the vicar-
age just after dusk when I found a fellow in a trap who
had got himself into broken water. One wheel had sunk
into the edge of the ditch, which had been hidden by
the snow, and the whole thing was high and dry, with
a list to starboard enough to slide him out of his seat-
I lent a hand, of course, and soon had the wheel in the
road again. It was quite dark, and I fancy that the fel-
low thought that I was a bumpkin, for we did -not ex-
change five words. As he drove off he shoved this into
my hand. It is the merest chance that I did not chuck it
away, for, feeling that it was a crumpled piece of paper,
I imagined that it must be a tradesman’s advertise-
ment or something of the kind. However, as luck
would have it, I put it in my pocket, and there I found
it when I looked for the dates of our cruise. Now you
know as much of the matter as I do.”
Brother and sister stared at the black and white crin-
kled note, with astonishment upon their faces.
“Why, your unknown traveller must have been
Monte Christo, or Rothschild at the least,” said Rob-
ert. “ I am bound to say, Laura, that I think that you
have lost your bet.”
“ Oh, I am quite content to lose it. I never heard of


THE DOINGS 01+’ RAFFLES HAW. 13
such a piece of luck. What a perfectly delightful man
this must be to know.”
“ But I can’t take his money,” said Hector Spurling,
looking somewhat ruefully at the note. “A little prize-
money is all very well in its way, but a Johnny must
draw the line somewhere. Besides, it must have been a
mistake. And yet he meant to give me something big,
for he could not mistake a note for a coin. I suppose I
_ must advertise for the fellow.”
“It seems a pity too,” remarked Robert. “I must say
that I don’t quite see it _iu the same light that you do.”
“ Indeed I think that you are very Quixotic, Hector,”
said Laura Mclntyre. “ Why should you not accept it
in the spirit in which it was meant. You did this stran-
ger a service—pe1-haps a greater service than you know
of—and he meant this as a little memento of the occa-
sion. I do not see that there is any possible reason
against your keeping it.”
“ Oh, come !” said the young sailor, with an embar-
rassed laugh. “It is not quite the thing—not the sort
of story one would care to tell at mess.”
“In any case, you are ofi' to-morrow morning,” ob-
served Robert. “You have no time to make inquiries
about the mysterious Croesus. You must really make
the best of it.”
“Well, look here, Laura, you put it in your work-
basket," cried Hector Spurling. “ You shall be my
banker. And if the rightful owner turns up then I can
refer him to you. If not, I suppose we must look on it
as a kind of salvage money, though I am bound to say I
don’t feel entirely comfortable about it.” He rose to
his feet, and threw the note down into the brown basket
of colored wools that stood beside her. “ Now, Laura,
I must up anchor, for I promised the governor to be


14 THE DOING/S OF RAFFLES HAW
back by nine. It won’t be long this time, dear, and it
shall be the last. Good-by, Robert ! Good luck ! "
“ Good-by, Hector! Bon voyage ! " The young artist
remained by the table, while his sister followed her lover
to the door. In the dim light of the hall he could see
their figures and overhear their words.
“Next time, little girl.”
“Next time be it, Hector.”
“ And nothing can part us? "
“Nothing.”
“ In this whole world? ”
“ Nothing.”
Robert discreetly closed the door. A moment later a
thud from without, and the quick footsteps crunching
on the snow told him that their visitor had departed.


CHAPTER H.
THE TENANT OF THE NEW HALL.
The snow had ceased to fall, but for a week a hard
frost had held the country-side in its iron grip. The
roads rang under the horses’ hoofs, and every wayside
ditch and runlet was a sheet of ice. Over the long un-
dulating landscape the red-brick houses peeped out
warmly against spotless background, and the lines of
gray smoke streamed straight up into the windless air.
The sky was of the lightest pale blue, and the morn-
ing sun, shining through the distant fog-wreaths of
Birmingham, struck a subdued glow from the broad-
spread snow-fields which might have gladdened the eyes
of an artist.
It did gladden the heart of one who viewed it that
morning from the summit of the gently-curving Tam-
field Hill. Robert McIntyre stood with his elbows upon
a gate-rail, his Tam-o’-Shanter hat over his eyes, and a
short briar-root pipe in his mouth, looking slowly
about him with the absorbed air of one who breathes
his full of nature. Beneath him to the north lay the
village of Tamfield, red walls, gray roofs, and a scattered
bristle of dark trees, with his own little Elmdene nest-
ling back from the broad white winding Birmingham
road. At the other side, as he slowly faced round, lay a
vast stone building, white and clear-cut, fresh from the
builder’s hands. A great tower shot up from one corner
of it, and a hundred windows twinkled ruddily in the


' 16 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW.
light of the morning sun. A little distance from it stood a
second small square low-lying structure, with a tall chim-
ney rising from the midst of it, rolling out a long plume
of smoke into the frosty air. The whole vast structure
stood within its own grounds enclosed by a stately park
wall and surrounded by what would in time be an ex-
tensive plantation of fir-trees. By the lodge-gates a vast
pile of débris, with lines of sheds for workmen, and
huge heaps of planks from scaflbldings, all proclaimed
that the work had only just been brought to an end.
Robert McIntyre looked down with curious eyes at
the broad-spread building. It had long been a mystery
and a subject of gossip for the whole country-side.
Hardly a year had elapsed since the rumor had first
gone about that a millionaire had bought a tract of
land, and that it was his intention to build a country-
seat upon it. Since then the work had been pushed on
night and day, until now it was finished to the last detail
in a shorter time than it takes to build many a six-
roomed cottage. Every morning two long special trains
had arrived from Birmingham, carrying down a great
army of laborers, who were relieved in the evening by a
fresh gang, who carried on their task under the rays of
twelve enormous electric lights. The number of work-
men appeared to be only limited by the space into which
they could be fitted. Great lines of wagons conveyed
the white Portland stone from the depot by the station.
Hundreds of busy toilers handed it over, shaped and
squared, to the actual masons, who swung it up with
steam cranes onto the growing walls, where it was in-
stantly fitted and mortared by their companions. Day
by day the house shot higher, while pillar and cornice
and carving seemed to bud out from it as if by magic.
Nor was the work confined to the main building. A


THE IJOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW. 17 -
large separate structure sprang up at the same time,
and there came gangs of pale-faced men from London
with much extraordinary machinery, vast cylinders,
wheels, and wires, which they fitted up in this outlying
building. The great chimney which rose from the cen-
tre of it, combined with these strange furnishings,
seemed to mean that it was reserved as a factory or
place of business, for it was rumored that this rich
man's hobby was the same as a poor man’s necessity,
and that he was fond of working with his own hands
amid chemicals and furnaces. Scarce, too, was the sec
ond story begun ere the wood-workers and plumbers
and furnishers were busy beneath, carrying out a thou-
sand strange and costly schemes for the greater comfort
and convenience of the owner. Singular stories were
told all round the country, and even in Birmingham it-
self, of the extraordinary luxury, and the absolute disre-
gard for money, which marked all these arrangements.
No sum appeared to be too great to spend upon the
smallest detail which might do away with or lessen any
of the petty inconveniences of life. Wagons and wagons
of the richest furniture had passed through the village
between lines of staring villagers. Costly skins, glossy
carpets. rich rugs, ivory and ebony, and metal, every
glimpse into these storehouses of treasure, had given
rise to some new legend. And finally, when all had
been arranged, there had come a staff of forty servants
who heralded the approach of the owner, Mr. Raffles
Haw, himself.
It was no wonder, then, that it was with considerable
curiosity that Robert McIntyre looked down at the
great house, a'nd marked the smoking chimneys, the
curtained windows, and the other signs which showed
that its tenant had arrived. A vast area of green-houses
2


1S THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW.
gleamed like a lake on the further side, and beyond
were the long lines of stables and out-houses. Fifty
horses had passed through Tamfield the week before, so
that large as were the preparations, they were not more
than would be needed. ¥Vho and what could this man
be, who spent his money with so lavish a hand? His
name was unknown. Birmingham was as ignorant as
Tamfield as to his origin, or the sources of his wealth.
Robert McIntyre brooded languidly over the problem
as he leaned against the gate, pufling his blue clouds of
bird's-eye into the crisp still air.
Suddenly his eye caught a dark figure emerging
from the avenue gates and striding up the winding
road. A few minutes brought him near enough to
show a familiar face looking over the stiff collar and
from under the soft black hat of an English clergy-
man.
“ Good-morning, Mr. Spurling.”
“Ah, good-morning, Robert. How are you? Are
you coming my way? How slippy the roads are.” His
round kindly face was beaming with good-nature, an'd
he took little jumps as he walked, like a man who can
hardly contain himself for pleasure.
“ Have you heard from Hector?”
“Oh, yes. He went ofl' all right last Wednesday
from Spithead, and he will write from Madeira. But
you generally have later news at Elmdene than I have.”
“I don’t know whether Laura has heard. Have you
been up to see this new-comer ? ”
“ Yes, I have just left him.”
“Is he a married man—this Mr. Raflles Haw?”
“No, he is a bachelor. He does not seem to have
any relations either, as far as I could learn. He lives
alone, amid his huge staff of servants. It is a most re-


THE DOING/S OF RAFFLES HAW. 19
markable establishment. It made me think of the ‘Ara-
bian Nights.’ ”
“ And the man? What is he like?”
“He is an angel—-a positive angel. I never heard or
read of such kindness in my life. He has made me a
happy man.” The clergyman’s eyes sparkled with emo-
tion, and he blew his nose loudly in his big red hand-
kerchief.
Robert McIntyre looked at him in surprise. “I am
' delighted to hear it,” he said. “ May I ask what he has
done?”
“I went up to him by appointment this morning. I
had written, asking him if I might call. I spoke to
him of the parish and its needs, of my long struggle
to restore the south side of the church, and of our ef-
forts to help my poor parishioners during this hard
weather. While I spoke he said not a word, but sat
with a vacant face as though he were not listening to
me. W'hen I had finished, he took up his pen. ‘ How
much will it take to do the church?’ he asked. ‘A
thousand pounds,’ I answered, ‘but we have already
raised three hundred among ourselves. The Squire has
very handsomely given fifty pounds.’ ” _
“ ‘Well,’ said he, ‘how about the poor folk? How
many families are there?’ ‘About three hundred,’ I _
answered. ‘And coals, I believe, are at about a pound
aton,' said he. ‘ Three tons ought to see them through
the rest of the winter. Then you can get a very fair
pair of blankets for two pounds. That would make five
pounds per family, and seven hundred for the church.’
He dipped his pen in the ink, and as I am a living man,
Robert, he wrote me a check then and there for two
thousand two hundred pounds. I don’t know what I
said. I felt like a fool. I could not stammer out words


2‘) THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HA W.
with which to thank him. All my troubles have been
taken from my shoulders _in an instant, and indeed,
Robert, I can hardly realize it.”
“ He must be a most charitable man."
“Extraordinarily so. And' so unpretending. One
would think that it was I who was doing the favor, and
he who was the beggar. I thought of that passage
about making the heart of the widow sing for joy. He
made my heart sing for joy, I can tell you. Are you
coming up to the Vicarage? "
“No, thank you, Mr. Spurling. I must go home and
get to work on my new picture. It’s a five-foot can-
vas—‘The Landing of the Romans in Kent.’ I must
have another try for the Academy. Good-morning."
He raised his hat and continued down the road, while
the vicar turned ofi' into the path which led to his home.
Robert McIntyre had converted a large bare room in
the upper story of Elmdene into a studio, and thither he
retreated after lunch. It was as well that he should have
some little den of his own, for his father would talk of
little save his lodgers and accounts, while Laura had
become somewhat peevish and querulous since the one
tie which held her to Tamfield had been removed. The
chamber was a bare and bleak one, unpapered and un-
carpeted, but a good fire sparkled in the grate, and two
large windows gave him the needful light. His easel
stood in the centre with the great canvas balanced across
it, while against the walls there leaned his two last at-
tempts, “The Murder of Thomas of Canterbury” and
“ The Signing of Magna Charts.” Robert had a weak-
ness for large subjects and broad effects. If his am-
bition was greater than his skill, he had still all the love
of his art and the patience under discouragement, which
are the stuff out of which successful painters are made.


THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HA W. 21
Twice his brace of pictures had journeyed to town,
and twice they had come back to him, until the finely
gilded frames which had made such a call upon his
purse began to show signs of these varied adventures.
Yet in spite of their depressing company Robert turned
to his fresh work with all the enthusiasm which a convic-
tion of ultimate success can inspire. '
But he could not work that afternoon. In vain he
dashed in his background and outlined the long curves
of the Roman galleys. Do what he would his mind
would still wander from his work to dwell upon his con-
versation with the vicar in the morning. His imagina-
tion was fascinated by the idea of this strange man liv-
ing alone amid a crowd and yet wielding such a power
that with one dash of his pen he could change sorrow
into joy and transform the condition of a whole parish.
The incident of the fifty-pound note came back to his
mind It must surely have been Raffles Haw with
whom Hector Spurling had come in contact. There
could not be two men in one parish to whom so large a
sum was of so small an account as to be thrown to a by-
stander in return for a trifling piece of assistance. Of
course it must have been Rafiles Haw. And his sister
had the note with instructions to return it to the owner,
could he be found. He threw aside his palette, and
descending into the sitting-room, he told Laura and his
father of his morning's interview with the vicar, and of
his conviction that this was the man of whom Hector
was in quest.
“ Tut, tut,” said old McIntyre. “ How is this, Laura?
I knew nothing of this: \Vhat do women know of
money or of business. Hand the note over to me and
I shall relieve you of all responsibility. I will take
everything upon myself.”


22 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW.
“ I cannot possibly, papa,” said Laura, with decision.
“I should not think of parting with it.”
“What is the world coming to ! ” cried the old man,
with his thin hands held up in protest. “You grow
more undutiful every day, Laura. This money would
be of use to me—of use, you understand. It may be
the corner-stone of the vast business which I shall re-
construct. I will use it, Laura, and I will pay some-
thing—four, shall we say, or even four and a half—and
you may have it back on any day. And I will give se-
curity—the security of my—well, of my word of honor.”
“It is quite impossible, papa,” his daughter answered, -
coldly. “ It is not my money. Hector asked me to be
his banker. Those were his very words. It is not in
my power to lend it. As to what you say, Robert, you
may be right or you may be wrong, but I certainly shall
not give Mr. Rafiles Haw or anyone else the money
without Hector’s express command.”
“You are very right about not giving it to Mr. Raffles
Haw,” cried old McIntyre, with many nods of approba-
tion. “I should certainly not let it go out of the family.”
“Well, I thought that I would tell you.” Robert
picked up his Tam-o’-Shanter and strolled out to avoid
the discussion between his father and sister, which he
saw was about to be renewed. His artistic nature re-
volted from these petty and sordid disputes, and he
turned to the crisp air and the broad landscape to
soothe his ruflled feelings. Avarice had no place among
his failings, and his father’s perpetual chatter about
money inspired him with a positive loathing and dis-
gust for the subject.
Robert was lounging slowly along his favorite walk,
which curled over the hill, with his mind turning from
the Roman invasion to the mysterious millionaire, when


THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW. 23
his eyes fell upon a tall lean man in front of him who,
with a pipe between his lips, was xendeavoring to light a
match under cover of his cap. The man was clad in a
rough pea-jacket and bore traces of smoke and grime
upon his face and hands. Yet there is a freemasonry
among smokers which overrides every social difference,
so Robert stopped and held out his case of fusees.
“ A light ? ” said he. -
“Thank you.” The man picked out a fusee, struck
it, and bent his head to it. He had a pale thin face, a
short straggling beard, and a very sharp and curving
nose, with decision and character in the straight thick
eyebrows which almost met on either side of it. Clearly
a superior kind of workman, and possibly one of those
who had been employed in the construction of the new
house. Here was a chance of getting some first-hand
information on the question which had aroused his curi-
osity. Robert waited until he had lit his pipe and then
walked on beside him.
“Are you going in the direction of the new hall?”
he asked.
“Yes-” The man’s voice was cold and his manner
reserved.
“ Perhaps you were engaged in the building of it?”
“Yes, I had a hand in it.”
“ They say that it is a wonderful place inside. It has
been quite the talk of the district. Is it as rich as they
say ? ”
“I am sure I don’t know. I have not heard what
they say.”
His attitude was certainly not encouraging, and it
seemed to Robert that he gave little sidelong suspicious
glances at him out of his keen gray eyes. Yet if he
were so careful and discreet there was the more reason


24 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HA W.
to think that there was information to be extracted, if he
could but find a way to it.
“Ah, there it lies,” he remarked, as they topped the
brow of the hill, and looked down once more at the
great building.
“ Well, no doubt it is very gorgeous and splendid,'
but really, for my own part, I would rather live in my
own little box down yonder in the village.”
The workman puffed gravely at his pipe. “ You are
no great admirer of wealth then?” he said.
“Not I. I should not care to be a penny richer than
I am. Of course, I should like to sell my pictures. One
must make a living. But beyond that I ask for nothing.
I daresay that I, a poor artist, or you, a man who works
for your bread, have more happiness out of life than the
owner of that great palace.”
“ Indeed, I think that it is more than likely,” the other
answered, in a much more conciliatory voice. '
“ Art,” said Robert, warming to the subject, “is her
own reward. What mere bodily indulgence is there to
be bought by money which can give that deep thrill of
satisfaction which comes on the man who has conceived
something new, something beautiful, and the daily de-
light as he sees it grow under his hand, until it stands
before him a completed whole ? With my art and with-
out wealth I am happy. Without my art I should have
a void which no money could fill. But I really don’t
know why I should say all this to you.”
The workman had stopped and was staring at him ear-
nestly, with a look of the deepest interest upon his
smoke-darkened features.
“ I am very glad to hear what you say,” said he. “ It
is a pleasure _to know that the worship of gold is not
quite universal, and that there are at least some who can


CHAPTER III.
A HOUSE OF WONDERS.
Robert McIntyre's face must have expressed the utter
astonishment which filled his mind at this most unlocked-
for announcement. 'For a moment he thought that his
companion must be joking, but the ease and assurance
with which he lounged up the steps, and the deep respect
with which a richly clad functionary in the hall swung
open the door to admit him, showed that he spoke in
sober earnest. Rafiles Haw glanced back, and seeing
the look of absolute amazement upon the young artist’s
features, he chuckled quietly to himself.
“ You will forgive me, won’t you, for not disclosing
my identity,” he said, laying his hand with a friendly
gesture upon the other’s sleeve. “ Had you known me
you would have spoken less freely and I should not
have had the opportunity of learning your true worth.
For example, you might hardly have been so frank upon
the matter of wealth had you known that you were speak-
ing to the master of the hall.”
“I don’t think that I was ever so astonished in my
life,” gasped Robert.
“ Naturally you are. How could you take me for any-
thing but a workman. So I am. Chemistry is one of
my hobbies, and I spend hours a day in my laboratory
yonder. I have only just struck work, and as I had in-
haled some not over pleasant gases, I thought that a
turn down the road and a wl1ifi' of tobacco might do me


28 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW.
upper stories, which were arranged around the central
court. The temperature within was warm and yet fresh,
like the air of an English May.
“It’s taken from the Alha1nbra," said Raffles Haw.
“ The palm-trees are pretty. They strike right through
the building into the ground beneath, and their roots
are all girt round with hot-water pipes. They seem to
thrive very well.”
“ What beautifully delicate brass-work!” cried Rob-
ert, looking up, with admiring eyes, at the bright and
infinitely fragile metal trellis screens which adorned the
spaces between the Moorish arches.
“It is rather neat. But it is not brass-work. Brass
is not tough enough to allow them to work it to that
degree of fineness. It is gold. But just come this way
with me.- You won’t mind waiting while I remove this
smoke.”
He led the way to a door upon the left side of the
court, which, to Robert’s surprise, swung slowly open as
they approached it.
“ That is a little improvement which I have adopted,”
remarked the master of the house. “As you go up to a
door your weight upon the planks releases a spring
which causes the hinges to revolve. Pray step in. This
is my own little sanctum, and furnished after my own
heart.”
If Robert expected to see some fresh exhibition of
wealth and luxury he was wofully disappointed, for he
found himself in a large but bare room, with a little iron
truckle bed in one corner, a few scattered wooden chairs,
a dingy carpet, and a large table heaped with books,
bottles, papers, and all the other débris which collect
around a busy and untidy man. Motioning his visitor
into a chair, Rallles Haw pulled off his coat, and turning


THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW. 29
up the sleeves of his coarse flannel shirt, he began to
plunge and scrub in the warm water which flowed from
a tap in the wall.
“ You see how simple my own tastes are,” he remarked,
as he mopped his dripping face and hair with a towel.
“This is the only room in my great house where I find
myself in a congenial atmosphere._ It is homely to me.
I can read here and smoke my pipe in peace. Anything
like luxury is abhorrent to me.”
“ Really, I should not have thought it,” observed
Robert.
“It is a fact, I assure you. You see, even with your
views as to worthlessness of wealth, views which, I am
sure, are very sensible and much to your credit, you
must allow that if a man should happen to be the pos-
sessor of vast—well, let us say of considerable—sums of
money, it is his duty to get that money into circulation.
so that the community may be the better for it. There
is the secret of my fine feathers. I have to exert all my
ingenuity in order to spend my income and yet keep
the money in legitimate channels. For example, it is
very easy to give money away, and no doubt I could dis-
pose of my surplus, or part of my surplus, in that fash-
ion, but I have no wish to pauperize anyone, 'or to do
mischief by indiscriminate charity. I must exact some
sort of money’s worth for all the money which I lay out.
You see my point, don’t you?” '
“ Entirely, though really it is something novel to
hear a man complain of the difliculty of spending his
income.” '
“ I assure you that it is a very serious difliculty with
me. But I have hit upon some plans—some very
pretty plans. Will you wash your hands? Well, then,
perhaps you would care to have a look round? Just


30 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW.
come into this corner of the room and sit upon this
chair—so. Now I will sit upon this one, and we are
ready t_o start-”
The angle of the chamber in which they sat was
painted for about six feet in each direction of a dark
chocolate brown, and was furnished with two red plush
seats protruding from the walls, and in striking contrast
with the simplicity of the rest of the apartment-
“This,” remarked Rafiles Haw, “is a lift, though it
is so closely joined to the rest of the room that without
the change in color it might puzzle you to find -the di-
vision. It is made to run either horizontally or verti-
cally. This line of knobs represent the various rooms.
You can see ‘dining,’ ‘smoking,’ ‘billiard,’ ‘library,’
and so on upon them. I will show you the upward ac-
tion. I press this one with ‘ kitchen ’ upon it.”
There was a sense of motion, a very slight jar, and
Robert, without moving from his seat, was conscious
that the room had vanished, and that a large arched
oaken door stood in the place which it had occupied.
“That is the kitchen door,” said Raflles Haw. “I
have my kitchens at the top of the house. I cannot
tolerate the smell of cooking. We have come up eighty
feet in one and a half seconds. Now I press again and
here we are in my room once more.”
Robert McIntyre stared about him in astonishment.
“The wonders of science are greater than those of
magic,” he remarked.
“Yes, it is a pretty little mechanism. Now we try
the horizontal. I press the ‘ dining ’ knob and here we
are, you see. Step toward the door, and you will find
it open in front of you.”
Robert did as he was bid, and found himself with
his companion in a large and lofty room, while the lift,


THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW. 31
the instant that it was freed from their weight, flashed
back to its original position. With his feet sinking into
the soft rich carpet, as though he were ankle-deep in
some mossy bank, he stared about him at the great pict-
ures which lined the walls. .
“Surely, surely, I see Raphael’s touch there,” he
cried, pointing up at the one which faced him.
“Yes, it is a Raphael, and I believe one of his best.
I had a very exciting bid for it with the French Gov-
ernment. They wanted it for the Louvre, but of course
at an auction the longest purse must win.”
“And this ‘Arrest of Catiline ’ must be a Rubens.
One cannot mistake his splendid men and his infamous
women.”
“Yes, it is a Rubens. The other two are aVelasquez
and a Teniers, fair specimens of the Spanish and of the
Dutch schools. I have only old masters here. The
moderns are in the billiard-room. The furniture here
is a little curious—in fact, I fancy that it is unique. It
is made of ebony and narwhal’s horns. You see that
the legs of everything are of spiral ivory, both the table
and the chairs. It cost the upholsterer some little
pains, for the supply of these things is a strictly limited
one. Curiously enough, the Chinese Emperor had given
a large order for narwhal’s horns to repair some an-
cient pagoda which was fenced in with them, but I out-
bid him in the market, and his Celestial highness has '
had to ait. There is a lift here in the corner, but
we do not need it. Pray step through this door. This
is the billiard-room,” he continued, as they advanced
into the adjoining room. “You see I have a few re-
cent pictures of merit upon the walls. Here is a Oorot,
two Meissonniers, a Bouguereau, a Millais, an Orchard-
son, and two Alma Tademas. It seems to me to be a


32 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES H-»lW.
pity to hang pictures over these walls of carved oak.
- Look at those birds hopping and singing in the
branches. They really seem to move and twitter, don’t
they ?”
“They are perfect. I never saw such exquisite work.
But why do you call it a billiard-room, Mr. Haw ? I do
not see any board.”
“ Oh, a board is such a clumsy, uncompromising piece
of furniture. It is always in the way, unless you act-
ually need to use it. In this case the board is covered
by that square of polished maple which you see let into
the floor. Now I put my foot upon this motor. You
see!” As he spoke the central portion of the flooring
flew up, and a most beautiful tortoise-shell-plated bill-
iard-table rose up some four feet into the air. He
pressed a second spring and a bagatelle-table appeared
in the same fashion. “You may have card-tables or
what you will by setting the levers in motion,” he re-
marked. “But all this is very trifling. Perhaps we
may find something in the museum which may be of
more interest to you.”
He led the way into another chamber, which was fur-
nished in antique style, with hangings of the rarest
and richest tapestry. The floor was a mosaic of colored
marbles, scattered over with mats of costly fur. There
was little furniture, but a number of Louis-quatorze
cabinets of ebony and silver, with delicately painted
plaques, were ranged round the apartment.
“It is perhaps hardly fair to dignify it by the name
of a museum,” said Rafiles Haw. “It consists merely
of a few elegant trifies which I have picked up hero and
there. Gems are my stron gestpoint. Ifancy that there
—perhaps I might challenge comparison with any pri-
vate collector in the world. I lock them up, for even


THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW. 33
the best servants may be tempted.” He took a silver
key from his watch-chain and began to unlock and draw
out the drawers. A cry of wonder and of admiration
burst from Robert McIntyre, as his eyes rested upon
case after case filled with the most magnificent stones.
The deep still red of the rubies, the clear scintillating
green of the emeralds, the hard glitter~ of the diamonds,
the many shifting shades of beryls, of amethysts, of
onyxes, of cats’-eyes, of opals, of agates, of cornelians,
seemed to fill the whole chamber with a vague twink-
ling of many-colored lights. Long slabs of the beauti-
ful blue lapis lazuli, magnificent bloodstones, specimens
of pink and red and white coral, long strips of lustrous
pearls, all these were tossed out by their owner as a
careless schoolboy might pour marbles from his bag.
“ This isn’t bad,” he said, holding up a great glowing
yellow mass as large as his own head. “It is 'really a
very fine piece of amber. It was forwarded to me by
my agent at the_ Baltic. Twenty-eight pounds it weighs.
I never heard of so fine a one. I have no very large
brilliants—there were no very large ones in the market
—but my average is good. Pretty toys, are they not ? ”
He picked up a large double handful of emeralds from
a drawer, and then let them trickle slowly back into the
heap. .
“Good heavens!” cried Robert, as he gazed from
case to case. “It is an immense fortune in itself.
Surely a hundred thousand pounds would hardly buy so
splendid a collection.”
“I don’t think that you would do for a valuer of
precious stones,” said Raflles Haw, laughing. “Why,
the contents of that one little drawer of brilliants could
not be bought for the sum which you name. I have a
memo. here of what I have expended up to date on my
3


3~-t THE DOINGS 01+’ RAFFLES HAW.
collection, though I have agents at work who will prob-
ably make very considerable additions to it within the
next few weeks. As matters stand, however, I have
spent—let me see—pearls, one forty thousand ; emer-
alds, seven fifty; rubies, eight forty; brilliants, nine
twenty; onyxes—I have several very nice onyxes—two
thirty. Other gems, carbuncles, agates—hum! Yes,
it figures out at just over four million seven hundred
and forty thousand. I daresay that we may say five
million, for I have not counted the odd money.”
“ Good gracious ! ” cried the young artist, with star-
ing eyes. '
“I have a certain feeling of duty in the matter. You
see the cutting, polishing, and general sale of stones is
one of those industries which is entirely dependent
upon wealth. If we do not support it it must languish,
which means misfortune to a considerable number of
people. The same applies to the gold filigree-work
which you noticed in the court. \Ve_alth has its re-
sponsibilities, and the encouragement of these handi~
crafts are among the most obvious of them. Here is
a nice ruby. It is Burmese, and the fifth largest in
existence. I am inclined to think that if it were uncut
it would be the second, but of course cutting takes away
a great deal.” He held up the blazing red stone, about
the size of a chestnut, between his finger and thumb for
a moment, and then threw it carelessly back into its
drawer. “Come into the smoking-room,” he said.
“You will need some little refreshment, for they say '
that sight-seeing is the most exhausting occupation in
the world."


CHAPTER IV.
FROM CLIME TO CLIME-
The chamber in which the bewildered Robert now
found himself was more luxurious, if less rich, than
any which he had yet seen. Low settees of claret-col-
ored plush were scattered in orderly disorder over a
mossy Eastern carpet. Deep lounges, reclining sofas,
American rocking-chairs—all were to be had for the
choosing. One end of the room was walled by glass, and
appeared to open upon a luxuriant hothouse- At the
further end a double line of gilt rails supported a profu-
sion of the most recent magazines and periodicals. A
rack at each side of the inlaid fireplace sustained a long
'line of the pipes of all places and nations—English
cherrywoods, French briers, German china-bowls, carved
meerschaums, scented cedar and myall wood, with East-
ern narghiles, Turkish chibouks, and two great golden-
topped hookahs. To right and left were a series of
small lockers, extending in a treble row for the whole
length of the room, with the names of the various
brands of tobacco scrolled in ivory-work across them.
Above were other larger tiers of polished oak, which
held cigars and cigarettes-
“Try that Damascus settee,” said the master of the
house, as he threw himself into a rocking-chair. “It
is from the Sultan’s upholsterer. The Turks have a
very good notion of comfort I am a confirmed smoker
myself, Mr. McIntyre, so I have been able perhaps to


36 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW-
check my architect here more than in most of the other
departments. Of pictures, for example, I know noth-
ing, as you would very speedily find out. On a tobacco
I might perhaps offer an opinion. Now these ”—he drew
out some long beautifully rolled mellow-colored cigars
—“ these are really something a little out of the com-
mon. Do try one.”
Robert lit the weed which was offered to him and
leaned back luxuriously amid his cushions, gazing
through the blue balmy fragrant cloud-wreaths at the
extraordinary man in the dirty pea-jacket, who spoke
of millions as another might of sovereigns. With his
pale face, his sad, languid air, and his bowed shoulders,
it was as though he were crushed down under the weight
of'his own gold. There was a mute apology, an attitude
of deprecation, in his whole manner and speech, which
was strangely at variance with the immense power which
he wielded. To Robert the whole whimsical incident
had been intensely interesting and amusing. His artis-
tic nature blossomed out in this atmosphere of perfect
luxury and comfort, and he was conscious of a sense of
repose and of absolute sensual contentment such as he
had never before experienced.
“ Shall it be coffee, or Rhine wine, or Tokay, or per-
haps something stronger?” asked Raflies Haw, stretch-
ing out his hand to what looked like a piano~board
projecting from the wall. “ I can recommend the
Tokay. I have it from the man who supplies the Em-
peror of Austria, though I think I may say that I get
the cream of it.” He struck twice upon one of the
piano-notes and sat expectant. With a sharp click at
the end of ten seconds a sliding shutter flew open and
a small tray protruded bearing two long tapering Vene-
tian glasses filled with wine.


THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW. 37
“It works very nicely,” said Raflles Haw. “It is
quite a new thing—never before done, as far as I know.
You see the names of the various wines and so on are
_ printed on the notes. By pressing the note down I
complete an electric circuit which causes the tap in the
cellars beneath to remain open long enough to fill the
glass which always stands beneath it. The glasses, you
understand, stand upon a revolving drum, so that there
must always be one there. The glasses are then brought
-up through a pneumatic tube, which is set working by
the increased weight of the glass when the wine is added
to it. It is a pretty little idea. But I am afraid that I
bore you rather with all these petty contrivances. It is
a whim of mine to push mechanism as far as it'will go.”
“On the contrary, I am filled with interest and won-
der,” said Robert, warmly. “ It is as if I had been sud-
denly whipped up out of prosaic old England and trans-
ferred in an instant to some enchanted palace, some East-
ern home of the Genii. I could not have believed that
there existed upon this earth such adaptation of means
to an end, such complete mastery of every detail which
may aid in stripping life of any of its petty worries.”
“ I have something yet to show you,” remarked
Rafiles Haw. “ But we will rest here for a few minutes,
for I wish to have a word with you. How is the cigar?”
“ Most excellent.”
“It was rolled in Louisiana in the old slavery days-
There is nothing made like them now. The man who
had them did not know their value. He let them go at
merely a few shillings apiece. Now I want you to do
me a favor, Mr. McIntyre.”
“ I shall be so glad.”
“ You can see more or less how I am situated. I am a
complete stranger here. With the well-to-do classes I


38 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW.
have little in common. I am no society man. I don’t
want to call or be called on. I am a student in a small
way, and a man of quiet tastes. I have no social ambi-
tions at all. Do you understand ? ”
“ Entirely.”
“ On the other hand, my experience of the world has
been that it is the rarest thing to be able to form a
friendship with a poorer 1nan—I mean with a man who
is at all eager to increase his income. They think much
of your wealth and little of yourself. I have tried, you
understand, and I know.” He paused and ran his fin-
gers through his thin beard. Robert McIntyre nodded
to show that he appreciated his position.
“Now, you see,” he continued, “if I am to be cut ofi
from the rich by my own tastes, and from those who are
not rich by my distrust of their motives, my situation
is an isolated one. Not that I mind isolation; I am
used to it. But it limits my field of usefulness. I have
no trustworthy means of informing myself when and
where I may do good. I have already, I am glad to say,
met a man to-day, your vicar, who appears to be thor-
oughly unselfish and trustworthy. He shall be one of
my channels of communication with the outer world.
Might I ask you whether you would be willing to be-
come another? "
“With the greatest pleasure,” said Robert, eagerly.
The proposition filled his heart with joy, for it seemed
to give him an almost oflicial connection with this para-
dise of a house. He could 'not have asked for anything
more to his taste.
“I was fortunate enough to discover by your conver-
sation how high a ground you take in such matters, and
how entirely disinterested you are. You may have ob-
served that I was short and almost rude with you at


THE DOINGS OF RAFFLE/S HAW. 39
first. I have had reason to fear and suspect all chance
friendships. Too often they have proved to be carefully
planned beforehand, with some sordid object in view.
Good heavens, what stories I could tell you! A lady
pursued by a bul1—I have risked my life to save her,
and have learned afterward that the scene had been ar-
ranged by the mother as an effective introduction, and
that the bull had been hired by the hour. But I won’t
shake your faith in human nature. I have had some
rude shocks myself. I look perhaps with a jaundiced
eye on all who come near me. It is the more need-
ful that I should have one whom I can trust to advise
me.”
“ If you will only show me where my opinion can be
of any use I shall be most happy,” said Robert. “ My
people come from Birmingham, but I know most of the
folk here and their position.”
“That is just what I want. Money can do so much
good, and it may do so much harm. I shall consult you
when I am in doubt. By the way,-there is one small
question which I might ask you now. Can you tell me
who a young lady is with very dark hair, gray eyes, and
a finely chiselled face. She wore a blue dress when I
saw her, with astrakhan about her neck and cuffs ? ”
Robert chuckled to himself. "I know that dress
pretty well," he said. “It is my sister Laura whom
you describe.”
“ Your sister l Really ! Why, there is a resemblance,
now that my attention is called to it. I saw her the other
day, and wondered who she might be. She lives with
you, of course? ”
“Yes. My father, she, and I live together at Elm-
dene.”
“Where I hope to have the pleasure of making their


40 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW.
acquaintance. You have finished your cigar? Have an.
other, or try a pipe. To the real smoker all is mere
trifling save the pipe. I have most brands of tobacco
here. The lockers are filled on the Monday, and on
Saturday they are handed over to the old folk at the
alms-houses, so I manage to keep it pretty fresh always.
Well, if you won’t take anything else, perhaps you would
care to see one or two of the other effects which I have
devised. On this side is the armory, and beyond it the
library. My collection of books is a limited one, there
are just over the hundred thousand volumes, but it is
to some extent remarkable for quality. Ihave a Visigoth
Bible of the fifth century, which I rather fancy is unique.
There is a Biblia Pauperum of 1430, a MS. of Genesis
done upon mulberry leaves, probably of the second cen-
tury. A Tristan and Isault of the _eighth century, and
some hundred black letters, with five very fine specimens
of Schoffer and Faust. But those you may turn over any
wet afternoon when you have nothing better to do.
Meanwhile I have a little device connected with this
smoking-room which may amuse you. Light this other
cigar. Now sit with me upon that lounge which stands
at the further end of the room.”
The sofa in question was in a niche which was lined
on three sides and above with perfectly clear, transparent
crystal. As they sat down the master of the house drew
a cord which pulled down a crystal shutter behind them,
so they were enclosed on all sides in a great box of
glass, so pure and so highly polished that its presence
might very easily be forgotten. A number of golden
cords with crystal handles hung down into this small
chamber, and appeared to be connected with a long
shining bar outside. .
“Now, where would you like to smoke your cigar?"


THE DOINGS OF RAFFLE/9 HAW. 41
said Raflles Haw, with a twinkle in his demure eyes.
“Shall we go to India, or to Egypt, or to China, or
to——”
“To South America,” said Robert.
There was a tinkle, a whirr, and a sense of motion.
The young artist gazed about him in absolute amaze-
ment. Look where he would, all round were tree ferns
and palms with long drooping creepers, and a blaze of
brilliant orchids- Smokingroom, house, England, all
were gone, and he sat on a settee in the heart of a virgin
forest of the Amazon. It was no mere optical delusion,
or trick. He could see the hot steam rising from the
tropical undergrowth, the heavy drops falling from the
huge green leaves, the very grain and fibre of the rough
bark which clothed the trunks. Even as he gazed, a
green mottled snake curled noiselessly over a branch
above his head, and a bright-colored parroquet broke
suddenly from amid the foliage, and flashed ofi' among
the tree-trunks. Robert gazed around, speechless with
surprise, and finally turned upon his host a face in
which curiosity was not unmixed with a suspicion of
fear.
“ People have been burned for less, have they not?”
cried Raffles Haw, laughing heartily. “Have you had
enough of the Amazon. What do you say to a spell of
Egypt?”
Again the whirr, the swift flash of passing objects,
and in an instant a huge desert stretched on every side
of them, as far as eye could reach. In the foreground
a clump of five palm-trees towered into the air, with a
profusion of rough cactus-like plants bristling from their '
base. On the other side rose a rugged gnarled g-ray
monolith, carved at the foot into a huge scarabseus. A
group of lizards played about on the surface of the old


4:2 TIIE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW.
carved stone. Beyond, the yellow sand stretched away
into furthest space, where the dim mirage mist played
along the horizon.
“ Mr. Haw! I cannot understand it! ” Robert
grasped the velvet edge of the settee, and gazed wildly
about him.
“ The effect is rather startling, is it not? This Egyp-
tian desert is my favorite when I lay myself out for a
contemplative smoke. It seems strange that tobacco
should have come from the busy, practical West. It has
much more aflinity for the dreamy, languid East. But
perhaps you would like to run over to China for a
change.” ' ,.
“ Not to-day,” said Robert, passing his hand over his
forehead. “ I feel a little confused by all these wonders,
and indeed I think that they have affected my nerves a
little. Besides, it is time that I returned to my prosaic
little Elmdene, if I can find my way out of this wilder-
ness to which you have transplanted me. But would
you ease my mind, Mr. Haw, by showing me how this
thing is done ? ”
“It is the merest toy—a complex plaything, nothing
more. Allow me to explain. I have a line of very large
greenhouses which extend from one end of my smok-
ing—room. These different houses are kept at varying
degrees of heat and humidity so as to reproduce the ex-
act climates of Egypt, China, and the rest. You see:
our crystal chamber is a tramway running with a mini-
mum of friction along a steel rod. By pulling this or
that handle I regulate how far it shall go, and it travels,
' as you have seen, with amazing speed. The effect of my
hot-houses is heightened by the roofs being invariably
concealed by skies, which are really very admirably
painted, and by the introduction of birds and other


THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW. 43
creatures which seem to flourish quite as well in artifi-
cial as in natural heat. This explains the South Amer-
ican effect.”
“ But not the Egyptian.”
“No. It is certainly rather clever. I had the best
man in France, at least the best at those large effects, to
paint in that circular background. You understand, the
palms, cacti, obelisk, and so on are perfectly genuine,
and so is the sand for fifty yards or so, and I defy the
keenest-eyed man in England to tell where the decep-
tion commences. It is the familiar, and perhaps -rather
meretricious, effect of a circular panorama, but carried
out in the most complete manner. Was there any other
point ? ”
“ The crystal box. Why was it?”
“ To preserve my guests from the effects of the changes
of temperature It would be a poor kindness to bring
them back to my smoking-room drenched through, and
with the seeds of a violent cold. The crystal has to be
kept warm too, otherwise vapor would deposit and you
would have your view spoiled. But must you really
go? Then here we are back in the smoking-room. I
hope that it will not be your last visit by many a one.
And if I may come down to Elmdene I should be
very glad to do so. This is the way, through the mu-
scum.”
As Robert McIntyre emerged from the balmy aromatic
atmosphere of the great house, into the harsh, raw, bit-
ing air of an English winter evening, he felt as though
he had been away for a long visit in some foreign coun-
try. Time is measured by impressions, and so vivid
and novel had been his feelings that weeks and weeks
might have elapsed since his chat with the smoke be-
grimed stranger in the road. He walked along with his


CHAPTER V.
1.AnBA’s nnounsr.
That night, after supper, Robert McIntyre poured
forth all that he had seen to his father and to his sister.
So full was he of the one subject that it was a relief to
him to share his knowledge with others. Rather for his
own sake, then, than for theirs, he depicted vividly all
the marvels which he had seen, the profusion of wealth,
the regal treasure-house of gems, the gold, the marble,
the extraordinary devices, the absolute lavishness, and
complete disregard for money which was shown in every
detail. For an hour he pictured with glowing words
all the wonders which had been shown him, and ended
with some pride by describing the request which Mr.
Raflles Haw had made, and the complete confidence
which he had placed in him.
His words had a very diflerent effect upon his two lis-
teners. Old McIntyre leaned back in his chair with a
bitter smile upon his lips, his thin face crinkled into a
thousand puckers, and his small eyes shining with envy
and greed. His lean yellow hand upon the table was
clenched until the knuckles gleamed white in the lamp-
light. Laura, on the other hand, leaned forward, her
lips parted, drinking in her brother’s words, with a
glow of color upon either cheek. It seemed to Robert,
as he glanced from one to the other of them, that he had
never seen his father look so evil, or his sister so beau-
tiful.


46 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW
“ Who is the fellow, then? ” asked the old man, after
a considerable pause. “I hope he got all this in an
honest fashion. Five millions in jewels, you say. Good
gracious me ! Ready to give it away, too, but afraid of
pauperizing anyone. You can tell him, Robert, that
you know of one very deserving case which has not the
slightest objection to being pauperized.”
“ But who can he possibly be, Robert?” cried Laura.
“ Haw cannot be his real name. He must be some dis-
guised prince, or perhaps a_king in exile. Oh, I should
have loved to see those diamonds'—and the emeralds.
I always think that emeralds suit dark people best.
You must tell me again all about that museum,
Robert.”
“I don’t think he is anything more than he pretends
to be,” her brother answered. “ He has the plain, quiet
manners of an ordinary middle-class Englishman.
There was no particular polish that I could see. He
knew a little about books and pictures, just enough to
appreciate them, but nothing more. No, I fancy that
he is a man quite in our own position of life, who has in
some way inherited a vast sum. Of course it is difficult
for me to form an estimate, but I should judge that
what I saw to-day, house, pictures, jewels, books, and
so on, could never have been bought under twenty mill-
ion, and I am sure that that figure is entirely an under-
estimate.”
“I never knew but one Haw,” said old McIntyre,
drumming his fingers on the table. “He was a fore-
man in my pin-fire cartridge-case department. But he
was an elderly single man. Well, I hope he got it all
honestly. I hope the money is clean.”
“And really, really, he is coming to see us!” cried
Laura, clapping_her hands. “Oh, when do you think


THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW. 47
he will come, Robert? D0 give me warning. Do you
think it will be to-morrow?”
“I am sure I cannot say.”
“I should so love to see him. I don’t know when I
have been so interested.”
“Why, you have a letter there,” remarked Robert.
“ From Hector, too, by the foreign stamp. How is
he ? "
“It only came this evening. I have not opened it
yet. To tell the truth, I have been so interested in
your story that I have forgotten all about it. Poor old
Hector! It is from Madeira.” She glanced rapidly
over the four pages of straggling writing in the young
sailor’s bold schoolboyish hand. “ Oh, he is all right,”
she said. “They had a gale on the way out and that
sort of thing, but it is all right now. He thinks he may
be back by March. I wonder whether your new friend
will come to-morrow—your knight of the enchanted
castle.”
“Hardly so soon, I should fancy."
“If he should be looking about for an investment,
Robert,” said the father, “you won’t forget to tell him
what a fine opening there is now in the gun-trade.
With my knowledge, and a few thousands at my back, I
could bring him in his thirty per cent. as regular as the
bank. After all, he must lay out his money somehow.
He cannot sink it all in books and precious stones. I
am sure that I could give him the highest references.”
“ It may be a long time before he comes, father,” said
Robert, coldly ; “ and when he does I am afraid that I
can hardly use his friendship as a means of advancing
your interests.”
“ WVe are his equals, father,” cried Laura, with spirit.
“ Would you put us on the footing of beggars ? He


' THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW. 51
come when you would gladly give ten times the sum to
have them back again. I am sure that there are great
possibilities in you, and I see that in grouping and in
boldness of design you have already achieved much.
But your drawing, if you will excuse my saying so, is
just a little crude, and your coloring perhaps a trifle
thin. Now, I will make a bargain with you, Mr. Mc-
Intyre, if you will consent to it. I know that money
has no charm to you, but still, as you' said when I first
met you, a man must live. I shall buy these two can-
vases from you at the price which you name, subject
to the condition that you may always have them back
again by repaying the same sum.”
“You are really very kind!” Robert hardly knew
whether to be delighted at having sold his pictures, or
humiliated at the frank criticism of the buyer.
“May 'I write a check at once?” said Rafiles Haw.
“Here is pen and ink. So! I shall send a couple of
footmen down for them in the afternoon. Well, I shall
keep them in trust for you. I dare say that when you
are famous they will be of value as specimens of your
early manner.”
“ I am sure that I am extremely obliged to you, Mr.
Haw,” said the young artist, placing the check in his
note-book. He glanced at it as he folded it up, in the
vague hope that perhaps this man of whims had as-
' sessed his pictures at a higher rate than he had named.
The figures, however, were exact. Robert began dimly
to perceived that there were drawbacks as well as advan-
tages to the reputation of a money scorner, which he had
gained by a few chance words, prompted rather by the
reaction against his father, than by his own real convic-
tions.
“I hope, Miss McIntyre,” said Rafiies Haw, when they


52 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW.
had descended to the sitting-room once more, “that you
will do me the honor of coming to see the little curi-
osities which I have gathered together. Your brother
will, I am sure, escort you up, or perhaps Mr. McIntyre
would care to come.” '
“ I shall be delighted to come, Mr. Haw,” cried Laura,
with her sweetest smile. “ A good deal of my time just
now is taken up in looking after the poor people, who
find the cold weather very trying.” Robert raised his
eyebrows, for it was the first he had heard of his sis-
ter’s missions of mercy, but Mr. Raflles Haw nodded ap-
provingly. “Robert was telling us of your wonderful
hot-houses. I am sure I wish I could transport the
whole parish into one of them, and give them a good
warm.”
“Nothing would be easier, but I am afraid that they
might find it a little trying when they came out again.
I have one house which is only just finished. Your
brother has not seen it yet, but I think it is the best of
them all. It represents an Indian jungle, and is h0t
enough in all conscience.”
“I shall so look forward to seeing it,” cried Laura,
clasping her hands. “It has been one of the dreams of
my life to see India. I have read so much of it, the tem-
ples, the forests, the great rivers, and the tigers. Why,
you would hardly believe it, but I have never seen a
tiger except in a picture.”
“ That can easily be set right,” said Raflles Haw, with
his quiet smile. “Would you care to see one?”
“ Oh, immensely.”
“I will have one sent down. Let me see—it is
nearly twelve o’clock. I can get a wire to Liverpool by
one. There is a man there who deals in such things. I
should think he would be due to-morrow morning.


THE DOING/S OF RAFFLES HAW. 53
Well, I shall look forward to seeing you all before very
long. I have rather overstayed my time, for I am a man
of routine, and I always put in a certain number of
hours in my laboratory.” He shook hands cordially with
them all, and lighting his pipe at the doorstep, strolled
off upon his way.
“ Well, what do you think of him now?” asked Rob-
ert, as they watched his black figure against the white
snow.
“ I think he is no more fit to be trusted with all that
money than a child,” cried the old man. “It made me
positively sick to hear him talk of moving hills and
buying tigers, and such-like nonsense, when there are
honest men without a business, and great businesses
starving for a little capital. It’s unchristian— that’s
what I call it.”
“I think he is most delightful, Robert,” said Laura.
“Remember you have promised to take us up to the
hall. And he evidently wishes us to go soon. Don’t
you think we might go this afternoon?”
“I hardly think that, Laura. You leave it in my
hands, and I will manage it all. And now I must get
to work, for the light is so very short on these winter
days.”
That night Robert McIntyre had gone to bed, and
was dozing ofi‘, when a hand plucked at his shoulder,
and he started up to find his sister in some white
drapery, with a shawl thrown over her shoulders, stand-
ing beside him in the moonlight.
“Robert, dear,” she whispered, stooping over him,
“there was something I wanted to -ask you, but papa
was always in the way. You will do something to please
me, won’t you, Roberlr? ”
“ Of course, Laura. What is it ? ”


54 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW.
“I do hate having my a,fi"airs talked over, dear. If
Mr. Raffles Haw says anything to you about me, or asks
any questions, please don’t say anything about Hector.
You won’t, will you, Robert, for the sake of your little
sister?”
“ No, not unless you wish it.”
“There is a dear 'good brother.” She stooped over
him and kissed him tenderly. It was a rare thing for
Laura to show any emotion, and her brother marvelled
sleepily over it until he relapsed into his interrupted
doze.


CHAPTER VI.
A STRANGE VISITOR-
The McIntyre family were seated at breakfast on the
morning which followed the first visit of Rafiles Haw,
when they were surprised to hear the buzz and hum of
a multitude of voices in the village street. Nearer and
nearer came the tumult, and then, of a sudden, two
maddened horses reared themselves up on the other
side of the garden hedge, prancing and pawing, with
ears laid back, and eyes ever glancing at some horror
behind them. Two men hung shouting to their bri-'
dles, while a third came rushing up the curved gravel
path. Before'the Mclntyres could realize the situation
their maid, Mary, darted into the sitting-room with ter-
ror in her round, freckled face.
“If you please, miss,” she screamed, “your tiger has
arrove.”
“ Good heavens! ” cried Robert, rushing to the door
with his half-filled tea-cup in his hand. “This is too
much. Here is an iron cage on a trolly with a great
ramping tiger, and the whole village with their mouths
open.”
“Mad as a hatter,” shrieked Old McIntyre. “I
could see it in his eye. He’s spent enough on this
beast to start me in business. Who ever heard of
‘ such a thing. Tell the driver to take it to the police
station.”
“Nothing of the sort, papa," said Laura, rising with


56 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW.
dignity, and wrapping a shawl about her shoulders.
Her eyes were shining, her cheeks flushed, and she car-
ried herself like a triumphant queen. Robert, with his
tea-cup in his hand, allowed his attention to be diverted
from their strange visitor while he gazed at his beautiful
sister.
“ Mr. Raflles Haw has done this out of kindness to me,”
she said, sweeping toward the door. “I look upon it
as a great attention upon his part. I shall certainly go
out and look at it.”
“If you please, sir,” said the carman, reappearing
at the door,“ it’s all as e can do to ’old in the hosses.”
“Let us all go out together, then,” suggested Robert.
They went as far as the garden fence and stared over,
while the whole village, from the school children to
the old gray-haired men from the alms-houses, gath-
ered round in mute astonishment. The tiger, a long,-
lithe, venomous-looking creature with two blazing green
eyes, paced stealthily round the little cage, lashing its
sides with its tail, and rubbing its muzzle against the
bars. _
“What were your orders?” asked Ro'bert of the car-
man.
“It came through by special express from Liverpool,
sir, and the train is drawn up at the Tamfield siding all
ready to take it back. If it ’ad been ryalty the railway
folk couldn't have shown it more respec’. We are to
take it back when you’ve done with it. It’s been a cruel
job, sir, for our arms is pulled clean out of the sockets
a-’oldin’ in of the ’osses.”
“What a dear, sweet creature it is,” cried Laura.
“How sleek and how graceful! I cannot understand
how people could be afraid of anything so beautiful.”
“ If you please, marm,” said the carman, touching his


58 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW.
to remember the promise you made me the other
night.”
“ What promise was that, then ? ” cried old McIntyre,
suspiciously. '
“Never you mind, papa. But if you forget it, Rob-
ert, I shall never forgive you as long as I live.”


CHAPTER VH.
THE WORKINGS OF WEALTH.
It can easily be believed that as the weeks passed the
name and fame of the mysterious owner of the new hall
resounded over the quiet countryside until the rumor of
him had spread to the remotest corners of Warwickshire
and Staffordshire. In Birmingham on the one side,
and in Coventry and Leamington on the other, there
was gossip as to his untold riches, his extraordinary
whims, and the remarkable life which he led. His name -
was bandied from mouth to mouth, and a thousand ef-
forts were made to find out who and what he was. In
spite of all their pains, however, the newsmongers were
unable to discover the slightest trace of his antecedents,
or to form even a guess as to the secret of his riches.
It was no wonder that conjecture was rife upon the
subject, for hardly a day passed without furnishing some
new instance of the boundlessness of his power, and of
the goodness of his heart. Through the vicar, Robert,
and others, he had learned much of the inner life of the
pa1ish, and many were the times when the struggling
man, harassed and driven to the wall, found, thrust into
his hands some morning, a brief note with an enclosure
which rolled all the sorrow back from his life. One day
a thick, double-breasted pea-jacket and a pair of good
sturdy boots were served out to every old man in the
almshouse. On another, Miss Swire, the decayed gen-
tlewoman who eked out her small annuity by needle-


60 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HATV.
work, had a brand new, first-class sewing-machine handed
into her, to take the place of the old worn-out treadle
which tried her rheumatic joints. The pale-faced school-
master who had spent years with hardly a break in strug-
gling with the juvenile obtuseness of Tamfield, received
through the post a circular ticket for a two-months’ tour
through Southern Europe, with hotel coupons and all
complete. John Hackett, the farmer, after five long
years of bad seasons borne with a brave heart, had at
last been overthrown by the sixth, and had the bailiffs
actually in the house, when the good vicar had rushed in
waving a note above _his head, to tell him not only that
his deficit had been made up, but that enough remained
over to provide the improved machinery which would
enable him to hold his own for the future. An almost
superstitious feeling came upon the rustic folk as they
looked at the great house when the sun gleamed upon
the huge hot-houses, or even more so, perhaps, when at
night the brilliant electric lights shot their white radi-
ance through the countless rows of windows. To them
it was as if some minor Providence presided in that great
palace, unseen but seeing all, boundless in its power and
in its graciousness, ever ready to assist and to befriend.
In every good deed, however, Raflies Haw still remained
in the background, while the vicar and Robert had the
pleasant task of conveying his benefits to the lowly and
the sufi'ering.
Once only did he appear in his own person, and that
was upon the famous occasion when he saved the well-
known bank of Garraweg Brothers in Birmingham. The
most charitable and upright of men, the two brothers,
Louis and Rupert, had built up a business which ex-
tended its ramifications into every townlet of four coun-
ties. ' The failure of their London agents had brought a


THE DOINGS OF’ RAFFLES HAW. 61
heavy loss upon them, and the circumstance leaking out,
had caused a sudden and most dangerous run upon their
establishment. Urgent telegrams for bullion from all
their forty branches poured in at the very instant when
the head ofiice was crowded with anxious clients, all
waving their deposit books and clamoring for their
money. Bravely did the two brothers with their staff
stand with smiling faces behind the shining counter,
while swift messengers sped, and telegrams flashed, to
draw in all the available resources of the bank. All day
the stream poured through the ofiice, and when four
o’cl0ck came, and the doors were closed for the day,
the street without was still blocked by the expectant
crowd, while there remained scarce a thousand pounds
of bullion in the cellars.
“It is only postponed, Louis,” said brother Rupert,
despairingly, when the last clerk had left the ofiice, and
when at last they could relax the fixed smile upon their
haggard faces.
“Those shutters will never come down again,” cried
brother Louis, and the two suddenly burst out sobbing
in each other’s arms, not for their own griefs, but for
the miseries which they might bring upon those who
had trusted them.
But who shall ever dare to say that there is no hope,
if he will but give his griefs to the world? That very
night Mrs. Spurling had' received a letter from her old
school-friend, Mrs. Louis Garraweg, with all her fears
and her hopes poured out in it, and the whole sad story
of their troubles. Swift from the vicarage went the
message to the hall, and early next morning Mr. Raflles
Haw, with a great black carpet-bag in his hand, found
means to draw the cashier of the local branch of the
Bank of England from his breakfast, and to persuade


62 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLE/S HAW.
him to open his doors at unoflicial hours. By half-past
nine the crowd had already begun to _collect around Gar-
raweg’s when a stranger, pale and thin, with a bloated
carpet-bag, was shown at his own very pressing request
into the bank parlor.
“ It is no use, sir,” said the elder brother, humbly, as
they stood together encouraging each other to turn a
brave face to misfortune. “We can do no more. We
have little left, and it would be unfair to the others to
pay you now. \Ve can but hope that when our assets
are realized no one will be the loser save ourselves.”
“I did not come to draw out, but to put in,” said
Raffles Haw, in his demure apologetic fashion. “I have
in my bag five thousand hundred-pound Bank of Eng-
land notes. If you will have the goodness to place them
to my credit account, I should be extremely obliged."
“But, good heavens, sir,” stammered Rupert Garra-
weg, “ have you not heard? Have you not seen? We
cannot allow you to do this thing blindfold. Can we,
Louis?”
“Most certainly not. We cannot recommend our
bank, sir, at the present moment, for there is a run
upon us, and we do not know to what lengths it may
go.”
“Tut! tut! ” said Rafiles Haw. “If the run continues
you must send me a wire, and I shall make a small addi-
tion to my account. You will send me a receipt by post-
Good-morning, gentlemen I” He bowed himself out ere
the astonished partners could realize what had befallen
them, or raise their eyes from the huge black bag and
the visiting card which lay upon their table. There was
no great failure in -Birmingham that day, and the house
of Garraweg still survives to enjoy the success which it
deserves.


THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW. 63
Such were the deeds by which Rafiles Haw made him-
self known throughout the Midlands. And yet, in spite
of all his open-handedness, he was not a man to be im-
posed upon. In vain the sturdy beggar cringed at his
gate, and in vain the crafty letter-writer poured out a
thousand fabulous woes upon paper. Robert was aston-
ished, when he brought some tale of trouble to the hall,
to observe how swift was the perception of the recluse,
and how unerringly he could detect a flaw ina narrative,
or lay his finger upon the one point which rang false.
Were a man strong enough to help himself, or of such a
nature as to profit nothing by help, none would he get
from the master of the new hall. In vain, for example,
did old McIntyre throw himself continually across the
path of the millionaire, and impress upon him, by a
thousand hints and innuendoes, the hard fortune which
had been dealt him, and the ease with which his fallen
greatness might be restored. Raflies Haw listened po-
litely, bowed, smiled, but never showed the slightest in-
clination to restore the querulous old gunmaker to his
pedestal.
But if the recluse’s wealth was a lure which drew the
beggars from far and near as a lamp draws the moths,
it had the same power of attraction upon another and
much more dangerous class. Strange hard faces were
seen in the village street, prowling figures were marked
at night stealing about among the fir plantations, and
warning messages arrived from city police and county
constabulary to say that evil visitors were known to
have taken train to Tamfield. But if, as Raflles Haw
held, there were few limits to the power of immense
wealth, it possessed among other things the power of
self-preservation as one or two people were to learn to
their cost.


64; THE DOINGS OF RAFFLE/S HAW
“Would you mind stepping up to the hall,” he said
one morning, putting his head in at the door of the
Elmdene sitting room. “I have something there that
might amuse you.” He was on intimate terms with the
Mclntyres now, and there were few days on which they
did not see something of each other.
They gladly accompanied him, all three, for such in-
vitations were usually the prelude of some agreeable
surprise which he had in store for them.
“I have shown you a tiger,” he remarked to Laura,
as he led them into the dining-room. “I will now show
you something quite as dangerous, though not nearly so
pretty.” There was an arrangement of mirrors at one
end of the room, with a large circular glass at a sharp
angle at the top.
“Look in there—in the upper glass,” said Raflles
Haw.
“Good gracious, what dreadful-looking men !” cried
Laura. “ There are two of them, and I don’t know which
is the worse.” '
“ What on earth are they doing?” asked Robert.
“They appear to be sitting on the ground in some sort
of a cellar.”
“ Most dangerous-looking characters,” said the old
man. “ I should strongly recommend you to send for a
policeman.”
“I have done so. But it seems a work of supereroga-
tion to take them to prison, for they are very snugly in
prison already. However, I suppose that the law must
have its own.”
“And who are they, and how did they come there?
Do tell us, Mr. Haw.” Laura McIntyre had a pretty, be-
seechin g way with her which went rather piquantly with
her queenly style of beauty. '


THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW. 65
“ I know no more than you do. They were not there
last night, and they are here this morning, so I suppose
it is a safe inference that they came in during the night,
especially as my servants found the window open when
they came down. As to their character and intentions,
I should think that is pretty legible upon their faces.
They look a pair of beauties, don’t they?"
“But I cannot understand in the least where they
are,” said Robert, staring into the mirror. “ One of
them has taken to butting his head against the_walL
No, he is bending so that the other may stand upon his
back. He is up there now and the light is shining upon
his face. VVhat a bewildered ruffianly face it is, too. I
should so like to sketch it. It would be a study for the
picture I am thinking of, of ‘The Reign of Terror.’ ”
“ I have caught them in my patent burglar trap,” said
Haw. “They are my first birds, but I have no doubt
that they will not be the last. I will show you how it
works. It is quite a new thing. This flooring is now
as strong as possible, but every night I disconnect it.
It is done simultaneously by a central machine for every
room on the ground floor. When the floor is discon-
nected one may advance three or four steps, either from
the window or door, and then that whole part turns
on a hinge and slides you into a padded strong room
beneath, where you may kick your heels until you are re-
leased. There is a central oasis, between the hinges,
where the furniture is grouped for the night. The floor-
ing flies into position again when the weight of the
intruder is removed, and there he must bide, while I
can always take a peep at him by this simple little opti-
cal arrangement. I thought it might amuse you to have
a look at my prisoners before I handed them over to the
head constable, who I see is now coming up the avenue.”
5


68 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW.
7'
beautiful mare, in case Miss McIntyre should care to
ride. Everything went to show that she had made a
conquest of the recluse of the new hall.
And she, on her side, played her part admirably.
With female adaptiveness she fell in with his humor and
looked at the world through his eyes. Her talk was of
alms-houses and free libraries, of charities and of im-
provements. He had never a scheme that she could not
add some detail to which made it more complete and
more effective. To Haw it seemed that at last he had
met a mind which was in absolute aflinity with his own.
Here was a helpmate who could not only follow but
even lead him in the path which he had chosen.
Neither Robert nor his father could fail to see what
was going forward, but to the latter nothing could pos-
sibly be more acceptable than a family tie which should
connect him, however indirectly, with a man of vast
fortune. The glamour of the gold bags had crept over
Robert also, and froze the remonstrance upon his lips.
It was very pleasant to have the handling of all this
wealth, even as a mere agent. W'hy should he do or
say what might disturb their present happy relations?
It was his sister’s business, not his, and as to Hector
Spurling, he must take his chance, as other men did.
It was obviously best not to move one way or the other
in the matter.
But to Robert himself, his work and his surroundings
were becoming more and more irksome. His joy in
his art had become less keen since he had known Raf-
fles Haw. It seemed so hard to toil and slave to earn
such a trifling sum when money could really be had forx
the asking. It was true that he had asked for none, but
large sums were forever passing through his hands for
those who were needy, and if he were needy himself his


THE DOINGS OF RAFFLE/S HAW’. 69
friend would surely not grudge it to him. So the Ro-
man galleys still remained faintly outlined upon the
great canvas, while Robert's days were spent either in
the luxurious library at the hall, or in strolling about
the country listening to tales of trouble, and returning
like a tweed-suited ministering angel to carry Raflles
Haw’s help to the unfortunate. It was not an ambitious
life, but it was one which was very congenial to his weak
and easy-going nature.
Robert had observed that fits of depression had fre-
quently come upon the millionaire, and it had some-
times struck him that the enormous sums which he
spent had possibly made a serious inroad into his capi-
tal, and that his mind was troubled as to the future.
His abstracted manner, his clouded brow, and his bent
head all spoke of a soul that was weighed down with
care, and it was only in Laura’s presence that he could
throw ofi' the load of his secret trouble. For five hours
a day he buried himself in the laboratory and amused
himself with his hobby, but it was one of his whims that
no one, neither any of his servants, nor even Laura or
Robert, should ever cross the threshold of that outlying
building. Day after day he vanished into it, to reap-
pear hours afterward pale and exhausted, while the
whirr of machinery and the smoke which streamed
from his high chimney showed how considerable were
the operations which he undertook single-handed.
“ Could I not assist you_ in any way?” suggested Rob-
ert, as they sat together after luncheon in the smoking-
room. “I am convinced that you over-try your strength.
I should be so glad to help you, and I know a little of
chemistry.”
“Do you, indeed?” said Raflles Haw, raising his
eye brows. “I had no idea of that. It is so very sel-


70 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW.
dom that the artistic and the scientific faculties go to-
gether.”
“I don’t know that I have either particularly devel-
oped, but I have taken classes, and I worked for two
years in the laboratory at Sir Josiah Mason’s Institute.”
“I am delighted to hear it,” Haw replied, with em-
phasis. “ That may be of great importance to us. It is
very possible—indeed almost certain—that I shall avail
myself of your offer of assistance, and teach you some-
thing of my chemical methods, which I may say difi'er
considerably from those of the orthodox school. The
time, however, is hardly ripe for that. What is it,
Jones ? ”
“ A note, sir.’ The butler handed it in upon a silver
salver. Haw broke the seal and ran his eye over it.
“Tut! tut! It is from Lady Morsley, asking me to
the Lord Lieutenant’s ball. I cannot possibly accept.
It is very kind of them, but I do wish they would leave
me alone. Very well, Jones. I shall write. Do you
know, Robert, I am often very unhappy.” He fre-
quently called the young artist by his Christian name,
especially in his more confidential moments.
“I have sometimes feared that you were,” said the
other, sympathetically. “ But how strange it seems, you
who are yet young, healthy, with every faculty for enjoy-
ment, and a millionaire.”
“Ah, Robert,” cried Haw, leaning back in his chair,
and sending up thick blue wreaths from'his pipe. “ You
have put your finger upon my trouble. If I were a mill-
ionaire I might be happy, but alas I am no million-
aire.”
“Good heavens!” gasped Robert. Cold seemed to
shoot tohis inmost soul as it flashed upon him that this
was a prelude to a confession of impending bankruptcy,


72 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW.
sake, of boundless wealth, could benefit mankind by it,
without taking away anyone’s independence or in any
way doing harm?”
“Well, really, now that I come to think of it, it is a
very diflicult problem,” said Robert.
“Now I will submit a few schemes to you, and you
may give me your opinion o_n them. Supposing that
such amen were to buy ten square miles of ground here
in Stafibrdshire, and were to build upon it a neat city
consisting entirely of clean, comfortable, four-roomed
houses, furnished in a simple style, with shops and so
forth, but no public houses. Supposing, too, that he
was to offer a house free to all the homeless folk, all the
tramps, and broken men, and out-of-workers in Great
Britain. Then, having collected them together, let him
employ them, under fitting superintendence, upon some
colossal piece of work which would last for many years,
and perhaps be a permanent value to humanity. Give
them a good rate of pay and let their hours of labor be
reasonable, and those of recreation be pleasant. Might
you not benefit them and benefit humanity at one
stroke ? ” \
“But what form of work could you devise which
would employ so vast a number for so long a time, and
yet not compete with any existing industry? To do the
latter would simply mean to shift the misery from one
class to another.”
“ Precisely so. I should compete with no one. What
I thought of doing was of sinking a shaft through the
earth’s crust and of establishing rapid communication
with the antipodes. “Then you had got a certain dis-
tance down—h0w far is an interesting mathematical
problem—the centre of gravity would be beneath you,
presuming that your boring was not quite directed


THE DOING’/S’ OF RAFFLES HAW. 73
toward the centre, and you could then lay down rails
and tunnel as if you were on a level.”
Then for the first time it flashed into Robert McIn-
tyre’s head that his father's chance words were correct,
and that he was in the presence of a madman. His
great wealth had clearly turned his brain and made
him a monomaniac. He nodded indulgently as when
one humors a child. '
“It would be very nice,” he said. “I have heard,
however, that the interior of the earth is molten, and
your workmen would need to be salamanders.”
“ The latest scientific datado not bear out the idea
that the earth is so hot,” answered Raffles Haw. “It
is certain that the increased temperature in coal mines
depends upon the barometric pressure- There are
gases in the earth which may be ignited, and there are
combustible materials, as we see in the volcanoes, but
if we come across anything of the sort in our borings
we could turn a river or two down the shaft, and get
the better of it in that fashion.”
“It would be rather awkward if the other end of
your shaft came out under the Pacific Ocean,” said Rob-
ert, choking down his inclination to laugh.
“ I have had estimates and calculations from the first
living engineers, French, English, and American. The
point of exit of the tunnel could be calculated to the
yard. That portfolio in the corner is full of sections,
plans, and diagrams. I have agents employed in buying
up land, and if all goes well we may get to work in the
autumn. That is one device which may produce results-
Another is canal cutting.”
“ Ah, there you would compete with the railways.”
“ You don’t quite understand. I intend to cut canals
through every neck of land where such a convenience


74 TIIE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW.
would facilitate commerce. Such a scheme, when un-
accompanied by any toll upon vessels, would, I think, be
a very judicious way of helping the human race.”
“And where, pray, would you cut the canals?” asked
Robert.
“I have a map of the world here,” Haw answered,
rising and taking one down from the paper-rack. “ You
see the blue pencil-marks. Those are the points where
I propose to establish communication. Of course I
should begin by the obvious duty of finishing the Pan-
ama business”
“ Naturally ! ” The man’s lunacy was becoming more
and more obvious, and yet there was such precision and
coolness in his manner that Robert found himself, against
his own reason, endorsing and speculating over his
plans.
“The Isthmus of Corinth also occurs to me. That,
however, is a small matter from either a financial or an
engineering point of view. I propose, however, to make
a juncture here, through Kiel, between the German
Ocean and the Baltic. It saves, you will observe, the
whole journey round the coast of Denmark, and would
facilitate our trade with Germany and Russia. Another
very obvious improvement is to join the Forth and
Clyde, so as to connect Keith with the Irish and Ameri-
can routes. You see the blue_line ”
“ Quite so.”
“ And we will have a little cutting here. It will run
from Uleaborg to Kern, and will connect the WVhite Sea
with the Gulf of Bothnia. WVe must not allow our sym-
pathies to be insular, must we? Our little charities
should be cosmopolitan. We will try and give the
good people of Archangel a better outlet for their furs
and their tallow.”


THE DOING/S OF RAFFLES HAW. 75
“But it will freeze.”
“For six months in the year. Still it will be some-
thing. Then we must do something for the East. It
would never do to overlook the East.”
“ It would certainly be an oversight,” said Robert,
who was keenly alive to the comical side of the question.
Rafiles Haw, however, in deadly earnest, sat scratching
away at his map with his blue pencil.
“Here is a point where we might be of some little
use. If we cut through from Batoum to the Kura River
we might tap the trade of the Caspian and open up com-
munication with all the rivers which run into it. You
notice that they include a considerable tract of country. '
Then again, I think we might venture upon a little cut-
ting between ' Beirut, on the Mediterranean, and the
upper waters of the Euphrates, which would lead us into
the Persian Gulf. Those are one or two of the more ob-
vious canals which might knit the human race into a
closer whole." '
“Your plans are certainly stupendous,” said Robert,
uncertain whether to laugh or to be awe-struck. “ You
will cease to be a man, and become one of the great
forces of nature, altering, moulding, and improving."
“That is precisely the view which I take of myself.
That is why I feel my responsibility so acutely.”
“But surely, if you will do all this you may rest. It
is a considerable programme.”
“Not at all. I am a patriotic Briton, and I should like
to do something to leave my name in the annals of my
country. I should like, however, to do it after my own
death, as anything in the shape of publicity and honors
is very offensive to me. I have therefore put by eight
hundred million in a place which shall be duly men-
tioned in my will, which I propose to devote to paying


CHAPTER IX.
A NEW DEPARTURE.
Whatever good Mr. Rafiles Haw's wealth did the
world, there could be no doubt that there were cases
where it did harm. The very contemplation and thought
of it had upon many a disturbing and mischievous ef-
fect. Especially was this the case with the old gun-
maker. From being merely a querulous and grasping
man, he had now become bitter, brooding, and danger-
ous. Week by week, as he saw the tide of wealth flow,
as it were,_through his very house without being able to
divert the smallest rill to nourish his own fortunes, he
became more wolfish and more hungry-eyed. He spoke
less of his own wrongs, but he brooded more, and would
stand for hours on Tamfield Hill looking down at the
great palace beneath, as a thirst-stricken man might
gaze at the desert mirage.
He had worked and peeped and pried, too, until there
were points upon which he knew more than either his
son or his daughter.
“I suppose that you still don’t know where your
friend gets his money?” he remarked to Robert one
morning, as they walked together through the village.
“ No, father, I do not. I only know that he spends it
very well.” '
“Well! ” snarled the old man. “Yes, very well ! He
has helped every tramp and slut and worthless vagabond
over the country-side, but he will not advance a pound,


80 THE DOINGS OF’ RAFFLES HAW.
into it. You remember the day when the elm blew down
and the road was blocked until they could saw it in two.
That was on a Saturday, and the wagon came to a stand
until they could clear a way for it. I was there, Robert,
and I saw my chance. Istrolled behind the wagon, and
I placed my hands upon one of those packets. They
look small, do they not? It would take a strong man to
lift one. They are heavy, Robert, heavy, and hard with
the hardness of metal. I tell you, boy, that that wagon
is loaded with gold.”
“ Gold ! ”
“With solid bars of gold, Robert. But come into the
plantation, and we shall see what becomes of it."
They passed through the lodge gates, behind the
_ wagon, and then wandered ofi‘ among the fir-trees until
they gained a spot where they could command a view.
The load had halted, not in front of the house, but at
the door of the outbuilding with the chimney. A stafl‘
of stablemen and footmen were in readiness, who pro-
ceeded to swiftly unload, and to carry the packages
through the door. It was the first time that Robert
had ever seen anyone, save the master of the house, en-
ter the laboratory. No sign was seen of him now, -
however, and in half an hour the contents had all been
safely stored, and the wagon had driven briskly away.
“ I cannot understand it, father,” said Robert, thought- '
fully, as they resumed their walk. “Supposing that your
supposition is correct, who would send him such quan-
tities of gold, and where could it come from? "
“Ha, you have to come to the old man after all,”
chuckled his companion. “I can see the little game.
It is clear enough to me. There are two of them in it.
You understand. The other one gets the gold. Never
mind how, but we will hope that there is no harm.


THE’ DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW. 83
man, a country surgeon in Wales, and he brought me up
to his own profession. Before I had passed my exam-
inations, however, he died and left me a small annuity.
I had conceived a great liking for the subjects of chem-
istry and of electricity, and instead of going on with my
medical work, I devoted myself entirely to these studies,
and eventually built myself a laboratory where I could
follow out my own researches. At about this time I
came into a very large sum of money, so large as to make
me feel that a vast responsibility rested upon me in the
use which I made of it. After some thought I deter-
mined to build a large house in a quiet part of the coun-
try, not too far from a great centre. There I would be
in touch with the world, and yet would have quiet and
leisure to mature the schemes which were in my head.
As it chanced, I chose Tamfield as my site. All that
remains now is to carry out the plans which I have
made, and to endeavor to lighten the earth of some
of the misery and injustice which weigh it down. I
again ask you, Laura, will you throw in your lot with
mine, and help me in the life's work which lies before
me ? ”
Laura looked up at him, at his stringy figure, his pale
face, his keen and yet gentle eyes. Somehow, as she
looked there seemed to form itself beside him some
shadow of Hector Spurling, the manly features, the
clear, firm mouth, the frank eyes. Now, in the very mo-
ment of her triumph it sprang clearly up in her mind
how at the hour of their ruin he had stood firmly by
them, and had loved the penniless girl as tenderly as
the heiress to fortune. That last embrace at the door,
too, came back to her, and she felt his lips warm upon
her own.
“ I am very much honored, Mr. Haw," she stammered.


8& THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HA W.
“But this is so sudden. I have had no time to think.
I do not know what to say.”
“Do not let me hurry you,” he cried, earnestly. “I
beg that you will think well over it. I shall come again
for my answer. When shall I come? To-night? ”
“Yes. Come to-night." ' '
“ Then adieu. Believe me, that I think more highly
of you for your hesitation. I shall live in hope.” He
raised her hand to his lips, and left her to her own
thoughts.
And what those thoughts were did not long remain
in doubt. Dimmer and dimmer grew the vision of the
distant sailor face, clearer and clearer the image of the
vast palace, of the queenly power, of the diamonds, the
gold, the ambitious future. It all lay at her feet wait-
ing to be picked up. How could she have hesitated
even for a moment? She rose, and walking over to her
desk, she took out a sheet of paper and an envelope.
The letter she addressed to “Lieutenant Spurling, H.
M. S. Active, Gibraltar.” The note cost some little
trouble, but at last she got it worded to her mind.
“Dear Hector,” she said, “I am convinced that your
father has never entirely approved of our engagement,
otherwise he would not have thrown obstacles in the
way of our marriage. I am sure, too, that since my
poor father’s misfortunes it is only your own sense of
honor and feeling of duty which has kept you true to
me, and that you would have done infinitely better had
‘you never seen me. I cannot bear, Hector, to allow you
to imperil your future for my sake, and I have deter-
mined, after thinking well over the matter, to release
you from our boy and girl engagement, so that you may
be entirely free in every way. It is possible that you
may think it unkind of me to do this now, but I am


CHAPTER X.
THE GREAT SECRET.
And so Laura McIntyre became duly engaged to
Raflles Haw, and old McIntyre grew even more hungry-
looking as he felt himself a step nearer to the source of
wealth; while Robert thought less of work than ever,
and never gave as much as a thought to the great canvas
which still stood, dust-covered, upon his easel. Haw
gave Laura an engagement ring of old gold with a great
blazing diamond bulging out of it. There was little
talk about the matter, however, for it was Haw’s wish
that all should be done very quietly. Nearly all his
evenings were spent at Elmdene, where he and Laura
would build up the most colossal schemes of philan-
thropy for the future. With a map stretched out on
the table in front of them, these two young people
would, as it were, hover over the world, planning, de-
vising, and improving.
“Bless the girl! ” said old McIntyre to his son, “she
speaks about it as if she were born to millions. Maybe,
when once she is married, she won’t be so ready to chuck
her money into every mad scheme that her husband can
think of.”
“Laura is greatly changed,” Robert answered; “she
has grown much more serious in her ideas.”
“ You wait a bit ! ” sniggered his father; “ she is a good
girl, is Laura, and she knows what she is about. She’s
not a girl to let her old dad go to the wall, if she can


88 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW.
“ Besides,” said Robert, “ I have not the slightest
doubt that Raflies Haw will see the necessity for giving
us some sort of explanation before matters go further.
He must understand that we have some claim now to
be taken into his confidence.”
He had hardly spoken when there was a tap at the
door, and the man of whom they were speaking walked
1n.
“Good-morning, Mr. McIntyre,” said he ; “Robert,
would you mind stepping up to the hall with me. I
want to have a little business chat ” He looked serious,
like a man who is carrying out something which he has
well weighed.
They walked up together with hardly a word on either
side. Rafiies Haw was absorbed in his own thoughts.
Robert felt expectant and nervous, for he knew that
something of importance lay before him. The winter
was almost past now, and the first young shoots were
beginning to peep out timidly in the face of the wind
and the rain of an English March. The snows were
gone, but the country-side looked bleaker and drearier,
all shrouded in the haze from the damp sodden 'mead-
ows.
“By the way, Robert,” said Raffles Haw, suddenly, as
they walked up the avenue. “Has your great Roman
picture gone to London?”
“I have not finished it yet.”
“But I know that you are a quick worker. You must
be nearly at the end of it.”
“No, I am afraid that it has not advanced much since
you saw it. For one thing, the light has not been very
good.”
Raflles Haw said nothing, but a pained expression
flashed over his face. When they reached the house he


THE D'0ING'S OF RAFFLES HA W. S9
led the way through the museum. Two great metal
cases were lying on the floor.
“I have a small addition there to the gem collection,”
he remarked as he passed. “They only arrived last
night, and I have not opened them yet, but I am given
to understand from the letters and invoices that there
are some fine specimens. We might arrange them this
afternoon, if you care to assist me. Let us go into the
smoking-room now.”
He threw himself down into a settee and motioned
Robert into the arm-chair in front of him.
“Light a cigar,” he said. “ Press the spring if there
is any refreshment which you would like. Now, my
dear Robert, confess to me in the first place that you
have often thought me mad.”
The charge was so direct and so true that the young
artist hesitated, hardly knowing how to answer.
“My dear boy, I do not blame you. It was the most
natural thing in the world. I should have looked upon
anyone as a madman who had talked to me as I have
talked to you. But for all that, Robert, you were wrong,
and I have never yet in our conversations proposed any
scheme which it was not well within my power to carry
out. I tell you in all sober earnest that the amountof
my income is limited only by my desire, and that all
the bankers and financiers combined could not furnish
' the sums which I can put forward without an effort.”
“I have had ample proof of your immense wealth,"
' said Robert.
“And you are very naturally curious as to how that
wealth was obtained. Well, I can tell you one thing.
The money is perfectly clean. I have robbed no one,
cheated no one, sweated no one, ground no one down
in the gaining of it. I can read your father’s eye, Rob-


90 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW.
ert. I can see that he has done me an injustice in this
matter. Well, perhaps he is not to be blamed. Per-
haps I also might think uncharitable things if I were in
his place. But that is why I now give an explanation
to you, Robert, and not to- him. You at least have
trusted me, and you have a right, before I become one
of your family, to know all that I can tell you. Laura
also has trusted me, but I know well that she is content
still to trust me.”
“I would not intrude upon your secrets, M_r. Haw,"
said Robert, “but of course I cannot deny that I should
be very proud and pleased if you cared to confide them
to me.”
“And I will. Not all. I do not think that I shall
ever, while I live, tell all. But I shall leave directions
behind me, so that if I die you may be'able to carry
on my unfinished work. I shall tell you where those
directions are to be found. In the meantime you must
be content to learn the effects which I produce without
knowing every detail as to the means.”
Robert settled himself down in his chair and concen-
trated his attention upon his companion’s words, while
Haw bent forward his eager, earnest face like a man who
knows the value of the words which he is saying_
“You are already aware,” he remarked, “that I have
devoted a great deal of energy and of time to the study
of chemistry.”
“ So you told me.”
“I commenced my studies under a famous English
chemist, I continued them under the best man in France,
and I completed them in the most celebrated laboratory
of Germany. I was not rich, but my father had left me
enough to keep me comfortably, and by living economi-
cally I had a sum at my command which enabled me to


THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW. 91
carry out my studies in a very complete way. When I
returned to England I built myself a laboratory in a
quiet country place, where I could work without dis-
traction or interruption. There I began a series of in-
vestigations which soon took me into regions of science
to which none of the three famous men who taught me
had ever penetrated. '
“You say, Robert, that you have some slight knowl-
edge of chemistry, and you will find it easier to follow
what I say. Chemistry is, to a large extent, an empiri-
cal science, and the chance experiment may lead to
greater results than could, with our present data, be
derived from the closest study or the keenest reason-
ing. The most important chemical discoveries, from
the first manufacture of glass to the whitening and re-
fining of sugar, have all been due to some happy chance
which might have befallen a mere dabbler as easily as
a deep student.
“Well, it was to such a chance that my own great dis-
covery—perhaps the greatest that the world has seen—
was due, though I may claim the credit of having orig-
inated the line of thought which led up to it. I had
frequently speculated as to the effect which powerful
currents of- electricity exercise upon any substance
through which they are poured for a considerable time.
I do not here mean such feeble currents as are passed
along a telegraph wire, but I mean the very highest pos-
sible developments. Well, I tried a series of experi-
ments upon this point. I found that in liquids and in
compounds the force had a disintegrating effect. The
well-known experiment of the electrolysis of water will
of course occur to you. But I found that in the case of
elemental solids the efi"ect was a remarkable one. The
element slowly decreased in weight, without perceptibly


94 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW.
hausted batteries and passed the current through the
bowl of quicksilver. For sixteen hours I sat watching
the metal, marking how it slowly seemed to curdle, to
grow firmer, to lose its silvery glitter, and to take a
dull yellow hue. When I at last picked it up in a for-
ceps and threw it upon the table, it had lost every char-
acteristic of mercury, and had obviously become another
metal. A few simple tests were enough to show me that
this other metal was platinum.
“Now, to a chemist there was something very suggest-
ive in the order in which these changes had been effect-
ed. Perhaps you can see the relation, Robert, which
they bear to each other?”
“ No, I cannot say that I do.” Robert had sat listen-
ing to this strange statement with parted lips and star-
ing eyes.
“I will show you. Bismuth is the heaviest of the
metals. Its atomic weight is 210. The next in weight
is lead, 207, and then comes mercury, at 200. Possibly
the long period during which the current had acted in
my absence had reduced thebismuth to lead, and the
lead in turn to mercury. Now, platinum stands at
197.5, and it was accordingly the next metal to be
produced by the continued current. Do you see,
now? ”
“It is quite clear.”
“And then there came the inference, which sent my
heart into my mouth and caused my head to swim round.
Gold is the next in the series. Its atomic weight is 197.
I remembered now, and for the first time understood,
why it was that it was always lead ‘and mercury which
were mentioned by the old alchemists as being the two
metals which might be used in their calling. With fin-
gers which trembled with excitement I adjusted the


THE nOrNas OF RAFFLES HAW 97
dear Robert, theory is very weary work, and practice is
infinitely more interesting. I have given you more than
enough of the first. If you will be good enough to ac-
company me to the laboratory, I shall give you a little
of the latter."
7


100 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW.
“'You see that I have rather an accumulation just now.
My imports have been exceeding my exports. You can
understand that I have other and more important duties,
even than the making of gold, just now. This is where
I store my output until I am ready to send it oil". Every
night almost I am in the habit of sending a case of it to
London. I employ seventeen brokers in its sale. Each
thinks that he is the only one, and each is dying to
know where I can get such large quantities of virgin
gold. They say that it is the purest which comes into
the market. The popular theory is, I believe, that I am
a middleman acting on behalf of some new South Afri-
can mine which wishes to keep its whereabouts a secret.
What value would you put upon the gold in this cham-
ber? It ought to be worth something, fo1' it represents
nearly a week’s work.”
“ Something fabulous, I have no doubt,” said Robert,
glancing round at the yellow barriers. “ Shall I say a
hundred and fifty thousand pounds?”
“Oh, dear me, it is surely worth very much more
than that,” cried Raflles Haw, laughing; “let me see.
Suppose that we put it at three-ten an ounce, which is
nearly ten shillings under the mark. That makes, rough-
ly, fifty-six pounds for a pound in weight. Now, each
of these ingots weighs thirty-six pounds, which brings
their value to two thousand and a few odd pounds.
There are five hundred ingots on each of these three
sides of the room, but on the fourth there are only three
hundred on account of the door; but there cannot be
less thanptwo hundred on the floor, which gives us a
rough total of two thousand ingots. So you see, my
dear boy, that any broker who could get the contents of
this chamber for four million pounds would be doing a
nice little stroke of business.”


THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HA W. 101
“And a week’s work!” gasped Robert. “It makes
my head swim.”
“ You will follow me now when I repeat that none of
the great schemes which I intend to simultaneously set
in motion are at all likely to languish for want of funds.
Now come into the laboratory with me, and see how it
is done.”
In the centre of the work-room was an instrument
like a huge vise, with two large brass-colored plates,
and a great steel screw for bringing them together.
Numerous wires ran into these metal plates, and were
attached at the other end to the rows of dynamic ma-
chines. Beneath was a glass stand, which was hollowed
out in the centre into a succession of troughs.
“ You will soon understand all about it,” said Raffles
Haw, throwing oll‘ his coat and pulling on a smoke-
stained and dirty linen jacket. “We must first stoke
up a little.” He put his weight on a pair of great bel-
lows, and an answering roar came from the furnace.
“That will do. The more heat the more electric force,
and the quicker our task. Now for the lead ! Just give
me a hand in carrying it.” They lifted a dozen of the
pigs of lead from the floor onto the glass stand, and
having adjusted the plates on either side, Haw screwed
up the handle so as to hold them in position.
“ It used in the early days to be a slow process,” he
remarked, “ but now that I have immense facilities for
my work it takes a very short time. I have now only
to complete the connection in order to begin.”
He took hold of a long glass lever which projected
from among the wires and drew it downward. A sharp
click was heard, followed by a loud sparkling, crackling
noise. Great spurts of flame sprang from the two elec-
trodes. and the mass of lead was surrounded by an aure-


102 KTHE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW.
ole of golden sparks which hissed and snapped like pis-
tol-shots. The air was filled with the peculiar acid smell
of ozone.
“ The power there is immense,” said Raffles Haw,
superintending the process, with his watch upon the
palm of his hand. “It would reduce an organic sub-
stance to protyle instantly. It is well to understand the
mechanism thoroughly, for any mistake might be a grave
matter for the operator. You are dealing with gigantic
forces. But, you perceive, that the lead is already be-
ginning to turn.”
Silvery dew-like drops had indeed begun to form upon
the dull-colored mass, and to drop with a tinkle and
splash into the glass troughs. Slowly the lead melted
away, like an icicle in the sun, the electrodes ever closing
upon it'as it contracted, until they came together in the
centre, and a row of pools of quicksilver_ had taken the
place of the solid metal. Two smaller electrodes were
plunged into the mercury, which gradually curdled and
solidified, until it had resumed the solid form, with a
yellowish brassy shimmer.
“What lies in the moulds now is platinum,” re-
marked Raflies Haw. “We must take it from the
troughs and refix it in the large electrodes—so. Now
we turn on the current again. You see that it gradually
takes a darker and richer tint. Now I think it is per-
fect.” He drew up the lever, removed the electrodes, and
there lay a dozen bricks of ruddy, sparkling gold.
“ You see, according to our calculation, our morning’s
work has been worth twenty-four thousand pounds, and
it has not taken us more than twenty minutes,” remarked
the alchemist as he picked up the newly-made ingots,
one after. the other, and threw them down among the
others.


TIIE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HA W. '103
“ We will devote one of them to experiment,” said he,
leaving the last standing upon the glass insulator. “ To
the world it would seem an expensive demonstration
which cost two thousand pounds, but our standard, you
see, isa different one. Now you will see me run through
the whole gamut of metallic nature.”
First of all men after the discoverer, Robert saw the
gold mass, when the electrodes were again applied to
it, change swiftly and successively to barium, to tin, to
silver, to copper, to iron. He saw the long white elec-
tric sparks change to crimson with the strontium, to
purple with the potassium, to yellow with the manga-
nese. Then, finally, after a hundred transformations,
it disintegrated before his eyes, and lay asa little mound
of flufl’y gray dust upon the glass table.
“And this is protyle,” said Haw, passing his fingers
through it. “ The chemist of the future may resolve it
into further constituents, but to me it is the Ultima
Thule.
“And now, Robert," he continued, after a pause, “I
have shown you enough to enable you to understand
something of my system. This is the great secret. It
is the secret which endows the man who knows it with
such an universal power as no man has ever enjoyed
since the world was made. This secret it is the dearest
wish of my heart to use for good, and I swear to you,
Robert McIntyre, that if I thought it would tend to
anything but good, I would have done with it forever.
No, I would neither use it myself nor would any other
man learn it from my lips. I swear it by all that is holy
and solemn.” His eyes flashed as he spoke, and his
voice quivered with emotion. Standing, pale and lanky,
amid his electrodes and his retorts, there was still some-
thing majestic about this man, who, amid all his stu-


104 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW. '
pendous good-fortune, could still keep his moral sense
undazzled by the glitter of his gold. Robert’s weak
nature had never before realized the strength which lay
in those thin, firm lips and earnest eyes.
“Surely in your hands, Mr. Haw, nothing but good
shall come of it,” he said.
“I hope not, I pray not—most earnestly do I pray
not. I have done for you, Robert, what I might not
have done for my own brother had I one, and I have done
it because I believe and hope that you are a man who
would not use this power, should you inherit it, for self-
ish ends. But even now I have not told you all. There
is one link which I have withheld from you, and which
shall be withheld from you while I live. But look at
this chest, Robert ;” he led him to a great iron-clamped
chest which stood in the corner, and throwing it open,
he took from it a small case of carved ivory.
“Inside this,” he said, “I have left a paper which
makes clear anything which is still hidden from you.
Should anything happen to me, you will always be able
to inherit my powers and to continue my plans, by fol-
lowing the directions which are there expressed. And
now,” he continued, throwing his casket back again into
the box, “ I shall frequently require your help, but I do
not think that it will be necessary this morning. I have
already taken up too much of your time. If you are go-
ing back to Elmdene, I wish that you would tell Laura
that I shall be with her in the afternoon.”


CHAPTER XII.
A FAMILY J AR.
And so the great secret was out, and Robert walked
home with his head in a whirl, and the blood tingling in
his veins. He had shivered as he came up at the damp
cold of the wind and the sight of the mist-mottled land-
scape. That was all gone now. His own thoughts tinged
everything with sunshine, and he felt inclined to sing
and dance as he walked down the muddy, deeply-rutted
country-lane. Wonderful had been the fate allotted to
Raffles Haw, but surely hardly less important that which
uad come upon himself. He was the sharer of the al-
chemist’s secret, and the heir to an inheritance which
combined a wealth greater than that of monarchs, to a
freedom such as monarchs cannot enjoy. This was a
destiny indeed! A thousand gold-tinted visions of his
future life rose up before him, and in fancy he already
sat high above the human race, with prostrate thousands
imploring his aid, or thanking him for his benevolence.
How sordid seemed the untidy garden with its
scraggy bushes and gaunt elm-trees! How mean the
plain buck front with the green wooden porch! It had
always offended his artistic sense, but now it was ob-
trusive in its ugliness. The plain room, too, with the
American leather chairs, the dull-colored carpet, and the
patch-work rug, he felt a loathing for it all. The only
pretty thing in it, upon which his eyes could rest with
satisfaction, was his sister as she leaned back in her chair


THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW. 107
to us in our poverty. It is all owing to you, you dear
old Robert, for if he had not taken a fancy to you, he
would never have come down to Elmdene and taken a
fancy to someone else." -
“Not at all,” Robert answered, sitting down by his
sister, and patting her hand affectionately. “It was a
clear case of love at first sight. He was in love with
you before he ever knew your name. He asked me
about you the very first time I saw him.”
“But tell me about his money, Bob,” said his sister.
“He has not told me yet, and I am so curious. How
did he make it? It was not from his father; he told
me that himself. His father was just a country doctor.
How did he do it?”
“ I am bound over to secrecy. He will tell you himself.”
“ Oh, but only tell me if I guess right. He had it left
him by an uncle—eh? Well, by a friend? or he took
out some wonderful patent? or he discovered a mine ?
or oil? Do tell me, Robert! ”
“ I mustn’t really,” cried her brother, laughing. “And
I must not talk to you any more. You are much too
sharp. I feel a responsibility about it. And, besides, I
must really do some work.”
“It is very unkind of you," said Laura, pouting.
“ But I must put my things on, for I go into Birming-
ham by the one-twenty.”
“ To Birmingham l”
“Yes, I have a hundred things to order. There is
everything to be got. You men forget about these de-
tails. Rafiles wishes to have the wedding in little more
than a fortnight. Of course it will be very quiet, but
still one needs something.”
“ So early as that l " said Robert, thoughtfully. “ Well,
perhaps it is better so ! "


IUS THE DOINGS OF RAF}/‘LES HAW.
“Much better, Robert. Would it not be dreadful if
Hector came back first and there was a scene. If I were
once married I should not mind. Why should I? But
of course Rafiles knows nothing about him, and it would
be terrible if they came together.”
“ That must be avoided at any cost.”
“ Oh, I cannot bear even to think of it. Poor Hector !
And yet what could I do? Robert, you know that it
was only a boy and girl affair. And how could I refuse
such an offer as this. It was a duty to my family, was
it not ? "
“ You were placed in a difficult position—very difi"1-
cult,” her brother answered. “But all will be right,
and I have no doubt Hector will see it as you do. But
does Mr. Spurling know of your engagement?”
“ Not a word. He was here yesterday, and talked of
Hector, but really I did not know how to tell him. We
are to be married by special license in Birmingham, so
really there is no reason why he should know. But now
I must hurry, or I shall miss my train."
When his sister was gone Robert went up to his
studio, and having ground some colors upon his palette
he stood for some time, brush and marlstick in hand, in
front of his big bare canvas. But how profitless all his
work seemed to him now ! What object had he in
doing it? Was it to earn money? Money could be
had for the asking, or for that matter, without the ask-
ing. Or was it to produce a thing of beauty? But
he had artistic faults. Rafiles Haw had said so, and
he knew that he was right. After all his pains the
thing might not please. And with money he could at
all times buy pictures which would please and which
would be things of beauty. What, then, was the object
of his working? He could see none. He threw down


THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW. 109
his brush, and lighting his pipe, he strolled downstairs
once more.
His father was standing in front of the fire, and in no
very good humor, as his red face and _puckered eyes
' sufiiced to show.
“ Well, Robert,” he began, “I suppose that as usual
you have spent your morning plotting against your
father ? "
“ What do you mean, father? ”
“I mean what I say. What is it but plotting when
three folk, you and she and this Raffles Haw, whisper
and arrange, and have meetings without a word to me
about it. What do I know of your plans?"
“I cannot tell you secrets which are not my own,
father.”
“But I’ll have a voice in the matter, for all that. Se-
crets or no secrets, you will find that Laura has a father,
and that he is not a man to be set aside. I may have had
my ups and downs in trade, but I have not quite fallen
so low that I am nothing in my own family. What am
I to get out of this precious marriage?”
“What should you get? Surely Lanra’s happiness
and welfare is enough for you.”
“ If this man was really fond of Laura,_he would show
proper consideration for Laura’s father. _It was only
yesterday that I asked him for a loan, condescended
actually to ask for it ; I who have been within an ace of
being mayor of Birmingham. And he refused me point-
blank.”
“Oh, father ! How could you expose yourself to
such a humiliation ? ”
“Refused me point-blank!” cried the old man, ex-
citedly. “It was against his principles, if you please.
But I'll be even with him! You see if I am not. I
0


110 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW.
know one or two things about him. What is it they call '
him at the Three Pigeons? A smasher, that’s the word
—a coiner of false money. Why else should he have
this metal sent him, and that great smoky chimney of
his going all day?”
“Why can you not leave him alone, father?” expos-
tulated Robert. “ You seem to think of nothing but his
money. If he had not a penny he would still be a very
kind-hearted, pleasant gentleman.”
Old McIntyre burst into a hoarse laugh. “ I like to
hear you preach,” said he. “ Without a penny, indeed !
Do you think that you would dance attendance upon
him if he were a poor man? Do you think that Laura
would ever have looked twice at him? You know as well
as I do that she is marrying him only for his money.”
Robert gave a cry of dismay. There was the alche-
mist standing in the doorway, pale and silent, looking
from one to the other of them with his searching eyes.
“ I must apologize,” he said, coldly ; “ I did not mean
to listen to your words. I could not help it. But I have
heard them. As to you, Mr. McIntyre, I believe that
you speak from your own bad heart. I will not let my-
self be moved by your words. In Robert I have a true
friend. Laura also loves me for my own sake. You can-
not shake my faith in them. But with you, Mr. McIn-
tyre, I have nothing in common, and it is as well perhaps
that we should both recognize the fact.” He bowed and
was gone ere either of the McIntyres could say a word.
“ You see!” said Robert, at last ; “ you have done now
what you cannot undo! ”
“I will be even with him!” cried the old man, furi-
ously, shaking his fist through the window at the dark
slow-pacing figure. “ You just wait, Robert, and see if
your old dad is a man to be played with.”


THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HA W. ll3
he keeps away. As to you, Bob, I don't know what
we shall do with you, We shall make you President of
the Royal Academy, if money can do it.”
It was late before they ceased building their air-castles
and retired to their rooms. But Robert’s brain was ex-
cited and he could not sleep. The events of the day had
been enough to shake a stronger man. There had been
the revelation of the morning, the strange sights which
he had witnessed in the laboratory, and the immense
secret which had been confided to his keeping. Then
there had been the conversation with his father in the
afternoon, their disagreement, and the sudden intrusion
of Raflies Haw. Finally, the talk with his sister had
excited his imagination and driven sleep from his eye-
lids. In vain he turned and twisted in his bed, or paced
the floor of his chamber. He was not only awake, but
abnormally awake, with every nerve highly strung and
every sense at the keenest. What was he to do to gain
a little sleep? It flashed across him that there was
brandy in the decanter downstairs, and that a glass
might act as a sedative.
He had opened the door of his room, when suddenly
his ear caught the sound of slow and stealthy footsteps
upon the stairs. His own lamp was unlit, but a dim glim-
mer came from a moving taper, and a long black shadow
travelled down the wall. He stood motionless, listening
intently. The steps were in the hall now, and he heard
a gentle creaking as the key was cautiously turned in the
door. The next instant there came a gust of cold air,
the taper was extinguished, and a sharp snap announced'
that the door had been closed from without.
Robert stood astonished. Who could this night-wan-
derer be? It must be his father. But what errand
could take him out at three in the morning. And such
8


114 THE DOINGS OF’ RAFFLES HAW.
a morning, too ! With every blast of the wind the ran;
beat up against his chamber window as though it would
drive it in. The glass rattled in the frames, and the
tree outside creaked and groaned as its great branches
were tossed about by the gale. What could draw any
mau forth upon such a night?
Hurriedly Robert struck a match and lit his lamp.
His father’s room was opposite to his own, and the door
was ajar. He pushed it open and looked about him. It
was empty. The bed had not even been laid upon. The
single chair stood by the window, and there the old man
must have sat since he left them. There was no book, no
paper, no means by which he could have amused him-
self—nothing but a razor-strop lying on the window-sill.
A feeling of impending misfortune struck cold to Rob-
ert’s heart. There was some ill meaning in this jour-
ney of his father’s. He thought of his brooding of yes-
terday, his scowling face, his bitter threats. Yes, there
was some mischief underlying it. But perhaps he might
even now be in time to prevent it. There was no use
calling Laura. She could be no help in the matter. He
hurriedly threw on his clothes, muflled himself in his
topcoat, and seizing his hat and stick, he set ofi' after
his father.
As he came out into the village street the wind whirled
down it so that he had to put his ear and shoulder
against it, and push his way forward. It was better,
however, when he turned into the lane. The high bank
and the hedge sheltered him upon one side. The road
however was deep in mud, and the rain fell in a steady
swish. Not a soul was to be seen, but he needed to
make no inquiries, for he knew whither his father had
gone as certainly as though he had seen him.
The iron side gate of the avenue was half open, and


THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW. 115
Robert stumbled his way up the gravelled drive amid
the dripping fir-trees. What could his father's intention
be when he reached the hall? Was it merely that he
wished to spy and prowl, or did he intend to call up the
master and enter into some discussion as to his wrongs?
Or was it possible that some blacker and more sinister
design lay beneath his strange doings? Robert thought
suddenly of the razor strop, and gasped with horror.
What had the old man been doing with that? He
quickened his pace to a run, and hurried on until he
found himself at the door of the hall.
Thank God, all was quiet there. He stood by the
big silent door and listened intently. There was noth-
ing to be heard save the wind and the rain. Where,
then, could his father be? If he wished to enter the
hall he would not attempt to do so by one of the win-
dows, for had he not been present when Raflles Haw
had shown them the precautions which he had taken?
But then a sudden thought struck Robert. There was
one window which was left unguarded. Haw had been
imprudent enough to tell them so. It was the middle
window of the laboratory. If he remembered it so
clearly, of course his father would remember it too.
There was the point of danger.
The moment that he had come round the corner of
the building he found that his surmise had been cor-
rect. An electric lamp burned in the laboratory, and
the silver squares of the three large windows stood out
clear and bright in the darkness. The centre one had
been thrown open, and even as he gazed Robert saw a
dark, monkey-like figure spring up onto the sill, and
vanish into the room beyond. For a moment only it
outlined itself against the brilliant light, but in that
moment Robert had time to see that it was indeed his


I16 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW.
father. On tiptoe he crossed the intervening space and
peeped in through the open window. It was a singular
spectacle which met his eyes.
There stood upon the glass table some half-dozen large
ingots of gold which had been made the night before,
but which had not been removed to the treasure-house.
On these the old man had thrown himself as one who
enters into his rightful inheritance_ He lay across the
table, his arms clasping the bars of gold, his cheek
pressed against them, crooning and muttering to him-
self. Under the clear still light, amid the giant wheels
and strange engines, that one little dark figure clutch-
ing and clinging to the ingots had in it something both
weird and piteous.
For five minutes or more Robert stood in the dark-
ness amid the rain, looking in at this strange sight,
while his father hardly moved save to cuddle closer to
the gold, and to pat it with his thin hands. Robert was
still uncertain what he should do, when his eyes wan-
dered from the central figure and fell on something else,
which made him give a little cry of astonishment—a cry
which was drowned amid the howling of the gale.
Rafiles Haw was standing in the corner of the room.
\Vhere he had come from Robert could not say, but he
was certain that he had not been there when he first
looked in. He stood silent, wrapped in some long dark
dressing-gown, his arms folded, and a hitter smile upon
his pale face. Old Mclntyre seemed to see him at al-
most the same moment, for he shrieked out an oath and
clutched still closer at his treasure, looking slantwise
at the master of the house with furtive, treacherous eyes.
“And it has really come to this I” said Haw, at last,
taking a step forward ; “ you have actually fallen so
low, Mr. McIntyre, as to steal into my house at night


THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW. 117
like a common burglar. You knew that this window
was unguarded. I remember telling you as much. But
I did not tell you what other means I had adopted by
which I might be warned if knaves made an entrance.
But that you should have come ! You I ”
The old gunmaker made no attempt to justify him-
self, but he muttered some few hoarse words and con-
tinued to cling to the treasure.
“I'love your daughter,” said Raflles Haw, “ and for
her sake I will not expose you. Your hideous and in-
famous secret shall be safe with me. N0 ear shall hear
what has happened this night. I will not, as I might,
arouse my servants and send for the police. But you
must leave my house without further words. I have
nothing more to say to you. Go as you have come."
He took a step forward and held out his hand as if to
detach the old man’s grasp from the golden bars. The
other thrust his hand into the breast of his coat and,
with a shrill scream of rage, flung himself upon the al-
chemist. So sudden and so fierce was the movement
that Haw had no time for defence. A bony hand
gripped him by the throat, and the blade of a razor
flashed in the air. Fortunately, as it fell the weapon
struck against one of the many wires which spanned the
room, and flying out of the old man's grasp, tinkled upon
the stone floor. But though disarmed, he was still
dangerous. With a horrible, silent energy he pushed
Haw back and back until, coming to a bench, they both
fell over it, McIntyre remaining uppermost. His second
hand was on the alchemist’s throat, and it might have
fared ill with him had Robert' not climbed through the
window and dragged his father ofi' from him. With the
aid of Haw he pinned the old man down and passed a
long cravat around his arms. It was terrible to look at


118 THE DOING/S OF RAFFLES HAW.
him, for his face was convulsed, his eyes bulging from
his head, and his lips white with foam.
Haw leaned against the glass table panting, with his
hand to his side.
“You here, Robert ! " he gasped. “ Is it not hor-
rible? How did you come?”
“ I followed him. I heard him go out.”
“He would have robbed me, and he would have mur-
dered me. But he is mad—stark, staring mad.” '
There could be no doubt of it. Old McIntyre was
sitting up now and burst suddenly into a hoarse peal of
laughter, rocking himself backward and forward, and
looking up at them with little twinkling cunning eyes.
It was clear to both of them that his mind, weakened
by long brooding over the one idea, had now at last
become that of a monomaniac. His horrid, causeless
mirth was more terrible even than his fury.
“What shall we do with him?” asked Haw. “We
cannot take him back to Elmdene. It would be a terri-
ble shock to Laura.”
“We could have doctors to certify in the morning.
Could we not keep him here until then? If we take him
back someone will meet us, and there will be a scandal.”
“I know. We will take him to one of the padded
rooms, where he can neither hurt himself nor anyone
else. I am somewhat shaken myself. But I am better
now. Do you take one arm and I will take the other.”
Half leading and half dragging him, they managed be-
tween them to convey the old gunmaker away from the
scene of his disaster, and to lodge him for the night in a
place of safety. At five in the morning Robert had
started in the gig to make the medical arrangements,
while Rafiles Haw paced his palatial house with a troub-
led face and a sad heart.


CHAPTER XIV.
THE SPREAD OF THE BLIGHT.
It may be that Laura did not look upon the removal
of her father as an unmixed misfortune. Nothing was
said to her as to the manner of the old man’s seizure,
but Robert informed her at breakfast that he had
thought it best, acting under medical advice, to place
him for a time under some restraint. She had herself
frequently remarked upon the growing eccentricity of
his manner, so that the announcement could have been
no great surprise to her. It is certain that it did not
diminish her appetite for the coffee and the scrambled
eggs, nor prevent her from chatting a good deal about
her approaching wedding.
But it was very different with Raflles Haw. The in.
cident had shocked him to his inmost soul. He had
often feared lest his money do indirect evil, but here
was crime and madness arising before his very eyes
from its influence. In vain he tried to choke down his
feelings and to persuade himself that this attack of old
McIntyre’s was something which came of itself—s0me-
thing which had no connection with himself or his
wealth. He remembered the man as he had first met
him, garrulous, foolish, but with no obvious vices. He
recalled the change which, week by week, had come over
him, his greedy eye, his furtive manner, his hints and
innuendoes, ending only the day before in a positive de-
mand for money. It was too certain that there was a


THE DOINGS OF‘ RAFFLES’ HA W. 121
liant. Now he does nothing. I know for a fact that it
is two months since he put brush to canvas. He has
turned from a student into an idler, and, what is worse,
I fear into a parasite. You will forgive me for speak-
ing so plainly."
Rafiles Haw said nothing, but he threw out his hands
with a gesture of pain.
“And then there is something to be said about the
country folk,” said the vicar. “ Your kindness has been
perhaps a little indiscriminate there. They don't seem
to be as helpful or as self-reliant as they used. There
was old Blaxton, whose cow-house roof was blown off the
other day. He used to be a man who was full of energy
and resource. Three months ago he would have got a
ladder and had that roof on again in two days’ work.
But now he must sit down, and wring his hands, and
write letters, because he knew that it would come to
your ears, and that you would make it good. There's
old Ellary, tool Well, of course, he was always poor,
but at least he did something, and so kept himself out
of mischief. Not a stroke will he do now, but smokes
and talks scandal from morning to night. And the
worst of it is, that it not only hurts those who have had
your help, but it unsettles those who have not. They
all have an injured, surly feeling, as if other folk were
getting what they had an equal right to. It has really
come to such a pitch that I thought it was a duty to
speak to you about it. Well, it is a new experience to
me. I have often had to reprove my parishioners for
not being charitable enough, but it is very strange to
find one who is too charitable. It is a noble error.”
“ I thank you very much for letting me know about
it,” answered Raflles Haw, as he shook the good old
clergyman's hand. “I shall certainly reconsider my


THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW. 123
live, half starved and overcrowded, in dreary slums. That
was the result of artificial conditions, and it might well
be healed by artificial means. Why should not his plans
be successful, after all, and the world the better for his
discovery ? Then, again, it was not the truth that he
cast a blight on those with whom he was brought in con-
tact. There was Laura. Who knew more of him than
she did? and yet how good and sweet and true she was.
She at least had lost nothing through knowing him. He
would go down and see her. It would be soothing to
hear her voice and to turn to her for words of sympathy
in this hour of darkness.
The storm had died away, but a soft wind was blowing
and the smack of the coming spring was in the air. He
drew in the aromatic scent of the fir-trees as he passed
down the curving drive. Before him lay the long slop-
ing country-side, all dotted over with the farm steadings
and little red cottages, with the morning sun striking
slantwise upon their gray roofs and glimmering windows.
His heart yearned over all these people, with their mani-
fold troubles, their little sordid miseries, their strivings
and hopings and petty soul-killing cares. How could
he get at them ? How could he manage to lift the burden
from them and yet not hinder them in their life-aim?
For more and more could he see that all refinement is
through sorrow, and that the life which does not refine
is the life without an aim.
Laura was alone in the sitting-room at Elmdene, for
Robert had gone out to make some final arrangements
about his father. She sprang up as her lover entered,
and ran forward, with a pretty girlish gesture, to greet
him.
“ Oh, Rafiles,” she cried, “I knew that you would
come! Is it not dreadful about papa?”


124: THE DOING/S OF RAFFLES HAW.
“You must not fret, dearest,” he answered, gently.
“ It may not prove to be so very grave after all.”
“ But it all happened before I was stirring. I knew
nothing about it until breakfast-time. They must have
gone up to the hall very early ? ”
“Yes, they did come up rather early.”
“ What is the matter with you, Raflles ? ” cried Laura,
looking up into his face ; “you look so sad and weary ! ”
“I have been a little in the blues. The fact is, Laura,
that I have had a long talk with Mr. Spurling this morn-
mg.”
The girl started and turned white to the lips. A long
talk with Mr. Spurling! Did that mean that he had
learned her secret?
“ Well l” she gasped.
“He tells me that my charity has done more harm
than good, and, in fact, that I have had an evil influence
upon everyone whom I have come near. He said it in
the most delicate way, but that was really what it
amounted to.”
“Oh, is that all?” said Laura, with a long sigh of
relief. “You must not think of minding what Mr.
Spurling says. VVhy, it is absurd on the face of it.
Everybody knows that there are dozens of men all ove1
the country who would have been ruined and turned
out of their houses if you had not stood their friend.
How could they be the worse for having known you? l
wonder that Mr. Spurling can talk such nonsense.”
“ How is Robert’s picture getting on?”
“Oh, he has a lazy fit on him. He has not touched
it for ever so long. But why do you ask that? You
have that furrow on your brow again. Put it away,
sir l ” She smoothed it away with her white little hand.
“ Well, at any rate I don't think that quite everybody


THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW. 125
is the worse,” said he, looking down at her. “There is
one at least who is beyond taint, one who is good and
pure and true, and who would love me as well if I were
a poor clerk struggling for a livelihood. You would,
would you not, Laura?"
“You foolish boy, of course I should.”
“ And yet, how strange it is that it should be so—that
you, who are the only woman whom I have ever loved,
should be the only one in whom I also have raised an
affection which is free from greed or interest. I wonder
whether you may not have been sent by Providence sim-
ply to restore my confidence in the world. How barren
a place would it not be if it were not for woman’s love.
When all seemed black around me this morning, I tell
you, Laura, that I seemed to turn to you and to your
love as the one thing on earth upon which I could rely.
All else seemed shifting, unstable, influenced by this or
that base consideration. In you, and you only, could I
trust.”
“ And I in you, dear Rafiles! I never knew what love
was until I met you.”
She took a step toward him, her hands advanced, love
shining in her features, when in an instant Rafiles saw
the color struck from her face and a staring horror
spring into her eyes. Her blanched and rigid face was
turned toward the open door, while he, standing partly
behind it, could not see what it was that had so moved
her.
“ Hector! ” she gasped with dry lips.
A quick step in the hall and a slim, weather-tanned
young man sprang forward into the room and caught
her up in his arms as if she had been a feather. “You
darling l ” he said. “ I knew that I would surprise you.
I came right up from Plymouth by the night train.


126 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW.
And I have long leave and plenty of time to get mar-
ried. Isn’t it jolly, dear Laura? ” He pirouetted round
with her in the exuberance of his delight. As he spun
round, however, his eyes fell suddenly upon the pale
and silent stranger who stood by the door. Hector
blushed furiously, and made an awkward sailor bow,
standing with Laura’s cold and unresponsive hand still
clasped in his.
“Very sorry, sir; didn’t see you,” he said. “You'll
excuse my going on in this mad sort of way, but if you
had served you would know what it is to get away from
quarter-deck manners and to be a free man. Miss Mc-
Intyre will tell you that we have known each other since
we were children, and as we are to be married in, I hope
a month at the latest, we understand each other pretty
well.”
Raflles Haw still stood cold and motionless. He
was stunned, benumbed, by what he saw and heard.
Laura_ drew away from Hector and tried to free her
- hand from his grasp.
“ Didn’t you get my letter at Gibraltar? " she asked.
“ I never went to Gibraltar. \Vere ordered home by
wire from Madeira. Those chaps at the Admiralty never
know their own minds for two hours together. But
what matter about a letter, Laura, so long as I can see
you and speak with you? You have not introduced me
to your friend here."
“ One word, sir,” cried Raflies Haw, in a quivering
voice. “Do I entirely understand you ? Let me be
sure that there is no mistake. You say that you are
engaged to be married to Miss McIntyre ? ”
“Of course I am. I've just come back from a four
months’ cruise, and I am going to be married before I
drag my anchor again.” '


128 TIIE DOING/S OF RAFFLES HAW.
fies Haw and I was to have been his wife. And now it is
all gone. Oh, Hector, I hate you, and I shall always
hate you as long as I live, for you have stepped between
me and the only good-fortune that ever came to me.
Leave me alone, and I hope that you will never cross our
threshold again.-"
“Is that your last word, Laura?”
“The last that I shall ever speak to you.”
“Then good-by. I shall see Dad, and go straight
back to Plymouth.” He waited an instant in hopes of
an answer, and then walked sadly from the room.


130 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW.
so that it was dreadful to look at the poor dear gentle-
man. Then he walked about.the passages a long time,
and he wouldn’t so much as look at his luncheon, but
he went into the museum and gathered all his jewels and
things and carried them into the laboratory. We don’t
know what he’s done since then, sir, but his furnace
has been a-roarin’, and his big chimney spoutin' smoke
like a Birmingham factory. When night came We could
see his figure against the light a-workin’ and a-heavin’
like a man possessed. No dinner would he have, but
work and work and work. Now it’s all quiet, and the
furnace cold, and no smoke from above, but we can’t
get no answer from him, sir, so we were scared, and
Miller has gone for the police, and I came away for
you.”
They reached the hall as the butler finished his expla-
nation, and there outside the laboratory door were the
little knot of footmen and hostlers, while the village
policeman, who had just arrived, was holding his bull’s-
eye to the keyhole and endeavoring to peep through.
“The key is half turned," he said. “I can’t see
nothing except just the light."
“ Here’s Mr. McIntyre,” cried half a dozen voices, as
Robert came forward.
“ We’ll have to beat the door in, sir,” said the police-
man ; “ we can’t get any sort of answer, and there’s some-~
thing wrong.”
Twice and thrice they threw their united weights
against it, until at last, with a sharp snap, the lock
broke and they crowded into the narrow passage.
The inner door was ajar and the laboratory lay before
them.
In the centre was an enormous heap of fluffy gray ash,
reaching up half way to the ceiling. Beside it was


THE DOINGS OF‘ RAFFLES HAW. 131
another heap, much smaller, of some brilliant scintillat-
ing dust which shimmered brightly in the rays of the
electric light. All 'round was a bewildering chaos of
broken jars, shattered bottles, cracked machinery, and
tangled wires, all bent and draggled. And there, in the
midst of this universal ruin, leaning back in his chair,
with his hands clasped upon his lap, and the easy pose
of one who rests after hard work safely carried through,
sat Raflles Haw, the master of the house, and the richest
of mankind, with the pallor of death upon his face. So
easily he sat and so naturally, with such a serene ex-
pression upon his features, that it was not until they
raised him, and touched his cold and rigid limbs, that
they could realize that he had indeed passed away.
Reverently and slowly they bore him to his room, for
he was beloved by all who had served him. Robert
alone lingered with the policeman in the laboratory.
Like a man in a dream he wandered about, marvelling
at the universal destruction. A large broad-headed ham-
mer lay upon the ground, and with this Haw had appar-
ently set himself to destroy all his apparatus, having
first used his electric machines to reduce to protyle all
the stock of gold which he had accumulated. The
treasure-room, which had so dazzled Robert, consisted
now of merely four bare walls, while the gleaming dust
upon the floor proclaimed the fate of that magnificent
collection of gems which had alone amounted to a royal
fortune. Of all the machinery no single piece remained
intact, and even the glass table was shattered into three
pieces. Strenuously earnest must have been the work
which Rafiles Haw had done that day.
And suddenly Robert thought of the secret which had
been treasured in the casket within the iron-clamped
box. It was to tell him the one last essential link which


THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES HAW. 133
and may you never have as sad a heart as I have to-
night.
“ Yours very truly,
“ Rarrnns HAW. ”
“ Was it suicide, sir ?—was it suicide?” broke in the
policeman, as Robert put the note in his pocket.
“ No,” he answered ; “ I think it was a broken heart.”
And so the wonders of the new hall were all disman-
tled—the carvings and the gold, the books and the
pictures—and many a struggling man or woman who
had heard nothing of Raflles Haw during his life had
cause to bless him after his death. The house has
been bought by a company who have turned it into a
hydropathic establishment, and of all the folk who fre-
quent it in search of health or of pleasure, there are
few who know the strange story which is connected
with it.
The blight which Haw’s wealth cast around it seemed
to last even after his death. Old McIntyre still raves
in the county asylum, and treasures up old scraps of
wood and metal under the impression that they are all
ingots of gold. Robert McIntyre is a moody and irrita-
ble man, forever pursuing a quest which will always
evade him. His art is forgotten, and he spends his
whole small income upon chemical and electrical appli-
ances, with which he vainly seeks to rediscover that
one hidden link. His sister keeps house for him—a
silent and brooding woman, still queenly and beautiful,
but of a bitter, dissatisfied mind. Of late, however, she
has devoted herself to charity, and has been of so much
help to Mr. Spurling’s new curate that it is thought
he may be tempted to secure her assistance forever.


134 THE DOINGS OF RAFFLES-HAW.
So runs the gossip of the village, and in small places
such gossip is seldom wrong. As for Hector Spnrling,
he is still in Her Majesty's service, and seems inclined
to abide by his father’s wise advice, that he should not
think of marrying until he is a commander. It is possi-
ble that of all who were brought within the spell of Rafiiles
Haw he was the only one who had occasion to bless it.
THE END-





THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE.-
I mm called upon my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, one
day in the autumn of last year, and found him in deep
conversation witha very stout, florid-faced elderly gentle-
man, with fiery red hair. With an apology for my intru-
sion, I was about to withdraw, when Holmes pulled me
abruptly into the room and closed the door behind me.
“You could not possibly have come ata better time,
my dear Vi/'atson,” he said, cordially.
“ I was afraid that you were engaged."
“ So I am. Very much so." '
"Then I can wait in the next room.”
“ Not at all. This gentleman, Mr. Wilson, has been
- my partner and helper in many of my most successful
cases, and I have no doubt that he will be of the utmost
use to me in yours also.”
The stout gentleman half rose from his chair, and gave
a bob of greeting, with a quick little questioning glance
from his small, fat-encircled eyes.
“ Try the settee,” said Holmes, relapsing into his arm-
chair, and putting his finger-tips together, as was his
custom when in judicial moods. “ I know, my dear Wat-
son, that you share my love of all that is bizarre and
outside the conventions and humdrum routine of every-
day life. You have shown your relish for it by the en-
thusiasm which has prompted you to chronicle, and, if


138 THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE.
you will excuse my saying so, somewhat to embellish so
many of my own little adventures.”
“ Your cases have indeed been of the greatest interest
to me,” I observed.
“You will remember that I remarked the other day,
just before we went into the very simple problem pre-
sented by Miss Mary Sutherland, that for strange etfects
and extraordinary combinations we must go to life itself,
which is always far more daring than any efi'ort of the
imagination.”
“A proposition which I took the liberty of doubting.”
“ You did, Doctor, but none the less you must come
round to my view, for otherwise I shall keep on piling
fact upon fact on you, until your reason breaks down
under them and acknowledges me to be right. Now, Mr.
Jabez Wilson here has been good enough to call upon me
this morning, and to begin a narrative which promises
to be one of the most singular which I have listened to
for some time. You have heard me remark that the
strangest and most unique things are very often con-
nected not with the larger but with the smaller crimes,
and occasionally, indeed, where there is room for doubt
whether any positive crime has been committed. As far
as I have heard, it is impossible for me to say whether
the present case is an instance of crime or not, but the
course of events is certainly among the most singular
that I have ever listened to. Perhaps, Mr. Wilson, you
would have the great kindness to recommence your narra~
tive. I ask you, not merely because my friend, Dr. Wat-
-_ son, has not heard the opening part, but also because the
peculiar nature of the story makes me anxious to have
every possible detail from your lips. As a rule, when I
have heard some slight indication of the course of events
I am able to guide myself by the thousands of other sim-


THE RED-HEAI)I*]]) 1. EA G UE. 139
ilar cases which occur to my memory. In the present
instance I am forced to admit that the facts are, to the
best of my belief, unique."
The portly client puffed out his chest with an appear-
ance of some little pride, and pulled a dirty and wrinkled
newspaper from the inside pocket of his greatcoat. A1
he glanced down the advertisement column, with his head
thrust forward, and the paper flattened out upon his
knee, I took a good look at the man, and endeavored,
after the fashion of my companion, to read the indications
which might be presented by his dress or appearance.
I did not gain very much, however, by my inspection.
Our visitor bore every mark of being an average common-
place British tradesman, obese, pompous, and slow. He
wore rather baggy gray shepherd’s check trousers, a not
overclean black frock-coat, unbuttoned in the front, and a
drab waistcoat with_ a heavy brassy Albert chain, and a
square pierced bit of metal dangling down as an orna-
ment. A frayed top hat ' and a faded brown overcoat
with a wrinkled velvet collar lay upon a chair beside him.
Altogether, look as I would, there was nothing remark-_
able about the man save his blazing red head and the ex-
pression 0'" extreme chagrin and discontent upon his
features ' _
Sherlock Holmes’s quick eye took in my occupation,
and he shook his head with a smile as he noticed my
questioning glances. “Beyond the obvious facts that he
has at some time done manual labor, that he takes snuff,
that he is a Freemason, that he has been in China, and
that he has done a considerable amount of writing lately,
I can deduce nothing else.”
Mr. Jabez Wilson started up in his chair, with his fore-
finger upon the paper, but his eyes upon my companion.
“How, in the name of good fortune, did you know all


140 THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE.
that, Mr. Holmes ?” he asked. “ How did you know, for
example, that I did manual labor. It’s as true as gospel,
for I began as a ship's carpenter.”
“Your hands, my dear sir. Your right hand is quite a
size larger than your left. You have worked with it and
the muscles are more developed.”
“Well, the snufl, then, and the Freemasonry? "
“ I won’t insult your intelligence by telling you how I
read that, especially as, rather against the strict rules of
your order, you use an arc and compass breastpin.”
“Ah, of course, I forgot that. But the writing?”
“ What else can be indicated by that right cuff so very
shiny for five inches, and the left one with the smooth
patch near the elbow where you rest it upon the des .”
“ Well, but China?”
“The fish which you have tattooed immediately above
your right wrist could only have been done in China- I
have made a small study of tattoo marks, and have even
contributed to the literature of the subject. That trick
of staining the fishes’ scales of a delicate pink is quite
peculiar to China. When, in addition, I see a Chinese
'coin hanging from your watch-chain, the matter becomes
even more simple.”
Mr. Jabez Wilson laughed heavily. “ Well, I never ! ”
said he. “I thought at first that you had done some-
thing clever, but I see that there was nothing in it after
all.”
“I begin to think, Watson,” said Holmes, “that I
make a mistake in explaining. ‘ Omne ignotum pro
magnifico,’ you know, and my poor little reputation, such
as it is, will suffer shipwreck if I am so candid. Can you
not find the advertisement, Mr. Wilson? ”
“Yes, I have got it now," he answered, with his thick,
red finger planted half-way down the column. “ Here it


TIIE RED-HEADED LEA G U E. 143
“ ‘ Why that ?' I asks.
“ ‘ Why,’ says he, ‘here's another vacancy on the League
of the Red-headed Men. It's worth quite a little fortune
to any man who gets it, and I understand that there are
more vacancies than there are men, so that the trustees
are at their wits’ end what to do with the money. If my
hair would only change color here's a nice little crib all
ready for me to step into.’
“ ‘Why, what is it, then?’ I asked. You see, Mr.
Holmes, I am a very stay-at-home man, and, as.my busi-
ness came to me instead of my having to go to it, I was
often weeks on end without putting my foot ove1 the
door-mat. In that way I didn’t know much of what was
going on outside, and I was always glad of a bit of news.
“ ‘Have you never heard of the League of the Red-
headed Men?’ he asked, with his eyes open.
“ ‘ Never.’
“ ‘ Why, I wonder at that, for you are eligble yourself
for one of the vacancies.’
“ ‘ And what are they worth?’ I asked.
“ ‘ Oh, merely a couple of hundred a year, but the
work is slight, and it need not interfere very much with
one’s other occupations.’
“ VVell, you can easily think that that made me prick up
my ears, for the business has not been over good for
some years, and an extra couple of hundred would have
been very handy.
“ ‘ Tell me all about it,’ said I.
“ ‘ Well,’ said he, showing me the advertisement, ‘ you
can see for yourself that the League has a vacancy, and
there is the address where you should apply for par-
ticulars. As far as I can make out, the League was
founded by an American millionaire, Ezekiah Hopkins,
who was very peculiar in his ways. He was himself red-


146 ’1'11a' RAJ!)-1115A l)ED LEAGUE’.
\
forward, wrung my hand, and congratulated me warmly
on my success.
“ ‘It would be injustice to hesitate,’ said he. ‘You
will, however, I am sure, excuse me for taking an obvious
precaution.’ Wi'.h that he seized my hair in both his
hands, and tugged until I yelled with the pain. ‘ There
is water in your eyes,’ said he, as he released n1e. ‘ I per-
ceive that all is as it should be. But we have to be care-
ful, for we have twice been deceived by wigs and once
by paint. I could tell you tales of cobl>lers' wax which
would disgust you with human nature.’ He stepped
over to the window and shouted through it at the top
of his voice that the vacancy was tilled. A groan of
disappointment came up from below, and the folk all
trooped away in different directions, until there was
not a red head to he seen except my own and that of
the manager.
“ ‘My named said he, ‘is Mr. Duncan Ross, and I am
myself one of the pensioners upon the fund left by our
noble benefactor. Are you a married man, Mr. Wilson?
Have you a family?’ '
“I answered that I had not.
“ His face fell immediately.
“ ‘ Dear me !' he said, gravely, ‘ that is very serious in-
deed l I am sorry to hear you say that. The fund was,
of course, for the propagation and spread of the red-
heads as well as for their maintenance. It is exceedingly
unfortunate that you should be a bachelor.’
“ My face lengthened at this, Mr. Holmes, for I thought
that I was not to have the vacancy after all; but, after
thinking it over for a few minutes, he said that it would
be all right. '
“‘In the case of another,’ said he, ‘the objection
might be fatal, but we must stretch a point in favor of


THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE. 147
a man with such :1 head of hair as yours. When shall
you be able to enter upon your new duties?’
“ ‘ Well, it is a little awkward, for I have a business al-
ready,’ said I. '
“ ‘ Oh, never mind about that, Mr. Wilson ! ’ said Vin-
cent Spauldiug. ‘I shall be able to look after that for
you.‘
“ ‘What would be the hours?’ I asked.
“‘Ten to two.’
“Now a pawnbroker's business is mostly done of an
evening, Mr. Holmes, especially Thursday and Friday
evenings, which is just before pay-day; so it would suit
me very well to earn a little in the mornings. Be-
sides, I knew that my assistant was a good man, and
that he would see to anything that turned up.
“‘That would suit me very well,’ said I. ‘And the
Pay‘-”
“ ‘Is four pounds a week.’
“ ‘And the work?’
“ ‘ Is purely nominal.’
“ ‘ What do you call purely nominal.’
“ ‘Well, you have to be in the oflice, or at least in
the building, the whole time. If you leave, you forfeit
.your whole position forever. The will is very clear
upon that point. You don’t comply with the conditions
if you budge from the oflice during that time.’
“ ‘It’s only four hours a clay, and I should not think of
leaving,’ said I.
“ ‘ No excuse will avail,’ said Mr. Duncan Ross, ‘ neither
sickness, nor business, nor anything else. There you must
stay, or you lose your billet.’
“ ‘ And the work?’
“ ‘ Is to copy out the “ Eucyclopaedia Britannica.”
There is the first volume of it in that press. You must


143 THE RED-HEA DED LEAG UE‘.
' see that all was right with me.
find your own ink, pens, and blotting-paper, but we pro- '
vide this table and chair.
row ? ’
“ ‘ Certainly,’ I answered. _
“ ‘ Then, good-by, Mr. Jabez Wilson, and let me con-
gratulate you oncemore on the important position which
you have been fortunate enough to gain.’ He bowed me
out of the room, and I went home with my assistant
hardly knowing what to say or do, I was so pleased at
my own good fortune.
“ Well, I thought over the matter all day, and by even-
ing I was in low spirits again ; for I had quite persuaded
myself that the whole afl'air must be some great hoax or
fraud, though what its object might be I could not
imagine. It seemed altogether past belief that anyone
could make such a will, or that they would pay such a
sum for doing anything so simple as copying out the
‘ Encyclopeedia Britannica.’ Vincent Spaulding did what
he could to cheer me up, but by bedtime I had reasoned
myself out of the whole thing. However, in the morning
I determined to have a look at it anyhow, so I bought a
penny bottle of ink, and with a quill pen and seven sheets
of foolscap paper I started off for Pope’s Court.
“ Well, to my surprise and delight everything was as
right as possible. The table was set out ready for me,
and Mr. Duncan Ross was there to see that I got fairly
to work. He started me off upon the letter_ A, and then
he left me; but he would drop in from time to time to
At two o'clock he bade
me good-day, complimented me upon the amount that
I had written, and locked the door of the ofice after
me. _ ' - '
“This went on day after day, Mr. Holmes, and on
Saturday the manager came in and planked down four
Will you be ready tomor-


THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE. 149
golden sovereigns for my week's work. It was the same
next week, and the same the week after. Every morning
I was there at ten, and every afternoon I left at two. By
degrees Mr. Duncan Ross took to coming in only once of
a morning, and then, after a time, he did not come in at
all. Still, of course, I never dared to leave the room for
an instant, for I was not sure when he might come, and
the billet was such a good one, and suited me so well,
that I would not risk the loss of it.
_ “ Eight weeks passed away like this, and I had written
about Abbots, and Archery, and Armor, and Architect-
ure, and Attica, and hoped with diligence that I might
get on to the I3s before very long. It cost me something
in foolscap, and I had pretty nearly filled a shelf with my
writings. And then suddenly the whole business came
to an end.”
“ To an end?”
“Yes, sir. And no later than this morning. I went to
my work as usual at ten o’clock, but_ the door was shut
and locked, with a little square of cardboard hammered
onto the middle of the panel with a tack. Here it is, and
you can read for yourself.”
He held up a piece of white card-board, about the size
of a sheet of note-paper. It read in this fashion :
“THE REI)-HEADED LEAGUE Is Drssonvnn.
Oct. 9, 1890.”
Sherlock Holmes and I surveyed this curt announce-
ment and the rueful face behind it, until the comical side
of the aflhir so completely overtopped every consideration
that we both burst out into a roar of laughter.
“I cannot see that there is anything very funny,” cried
our client, flushing up to the roots of his flaming head.


152 THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE.
“ Because he was handy and would come cheap."
“At half wages, in fact.”
“ Yes.”
“ What is he like, this Vincent Spaulding? ”
“ Small, stout-built, very quick in his ways, no hair on
his face, though he's not short of thirty. Has a white
splash of acid upon his forehead.”
Holmes sat up in his chair in considerable excitement-
“I thought as much,” said he. “Have you ever observed
that his ears are pierced for earrings?”
“ Yes, sir. He told me that a gypsy had done it for
him when he was a lad.”
“Hum!” said Holmes, sinking back in deep thought.
“ He is still with you? ”
“ Oh, yes, sir; I have only just left him.”
“And has your business been attended to in your
absence ?”
“Nothing to complain of, sir. 'I‘here’s never very much
to do of a morning.” '
“ That will do, Mr. Wilson. I shall be happy to give
you an opinion upon the subject in the course of a day or
two. To-day is Saturday, and I hope that by Monday we
may come to a conclusion.”
“ Well, Watson,” said Holmes, when our visitor had
left us, “ what do you make of it all?”
“ I make nothing of it," I answered, frankly. “ It is a
most mysterious business." _
“ As a rule,” said Holmes, “ the more bizarre a thing is
the less mysterious it proves to be. It is your common-
place, featureless crimes which are really puzzling, just as
a commonplace face is the most difiicult to identify. But
I must be prompt over this matter."
“What are you going to do, then?” I asked.
“ To smoke,” he answered. “It is quite a three-pipe


THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE’. 153
problem, and I beg that you won't speak to me for fifty
minutes.” He curled himself up in his chair, with his
thin knees drawn up to his hawk-like nose, and there he
sat with his eyes closed and his black clay pipe thrusting
out like the bill of some strange bird. I had come to the
conclusion that he had dropped asleep, and indeed was
nodding myself, when he suddenly sprang out of his
chair with the gesture of a man who has made up his
mind, and put his pipe down upon the mantelpiece.
“Sarasate plays at St. James’s Hall this afternoon,”
he remarked. “What do you think, Watson? Could
your patients spare you for a few hours?”
“I have nothing to do to-day. My practice is never
very absorbing.”
“Then put on your hat and come. I am going
through the City first, and we can have some lunch on the
way. I observe that there is a good deal of German
music on the programme, which is rather more to my
taste than Italian or French. It is introspective, and I
want to introspect. Come along! ”
We travelled by the Underground as far as Aldersgate;
and a short walk took us to Saxe-Coburg Square, the
scene of the singular story which we had listened to in
the morning. It was a pokey, little, shabby-genteel place,
where four lines of dingy two-storied brick houses looked
out into a small railed-in enclosure, where a lawn of
weedy grass, and a few clumps of faded laurel bushes
made a hard fight against a smoke-laden and uncongenial
atmosphere. Three gilt balls and a brown board with
Jmnz WILSON in white letters, upon a corner house,
announced the place where our red-headed client carried
on his business. Sherlock Holmes stopped in front of it
with his head on one side, and looked it all over, with his
eyes shining brightly between puckered lids. Then he


154 THE RED-HEADEI) LEAGUE.
walked slowly up the street, and then down again to the
corner, still looking keenly at the houses. Finally he
returned to the pawnbroker’s and, having thumped vig-
orously upon the pavement with his stick two or three
times, he went up to the door and knocked. It was in-
stantly opened by a bright-looking, clean-shaven young
fellow, who asked him to step in.
“ Thank you,” said Holmes, “I only wished to ask you
how you would go from here to the Strand."
“ Third right, fourth left,” answered the assistant
promptly, closing the door.
“Smart fellow, that,” observed Holmes as we walked
away. “ He- is, in my judgment, the fourth smartest man
in London, and for daring I am not sure that he has not
a claim to be third. I have known something of him
before.”
“ Evidently,” said I, “ Mr. Wilson's assistant counts for
a good deal in this mystery of the Red-headed League. I
am sure that you inquired your way merely in order that
you might see him.”
“ Not him.”
“What then?”
“The knees of his trousers.”
“And what did you see?”
“ What I expected to see.”
“Why did you beat the pavement?”
“My dear Doctor, this is a time for observation, not for
talk. We are spies in an enemy’s country. We know
something of Saxe-Coburg Square. Let us now explore
the parts which lie behind it.”
The road in which we found ourselves as we turned
round the corner from the retired Saxe-Coburg Square
presented as great a contrast to it as the front of a picture
does to the back. It was one of the main arteries which


156 THE RED-HEADED IQEAGUE.
his natureltook him from extreme languor to devouring
energy; and, as I knew well, he was never so truly for-
midable as when, for days on end, he had been lounging
in his arm-chair amid his improvisations and his black-
letter editions. Then it was that the lust of the chase
would suddenly come upon him, and that his brilliant
reasoning power would rise to the level of intuition, until
those who were unacquainted with his methods would
look askance at him as on a man whose knowledge was
not that of other mortals. When I saw him that after-
noon so enwrapped in the music at St. J ames’s Hall I felt
that an evil time might be coming upon those whom he
had set himself to hunt down.
“You want to go home, no doubt, Doctor,” he re-
marked, as we emerged.
“ Yes, it would be as well.”
“And I have some business to do which will take some
hours. This business at Coburg Square is serious.”
“Why serious ? "
“ A 'considerable crime is in contemplation. I have
every reason to believe that we shall be in time to stop it.
But to-day being Saturday rather complicates matters- I
shall want your help to-night.”
“ At what time? ”
“Ten will be early enough.”
“ I shall be at Baker Street at ten.”
“ Very well. And, I say, Doctor! there may be some
' little danger, so kindly put your army revolver in your
pocket.” He waved his hand, turned on his heel, and dis-
appeared in an instant among the crowd. '
I trust that I am not more dense than my neighbors,
but I was always oppressed with a sense of my own stu-
pidity in my dealings with Sherlock Holmes. Here I had
heard what he had heard, I had seen what he had seen,


THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE. 157
and yet from his words it was evident that he saw clearly
not only what had happened, but what was about to
happen, while to me the whole business was still con-
fused and grotesque. As I drove home to my house in
Kensington I thought over it all, from the extraordinary
story of the red-headed copier of the “Encyclopaa-dia”
down to the visit to Saxe-Ooburg Square, and the ominous
words with which he had parted from me. What was
this nocturnal expedition, and why should I go armed?
Where were we going, and what were we to do? I had
the hint from Holmes that this smooth-faced pawnbroker’s
assistant was a formidable man—a man who might play
a deep game. I tried to puzzle it out, but gave it up in
despair, and set the matter aside until night should bring
an explanation.
It was a quarter past nine when I started from home
and made my way across the Park, and so through Oxford
Street to Baker Street. Two hansoms were standing at
the door, and, as I entered the passage, I heard the sound
of voices from above. On entering his room, I found
Holmes in animated conversation with two men, one of
whom I recognized as Peter Jones, the oflicial police agent;
while the other was a long, thin, sad-faced man, with a
very shiny hat and oppressively respectable frock-coat.
“ Ha l our party is complete,” said Holmes, buttoning
up his pea-jacket, and taking his heavy hunting crop from
the rack. “Watson, I think you know Mr. Jones, of
Scotland Yard ? Let me introduce you to Mr. Merry-
weather, who is to be our companion in to-night's adven-
ture."
“We'-re hunting in couples again, Doctor, you see,”
said Jones, in his consequential way. “ Our friend here
is a wonderful man for starting a chase. All he wants
is an old dog to help him do the running down.”


158 THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE.
“I hope a wild goose may not prove to be the end of
our chase,” observed Mr. Merryweather, gloomily.
“ You may place considerable confidence in Mr. Holmes,
sir,” said the police agent, loftily. “He has his own little
methods, which are, if he won’t mind my saying so, just
a little too theoretical and fantastic, but he has the makings -
of a detective in him. It is not too much to say that once
or twice, as in that business of the Sholto murder and the
Agra treasure, he has been more nearly correct than the
oflicial force.” _
“ Oh, if you say so, Mr. Jones, it is all right ! ” said the
stranger, with deference. “ Still, I confess that I miss
my rubber. It is the first Saturday night for seven-and-
twenty years that I have not had my rubber.”
“I think you will find,” said Sherlock Holmes, “that
you will play for a higher stake to-night than you have
ever done yet, and that the play will be more exciting.
For you, Mr. Merryweather, the stake will be some thirty
thousand pounds ; and for you, Jones, it will be the man
upon whom you wish'to lay your hands."
“John Clay, the murderer, thief, smasher, and forger.
He’s_ a young man, Mr. Merryweather, but he is at the
head of his profession, and I would rather have my brace-
lets on him than on any criminal in London. He’s a re-
markable man, is young John Clay; His grandfather was
a Royal Duke, and he himself has been to Eton and Ox-
ford. His brain is as cunning as his fingers, and though
we meet signs of him at every turn, we never know where
to find the man himself. _He’ll crack a crib in Scotland
one week, and be raising money to build an orphanage in
Cornwall the next. I’ve been on his track for years, and
have never set eyes on him yet.”
“I hope that I may have the pleasure of introducing
you to-night. I’ve had one or two little turns also with


TH E RED-HEADED LEA G U12‘. 1 59
Mr. John Clay, and I agree with you that he is at the head
of his profession. It is past ten, however, and quite time
that we started. If you two will take the first hansom,
Watson and I will follow in the second.”
Sherlock Holmes was not very communicative during
the long drive, and lay back in the 'cab humming the
tunes which he had heard in the afternoon. We rattled
through an endless labyrinth of gas-lit streets until we
emerged into Farringdon Street.
“ We are close there now,” my friend remarked. “This
fellow ltlerryweather is a bank director and personally in-
terested in the matter. I thought it as well to have Jones
with us also. He is not a bad fellow, though an absolute
imbecile in his profession. He has one positive virtue.
He is as brave as a bulldog, and as tenacious as a lobster
if he gets his claws upon anyone. Here we are, and they
are waiting for us.”
We had reached the same crowded thoroughfare in
which we had found ourselves in the morning. Our cabs
were dismissed, and following the guidance of Mr. Merry-
weather, we passed down a narrow passage, and through
a side door- which he opened for us. VVithin there was a
small corridor, which ended in a very massive iron gate.
This also was opened, and led down a flight of winding
stone steps, which terminated at another formidable gate.
Mr. Merryweather stopped to light a lantern, and then con-
ducted us down a dark, earth-smelling passage. and so,
after opening a third door, into a huge vault or cellar,
which was piled all round with crates and massive boxes.
“You are not very vulnerable from above," Holmes
remarked, as he held up the lantern and gazed about
him. '
' “Nor from below,” said Mr. Merryweather, striking
his stick upon the flags which lined the floor. Why, dear


1 60 TH E RED-HEADED LEA G UE.
me, it sounds quite hollow !” he remarked, looking up in
surprise. '
“ I must really ask you to be a little more quiet,” said
Holmes, severely. “You have already imperilled the
whole success of our expedition. Might I beg that you
would have the goodness to sit down upon one of those
boxes, and not to interfere ?” .
The solemn Mr. Merryweather perched himself upon a
crate, with a very injured expression upon his face, while
Holmes fell upon his knees upon the floor, and, with the
lantern and a magnifying lens, began to examine minute-
ly the cracks between the stones. A few seconds sulficed
to satisfy him, for he sprang to his feet again, and put his
glass in his pocket.
“We have at least an hour before us,” he remarked,
“for they can hardly take any steps until the good pawn-
broker is safely in bed. Then they will not lose a minute,
for the sooner they do their work the longer time they
will have for their escape. We are at present, Doctor-
as no doubt you have divined—in the cellar of the City
branch of one of the principal London banks. Mr.
Merryweather is the chairman of directors, and he will
explain to you that there are reasons why the more dar-
ing criminals of London should take a considerable in-
terest in this cellar at present.”
“ It is our French gold,” whispered the director. “ We
have had several warnings that an attempt might be made
upon it.”
“Your French gold?”
“Yes. We had occasion some months ago to streng-
then our resources, and borrowed, for that purpose, thirty
thousand napoleons from the Bank of France. It has be-
come known that we have never had occasion to unpack
the money, and that it is still lying in our cellar. The


THE RED-HEADED LEA G U E. 1 6 1
crate upon which I sit contains two thousand napoleons
packed between layers of lead foil. Our reserve of bullion
is much larger at present than is usually kept in a single
branch oflice, and the directors hav_e had misgivings upon
the subject.”
“Which were very well justified,” observed Holmes.
“ And now it is time that we arranged our little plans. I
expect that within an hour matters will come to a head.
In the meantime, Mr. Merryweather, we must put the
screen over that dark lantern.”
“And sit in the dark?"
“I am afraid so. I had brought a pack of cards in my
pocket, and I thought that, as we were a partie carrée, you
might have your rubber after all. But I see that the
enemy's preparations have gone so far that we cannot risk
the presence of a light. And, first of all, we must choose
our positions. These are daring men, and, though we
shall'take them at a disadvantage, they may do us some
harm, unless we are careful. I shall stand behind this
crate, and do you conceal yourselves behind those. Then,
when I flash a light upon them, close in swiftly. If they
fire, Watson, have no compunction about shooting them
down.”
I placed my revolver, cocked, upon the top of the wood-
en case behind which I crouched. Holmes shot the slide
across the front of his lantern, and left us in pitch dark-
ness—such an absolute darkness as I have never before
experienced. The smell of hot metal remained to assure
us that the light was still there, ready to flash out at a
moment's notice. To me, with my nerves worked up to
a pitch of expectancy, there was something depressing
and subduing in the sudden gloom, and in the cold, dank
air of the vault.
“They have but one retreat,” whispered Holmes.


THE’ RED-HEADED LEAGUE. 163
the aperture, drew itself shoulder high and waist high,
until one knee rested upon the edge. In another instant
he stood at the side of the hole, and was hauling after
him a companion, lithe and small like himself, with a pale
face and a shock of very red hair.
“ It’s all clear,” he whispered. “ Have you the chisel
and the bags. Great Scott! Jump, Archie, jump, and
I’ll swing for it!”
Sherlock Holmes had sprung out and seized the intrud-
er by the collar. The other dived down the hole, and I
heard the sound. of reading cloth as Jones clutched at
his skirts. The light flashed upon the barrel of a revolv-
er, but Holmes’ hunting crop came down on the man’s
wrist, and the pistol clinked upon the stone floor.
“It’s no use, John Clay,” said Holmes, blandly, “you
have no chance at all.”
“ So I see,” the other answered, with the utmost cool-
ness. “I fancy that my pal is all right, though I see you
have got his coat-tails."
“There are three men waiting for him at the door,”
said Holmes.
“ Oh, indeed. You seem to have done the thing very
completely. I must compliment you.”
“And I you," Holmes answered. “Your red-headed
idea was very new and eflective.”
“You’ll see your pal again presently,” said Jones.
“He's quicker at climbing down holes than I am. Just
hold out while I fix the derbies.”
“I beg that you will not touch me with your filthy
hands,” remarked our prisoner, as the handcuffs clattered
upon his wrists. “You may not be aware that I have
royal blood in my veins. Have the goodness also, when
you address me, always to say ‘ sir ’ and ‘please. ’ ”
“All right,” said Jones, with a stare and asnigger.


164 THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE.
“Well, would you please, sir, march upstairs, where
we can get a cab to carry your liighness to the police-
station.”
“That is better,” said John Clay, serenely. He made
a sweeping bow to the three of us, and walked quietly elf
in the custody of the detective.
“Really, Mr. Holmes,” said Mr. Merryweather, as we
followed them from the cellar, “ I do not know how the
bank can thank you or repay you. There is no doubt
that you have detected and defeated in the most complete
manner one of the most determined attempts at bank rob-
bery that have ever come within my experience."
“ I have had one or two little scores of my own to settle
with Mr. John Clay," said Holmes. “I have been at some
small expense over this matter, which I shall expect the
bank to refund, but beyond that I am amply repaid by
having had an experience which is in many ways unique,
and by hearing the very remarkable i1arrative of the Red-
headed League.”
“You see, Watson,” he explained, in the early hours of
the morning, as we sat over a glass of whiskey and soda in
Baker Street, “it was perfectly obvious from the first that
the only possible object of this rather fantastic business of
the advertisement of the League, and the copying of the
‘ Encyclopaedia,’ must be to get this not over-bright pawn-
broker out of the way for a number of hours every day.
It was a curious way of managing it, but really it would
be difficult to suggest a better. The method was no
loubt suggested to Clay’s ingenious mind by the color
)f his accomplice’s hair. The four pounds a week was a
lure which must draw him, and what was it to them, who
'ere playing for thousands? They put in the advertise-
ment, one rogue has the temporary ofiice, the other rogue


THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE. 165
lncltes the man to apply for it, and together they manage
to secure his absence every morning in the week. From
the time that I heard of the assistant having come for half
wages, it was obvious to me that he had some strong
motive for securing the situation."
“But how could you guess what the motive was ? ”
“ Had there been women in the house, I should have
suspected a mere vulgar intrigue. That, however, was
out of the question. The man’s business was a small one,
and there was nothing in his house which could account
for such elaborate preparations, and such an expenditure
as they were at. It must then be something out of the
house. What could it be? I thought of the assistant’s
fondness for photography, and his trick of vanishing into
the cellar. The cellar! There was the end of this tan-
gled clue. Then I made inquiries as to this mysterious
assistant, and found that I had to deal with one of the
coolest and most daring criminals in London. He was
doing something in the cellar'—something which took
many hours a day for months on end. What could it be,
once more? I could think of nothing save that he was
running a tunnel to some other building.
“ So far I had got when we went to visit the scene of
action. I surprised you by beating upon the pavement
with my stick. I was ascertaining whether the cellar
stretched out in front or behind. It was not in front.
Then I rang the bell, and, as I hoped, the assistant an-
swered it. We have had some skirmishes, but we had
never set eyes upon each other before. hardly looked
at his face. His knees were what I wished to see. You
must yourself have remarked how worn, wrinkled, and
stained they were. They spoke of those hours of burrow-
ing. The only remaining point was what they were bur-
rowing for. I walked round the corner, saw that the City





170 THE BOSCOJJBE VALLEY MYSTERY.
and down the platform, his tall, gaunt figure made even
gaunter and taller by his long gray travelling cloak and
close-fitting cloth cap.
“ It is really very good of you to come, Watson,” said
he. “It makes a considerable difference to me, having
someone with me on whom I can thoroughly rely. Local
aid is always either worthless or else biassed. If you
will keep the two corner seats I shall get the tickets.”
We had the carriage to ourselves save for an immense
litter of papers which Holmes had brought with him.
Among these he rummaged and read, with intervals of
note-taking and of meditation, until we were past Read-
ing. Then he suddenly rolled them all into a gigantic
ball, and tossed them up on to the rack.
“ Have you heard anything of the case? ” he asked.
“Not a word. I have 'not seen a paper for some
days.”
“ The London press has not had very full accounts. I
have just been looking through all the recent papers in
order to master the particulars. It seems, from what I
gather, to be one of those simple cases which are so ex-
tremely difficult.”
“That sounds a little paradoxical.”
“But it is profoundly true. Singularity is almost in-
variably a clue. The more featureless and commonplace
a crime is, the more diflicult is it to bring it home. In
this case, however, they have established a very serious
case against the son of the murdered man.”
“It is a murder, then?”
“Well, it is conjectured to be so. I shall take nothing
for granted until I have the opportunity of looking per-
sonally into it. I will explain the state of things to you,
as far as I have been able to understand it, in a very few
words.


172 THE’ BOSUOMBE VALLEY MYSTERY.
is not mentioned, and the other was William Crowder, a
gamekeeper in the employ of Mr. Turner. Both these
witnesses depose that Mr. McCarthy was walking alone.
The gamelceeper adds that within a few minutes of his
seeing Mr. McCarthy pass he had seen his son, Mr. James
McCarthy, going the same way with a gun under his arm.
To the best of his belief, the father was actually in sight
at the time, and the son was following him. He thought
no more of the matter until he heard in the evening of
the tragedy that had occurred.
“The two McCarthys were seen after the time when
William Crowder, the gamekeeper, lost sight of them.
'1‘he Boscombe Pool is thickly wooded round, with just a
fringe of grass and of reeds round the edge. A girl of
fourteen, Patience Moran, who is the daughter of the
lodge-keeper of the Boscombe Valley estate, was in one
of the woods picking flowers. She states that while she
was there she saw, at the border of the wood and close by
the lake, Mr. McCarthy and his son, and that they ap-
peared to be having a violent quarrel. She heard Mr.
McCarthy the elder using very strong language to his son,
and she saw the latter raise up his hand as if to strike his
father. She was so frightened by their violence that she
ran away, and told her mother when she reached home
that she had left the two McCarthys quarrelling near Bos-
combe Pool, and that she was afraid that they were going
to fight. She had hardly said the words when young Mr.
McCarthy came running up to the lodge to say that he
had found his father dead in the wood, and to ask for the
help of the lodge-keeper. He was much excited, without
either his gun or his hat, and his right hand and sleeve
were observed to be stained with fresh blood. On follow-
ing him they found the dead body stretched out upon the
grass beside the Pool. The head had been beaten in by


THE 1>’()S(,'()-llBE VALLEY MYSTERY. 173
repeated blows of some heavy and blunt weapon. The
injuries were such as might very well have been inflicted
by the butt-end of his son’s gun, which was found lying
on the grass within a few paces of the body. Under these
circumstances the young man was instantly arrested, and
a verdict of ‘Wilful Murder ' having been returned at the
inquest on Tuesday, he was on \Vednesday brought before
the magistrates at Ross, who have referred the case to the
next assizes. Those are the main facts of the case as they
came out before the coroner and at the police court.”
“ I could hardly imagine a more damning case,” I re-
marked. “If ever circumstantial evidence pointed to a
criminal, it does so here.”
“Circumstantial evidence is a very tricky thing,” an-
swered Holmes, thoughtfully. “It may seem to point
very straight to one thing, but if you shift your own
point of‘ view a little, you may find it pointing in an
equally uncompromising manner to something entirely
different. It must be confessed, however, that the case
looks exceedingly grave against the young man, and it is
very possible that he is indeed the culprit. There are
several people in the neighborhood, however, and among
them Miss Turner, the daughter of the neighboring land-
owner, who believe in his innocence, and who have re-
tained Lestrade, whom you may recollect in connection
with the Study in Scarlet, to work out the case in his in-
terest. Lestrade, being rather puzzled, has referred the
case to me, and hence it is that two middle-aged gentle-
men are flying westward at fifty miles an hour, instead of
quietly digesting their breakfasts at home.”
“Iam afraid,” said I, “that the facts are so obvious
that you will find little credit to be gained out of this
case” '
“ There is nothing more deceptive than an obvious


THE BOSOOMBE VALLEY MYSTERY. 175
which might have remained in the minds of the coroner's
jury.”
“It was a confession,” I ejaculated.
“ No, for it was followed by a protestation of inno-
cence.”
“Coming on the top of such a damning series of '
events. it was at least a most suspicious remark.”
“On the contrary," said Holmes, “it is the brightest
rift which I can at present see in the clouds. However
innocent he might be, he could not be such an absolute
imbecile as not to see that the circumstances were very
black against him. Had he appeared surprised at his
own arrest, or feigned indignation at it, I should have
looked upon it as highly suspicious, because such sur-
prise or anger would not be natural under the circum-
stances, and yet might appear to be the best policy to a
scheming man. His frank acceptance of the situation
marks him as either an innocent man, or else as a man of
considerable self-restraint and firmness. As to his re-
mark about his deserts, it was also not unnatural if you
consider that he stood beside the dead body of his father,
and that there is no doubt that he had that very day so
far forgotten his filial duty as to bandy words with him,
and even, according to the little girl whose evidence is so
important, to raise his hand as if to strike him. The self-
reproach and contrition which are displayed in his re-
mark appear to me to be the signs of a healthy mind,
rather than of a guilty one.”
I shook my head. “Many men have been hanged on
far slighter evidence,” I remarked. _
“So they have. And many men have been wrongfully
hanged.”
“What is the young man’s own account of the
matter?”


175 THE BOSOOMBE VALLEY 2l{YSTE'RY.
“It is, I am afraid, not very encouraging to his sup-
porters, though there are one or two points in it which
are suggestive. You will find it here, and may read it for
yourself.” '
He picked out from his bundle a copy of the local
Herefordshire paper, and having turned down the sheet,
he pointed out the paragraph in which the unfortunate
young man had given his own statement of what had oc-
curred. I settled myself down in the corner of the car-
riage, and read it very carefully. It ran in this way :—
. “Mr. James McCarthy, the only son of the deceased,
was then called, and gave evidence as follows: I had
been away from home for three days at Bristol, and had
only just returned upon the morning of last Monday, the
3d. My father was absent from home at the time of my
arrival, and I was informed by the maid that he had
driven over to Ross with John Cobb, the groom. Short-
ly after my return I heard the wheels of his trap in the
yard, and, looking out of my window, I saw him get out
and alk rapidly out of the yard, though I was not aware
in which direction he was going. I then took my gun,
and strolled out in the direction of the Roscombe Pool,
with the intention of visiting the rabbit warren which is
upon the other side. On my way I saw William Crow-
der, the gamekeeper, as he has stated in his evidence;
but he is mistaken in thinking that I was following my
father. I had no idea that he was in front of me. When
about a hundred yards from the Pool I heard a cry of
“Cooee !" which was a usual signal between my father
and myself. I then hurried forward, and found him
standing by the Pool. He appeared to be much sur-
prised at seeing me, and asked me rather roughly what I
was doing there. A conversation ensued, which led to
high words, and almost to blows, for my father was a man


178 THE BOSOOMBE’ VALLEY MYSTERY.
“ The Coroner: I understand that the cry of ‘Coose’
was a common signal between you and your father?
“ Witness: It was. _
“The Coroner: Ho was it, then, that he uttered it
before he saw you, and before he even knew that you had
returned from Bristol?”
“Witness (with considerable confusion) : I do not
know.
“A Juryman: Did you see_ nothing that aroused your
suspicion when you returned on hearing the cry, and
found your father fatally injured?
“ Witness: Nothing definite.
' “ The Coroner: What do you mean?
“Witness: I was so disturbed and excited as I rushed
out into the open, that I could think of nothing except
'of my father. Yet I have a vague impression that as I
ran forward something lay upon the ground, to the left of
me. It seemed to me to be something gray in color, a
coat of some sort, or a plaid perhaps. When I rose from
my father I looked round for it, but it was gone.
“ ‘Do you mean that it disappeared before you went
for help? ’
“ ‘ Yes, it was gone.’
“ ‘You cannot say what it was?’
“ ‘ No ; I had a feeling someth1ng was there.’
“ ‘ How far from the body? ’
“ ‘A dozen yards or so.’
“ ‘ And how far from the edge of the wood?’
“ ‘About the same.’
“ ‘ Then if it was removed it was while you were within
a dozen yards of it ? ’
“ ‘Yes, but with my back toward it.’
“This concluded the examination of the witness.”
“I see,” said I, as I glanced down the column, “that


180 THE BOSUOMBE VALLEY MYSTERY.
“I have ordered acarriage,” said Lestrade, as we sat
' over a cup of tea. “I knew your energetic nature, and
that you would not be happy until you had been on the
scene of the crime.” -
“ It was very nice and complimentary of you,” Holmes
answered. “ It is entirely a question of barometric press-
ure.”
Lestrade looked startled. “ I do not quite follow,” he
said. '
“How is the glass? Twenty-nine, I see. No 'wind,
and not a cloud in the sky. I have a case full of cigar-
ettes here which need smoking, and the sofa is very
much superior to the usual country hotel abomination.
I do not think that it is probable that I shall use the car-
riage to-night.”
Lestrade laughed indulgently. “You have, no doubt,
already formed your conclusions from the newspapers,”
he said. “The case is as plain as a pikestafi", and the
more one goes into it the plainer it becomes. Still, of
course, one can’t refuse a lady, and such a very positive
one, too. She had heard of you, and would have your
opinion, though I repeatedly told her that there was noth-
ing which you could do which I had not already done.
Why, bless my soul! here is her carriage at the door.”
He had hardly spoken before there rushed into the
room one of the most lovely young women that I have
ever seen in my life. Her violet eyes shining, her lips
parted, a pink flush upon her cheeks, all thought of her
natural reserve lost in her overpowering excitement and
concern.
“ Oh, Mr. Sherlock Holmes!” she cried, glancing from
one to the other of us, and finally, with a woman’s quick
intuition, fastening upon my companion, “I am so glad
that you have come. I have driven down to tell you so.


THE BOSOOMBE VALLEY ZIIYSTERY. 183
rise up hopes which you are bound to disappoint? I am
not over tender of heart, but I call_ it cruel.”
“I think that I see my way to clearing James McCar-
thy,” said Holmes. “Have you an order to see him in
prison ?”
“ Yes, but only for you and me.”
“ Then I shall reconsider my resolution about going
out. We have still time to take a train to Hereford and
see him to-night? ’
“Arriple.”
“Then let us do so. Watson, I fear that you will
find it very slow, but I shall only be away a couple of
hours.”
I walked down to the station with them, and then
wandered through the streets of the little town, finally
returning to the hotel, where Ilay upon the sofa and
tried to interest myself in a yellow-backed novel. The
puny plot of the story was so thin, however, when com-
pared to the deep mystery through which we were grop-
ing, and I found my attention wander so continually
from the fiction to the fact, that I at last flung it across
the room and gave myself up entirely to a consideration
of the events of the day. Supposing that this unhappy
young man's story was absolutely true, then what hellish
thing, what absolutely unforeseen and extraordinary ca-
.lamity could have occurred between the time when he
parted from his father and the moment when, drawn back
by his screams, he rushed into the glade? It was some-
thing terrible and deadly. What could it be? Might
not the nature of the injuries reveal something to my
medical instincts? I rang the bell and called for the
weekly county paper which contained a verbatim account
of the inquest. In the surgeon's deposition it was stated
that the posterior third of the left parietal bone and the


-THE BOSOOMBE VALLEY MYSTERY. 185
' fagged by a long journey. I have seen young Mc-
Carthy.”
“ And what did you leam from him?”
“ Nothing.”
“ Could he throw no light?” '
“None at all. I was inclined to think at one time
that he knew who had done it, and was screening him or
her, but I am convinced now that he is as puzzled as every-
one else. He is not a very quick-witted youth, though
comely to look at, and, I should think, sound at heart.”
“I cannot admire his taste,” I remarked, “if it is in-
deed a fact that he was averse to a marriage with so
charming a young lady as this Miss Turner.”
“ Ah, thereby hangs a rather painful tale. This fellow
is madly, insanely in love with her, but some two years
ago, when he was only a lad, and before he really knew
her, for she had been away five years at a boarding schdol,
what does the idiot do but get into the clutches of a bar-
maid in Bristol and marry her at a registry ofiice? No
one knows a word of the matter, but you can imagine
how maddening it must be to him to be upbraided for not
doing what he would give his very eyes to do, but what
he knows to be absolutely impossible. It was sheer
frenzy of this sort which made him throw his hands up into
the air when his father, at their last interview, was goad-
inghim on to propose to Miss Turner. On the other hand,
he had no means of supporting himself, and his father,
who was by all accounts a very hard man, would have
thrown- him over utterly had he known the truth. It
was with his barmaid wife that he had spent the last
three days in Bristol, and his father did not know where
he was. Mark that point. It is of importance. Good
has come out of evil, however, for the barmaid, finding
from the papers that he is in serious trouble, and likely


188 THE BOSOOJIBE VALLEY MYSTERY.
though not the pair which he had then had. Having
measured these very carefully from seven or eight differ-
ent points, Holmes desired to be led to the courtyard,
from which we all followed the winding track which led to
Boscombe Pool.
Sherlock Holmes was transformed when he was hot
upon such a scent as this. Men who had only known
the quiet thinker and logician of Baker Street would have
failed to recognize him. His face flushed and darkened.
His brows were drawn into two hard, black lines, while
his eyes shone out from beneath them with a steely glit-
ter. His face was bent downward, his shoulders bowed,
his lips compressed, and the veins stood out like whip»
cord in his long, sinewy neck. His nostrils seemed to
dilate with a purely animal lust for the chase, and his
mind was so absolutely concentrated upon the matter
before him, that a question or remark fell unheeded
upon his ears, or at the most only provoked a quick, im-
patient snarl in reply. Swiftly and silently he made his
way along the track which ran through the meadows,
and so by way of the woods to the Boscombe Pool.'
It was damp, marshy ground, as is all that district, and
there were marks of many feet, both upon the path and
amid the short grass which bounded it on either side.
Sometimes Holmes would hurry on, sometimes stop dead,
and once he made quite a little détour into the meadow.
Lestrade and I walked behind him, the detective indifl"er—
ent and contemptuous, while I watched my friend with
the interest which sprang from the conviction that every
one of his actions was directed toward a definite end.
The Boscombe Pool, which is a little reed-girt sheet of
water some fifty yards across, is situated at the boundary
between the Hatherley Farm and the private park of the
wealthy Mr. Turner. Above the woods which lined it


190 THE BOSUOMBE VALLEY MYSTERY.
Ha, ha ! What have we here? Tip-toes! tip-toes ! Square
too, quite unusual boots! They come, they go, they come
again—of course that was for the cloak. Now where did
they come from ?" He ran up and down, sometimes
losing, sometimes finding the track until we were well
within the edge of the wood, and under the shadow of
a great beech, the largest tree in the neighborhood.
Holmes traced his way to the further side of this, and lay
down once more upon his face with a little cry of satis-
faction. For a long time he remained there, turning over
the leaves and dried sticks, gathering up what seemed to
me to be dust into an envelope, and examining with his
lens not only the ground, but even the bark of the tree as
far as he could reach. A jagged stone was lying among
the moss, and this also he carefully examined and retained.
Then he followed a pathway through the wood until
he came to the high road, where all traces were lost.
“It has been a case of considerable interest,” he re-
marked, returning to his natural manner. “I fancy that
this gray house on the right must he the lodge. I think
that I will go i_n and have a word with Moran, and per-
haps write a little note. Having done that, we may drive
back to our luncheon. You may walk to the cab, and I
shall be with you presently." '
It was about ten minutes before we regained our cab,
and drove back into Ross, Holmes still carrying with him
the stone which he had picked up in the wood.
“This may interest yon, Lestrade,” heremarked, hold-
ing it out. “ The murder was done with it.”
“I see no marks.”
“There are none.”
“How do you know, then ? ”
“The grass was growing under it. It had only lain
there a few days. There was no sign of a place whence it


THE BOSUOMBE VALLEY MYSTERY. I91
had been taken. It corresponds with the injuries. There
is no sign of any other weapon.”
“And the murderer?"
“Is a tall man, left-handed, limps with the right leg,
wears thick-soled shooting boots and a gray cloak, smokes
Indian cigars, uses a cigar-holder, and carries a blunt pen-
knife in his pocket. There are several other indications,
but these may be enough to aid us in our search.”
Lestrade laughed. “ I am afraid that I am still a scep-
tic,” he said. “Theories are all very well, but we have to
deal with a hard-headed British jury.”
“ Nous 'uerr0ns,” answered Holmes, calmly. “ You work
your own method, and I shall work mine. I shall be busy
this afternoon, and shall probably return to London by
the evening train."
“ And leave your case unfinished?”
“ No, finished.”
“ But the mystery ? ”
“ It is solved."
“ Who was the criminal, then?”
“The gentleman I describe.”
“But who is he?" '
“ Surely it would not be difficnlt to find out. This is
not such a populous neighborhood.”
Lestrade shrugged his shoulders. “I am a practical
man,” he said, “ and I really cannot undertake to go about
the country looking for a left-handed gentleman with a
game leg. I should become the laughing-stock of Scot-
land Yarc .”
“All right,” said Holmes, quietly. “ I have given you
the chance. Here are your lodgings. Good-by. I shall
drop you a line before I leave.”
Having left Lestrade at his rooms we drove to our hotel,
where we found lunch upon the table. Holmes was silent


196 THE BOSGOMBE VALLEY MYSTERY.
I shall live a month. Yet I would rather die under my
own roof than in a jail."
Holmes rose and sat down at the table with his pen in
his hand and a bundle of paper before him. “Just tell
us the truth," he said. “I shall jot down the facts. You .
will sign it, and Watson here can witness it. Then I could
produce your confession at the last extremity to save
young McCarthy. I promise you that I shall not use it
unless it is absolutely needed.”
“It's as well,” said the old man; “it's a question
whether I shall live to the Assizes, so it matters little
to me, but I should wish to spare Alice the shock. And
now I will make the thing clear to you; it has been a
long time in the acting, but will not take me long to tell.
“ You didn’t know this dead man, McCarthy. He was
a devil incarnate. I tell you that. God keep you out of
the clutches of such a man as he. His grip has been upon
me these twenty years, and he has blasted my life. I'll
tell you first how I came to be in his power.
“It was in the early sixties at the diggings. I was a
young chap then, hot-blooded and reckless, ready to turn
my hand to anything ; I got among bad companions, took
to drink, had no luck with my claim, took to the bush,
and in a word became what you would call over here a
highway robber, There were six of us, and we had a wild,
free life of it, sticking up a station from time to time, or
stopping the wagons on the road to the diggings. Black
Jack of Ballarat was the name I went under, and our party
is still remembered in the.colony as the Ballarat Gang.
“ One day a gold convoy came down from Ballarat to
Melbourne, and we lay in wait for it and attacked it.
There were six troopers and six of us, so it was a close
thing, but we emptied four of their saddles at the first
volley. Three of our boys were killed, however, before