LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA RIVERSIDE W^M .v\ 'he looked down upon the man whose words he was repeating with contempt and astonishment.' TO CALL HER MINE ETC BY WALTER BESANT AUTHOR (If' 'all sorts and conditions of mkn,' 'children ok gibf.on," etc. NINE ILI.USTRATIOSS BY A. lORESTlEK lionljoii CIIATTO 6;: WINJjUS, PICCADILLY 1889 Tie CONTENTS. TO CALL II ER MINE. CHAPTER I. ON AN ISLAND . A JONAH COME ABOAUD THE FIKST DJiEAM CHALLACOMBE-BY-THE-MOOK KOR BETTEIS, FOR WORSE THE CHOIR-PRACTICE VII. WHO IS HE ? . VIII. A QUIET SUNDAY MORNING AT SIDCOTE GKIMSPOLND DAVIDS NEXT VISIT THE SECOND DREAM THE CANVAS BAG DRINK ABOUT WITH THE BEST INTENTIONS DAVID MAKES A PROPOSAL. A GLEAM OK LIGHT THE ROYAL GKOGKAPHICAL SOCIETY XIX. THE LAST APPEAL XX. THE THIRD DREAM . IL III. IV. V. VI. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII. XIV. XV. XVI. XVII. XVIII. PAGE 1 12 22 34 40 46 52 61 70 79 91 100 104 108 114 120 124 129 134 139 K.\TJI.\i:iXK IIKCINA I. 'THE CUP — ■ .... II. 'and the lip ' . in. HARLEY HOUSE, CLEVELAND SQUARE . IV. A FAITHFUL TUU.STEE V. KATIE ..... VI. dittmek bock .... VII. THE LOST PLACE VIII. THE CHRONICLE OF WASTED TIME . IX. Tom's dead hand X. THE LAST SHILLING XI. A NIGHT OUT .... XII. IN THE FOG .... 147 \m 1(54 170 184 187 192 1!)7 206 21.5 '221 229 IV CONTENTS, CIIAPTKn XIII. IN THE MOUNING XIV. THE NUBIAN DESERT XV. JOYFUL TIDINGS XVI. Ton's RETUKN XVII. THE SE.MICH XVIII. IN THE WORKROOM. XIX. THE SHATTERING OK THE CASTLE XX. LIFE AND LOVE PAGE 235 242 250 257 265 271 280 288 SELF OR BEAREIt I. ON A VERSE OF VIRGIL II. HIS lordship's TOWN-HOUSE III. A LONG MORNING IN THE CITY IV. WHO HAS DONE THIS ? V. A STEADY YOUNG MAN'S EVENING VI. THE TEMPTATION . VIL ' DOWN WITH LANDLORDS !' VIII. THE GRAVE OF HONOUR IX. THE BROKEN RING X. THE ADVERTISEMENT XI. STILL ONE CHANCE LEFT XII. UNCLE JOSEPH AS AN INSTRUMENT Xin. A LAST APPEAL . CHAPTER THE LAST. 297 311 325 341 353 362 368 374 388 393 400 409 418 425 LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS. ' I had the leather thonsf in my fingers ' ' He looked down upon the man who.se words he was re- peating with contempt and astonishment ' ' The ship having no doctor aboard, he began to administer whi.sky and rum in .alternate spoonfuls ' . • Old Dan was now white-liaired, and advanced in years ' ' The girl who .sat working at the open window was Mary Ntthercote' ........ ' It was an an old-fashioned wainscoted room ; and there was a really splendid old cabinet, black with age, wonderful with carvings ' . • . ' Then he kissed her gravely on the forehead, as if to seal her once more for his own '..... 'We walked through the darkening lanes, our faces to the west, so that Mary's glowed in the golden light like an angel-face in a painted window ' . 'Well, come through the gate, then, Mary ' . Vignette. Frontispiece. To face p 20 22 24 26 40 46 125 TO CALL HER MINE. CHAPTER I. ON AN ISLAND. 'I WILL now,' said the German, 'read your statement over, and you can sign it if yon like. Remember, however, what your signature may mean. As for what I shall do with it afterwards, that depends on many things.' ' Do what you like with it,' replied the Englishman, slowly and huskily. ' Send it to the police in London, if you like. I don't care what becomes of it, or of myself cither. For I am tired of it ; I give in. There ! I give in. No one knows what it is like until you actually come to fight with it.' He did not explain what 'it' was; but the other seemed to understand what he meant, and nodded his head gravely, though coldly. ' It,' spoken of in this way, is generally some foe to man. If toftthache, or f-aracho, or any ordinary physical evil had been meant, that CJerman, or any other (lerman. Frenchman, Russian, or Englishman, would have nodded his head with a sympathetic murmur. Since there was no murmur, therefore there was no sympathy. The two men were, as you will pre.sently admit, a most curious couple to look upon, set among most remarkable surroundings, if only there had been any spectators or audience to watch and admire them. The .eccne — none of your conventional carpenter's scenes, but a grand set scene — was, if jjossible, more interesting than the couple in the foreground. For in front there stretched the sea- shore, the little waves lapping softly and crLeping slowly ovi'r the level white coral sand ; beyond the smooth water lay the coral reef 2 TO CALL HER MINE. with its breakers ; at the back of the sandy shore was a gentle rise of land, covered with groves of cocoa-palms and bananas ; among them were clearings planted with fields of sweet potatoes and taro ; two or three huts were visible beneath the trees. Again, beyond the level belt rose a great gr«cn mountain, five or six thousand feet high, steej), and covered to the summit with forest. Here and there a perpendicular cliff broke the smoothness of the slope, and over the cliir leaped tiny cascades— threads of light sparkling in the evening sunshine. The time was about six — that is, an hour before sunset ; the air was warm and soft ; the sloping sunshine lay on grove and clearing, seashore and mountain side, forest and green field, making everything glow with a splendid richness and prodigality of colour; softening outlines and bringing out new and unsuspected curves on the hillside. The mid-day sun makes these thick forests black with shade ; the evening sun lights them up, and makes them glorious and warm with colour. As one saw the place this evening, one might see it every evening, for in New Ireland there is neither summer nor winter, but always, all the year round, the promise of spring, the heat of summer, and the fruition of autumn ; with no winter at all, except the winter of death, when the branches cease to put forth leaves and stretch out white arms, spectral and threatening, among their living com- panions in the forest. Sometimes one may see whole acres of dead forest standing like skeletons by day and like ghosts by night, till the white ants shall have gnawed their way through the trunks to prepare their fall, and till the young shoots at their feet shall have sprung up round them to hide the ghastly whiteness of death. The reason of this commingling of spring and summer, autumn and winter, is that the latitude of New Ireland, as everybody knows, is about 4 degrees south, which is very near the isothermal line. People who desire to feel the warmth of this latitude— a warmth Avhich goes right through and through a man, like light through a pane of glass — need not go so far as New Ireland, but may stop on their way at Singapore, where there are not only no cannibals, but the hotels — there are no hotels in New Ireland — are ' replete,' as the advertisements say, ' with every comfort.' Considering that New Ireland has been visited by so very few, and that the place is as j'et entirely unexplored, the fact that here were two Europeans ujjon it at the same time, and yet not arrived there with the same objects, was in itself remarkable ; the more so because its people have a curious and cultivated taste in cookery, and prefer roasted Brother Man to the roast of any other animal, ON AX ISLAND. 3 insomuch that missionaries have hitherto avoided these shores, feeling that to be killed and eaten before converting anybody would be a sinful Avaste of good joints. After the conversion of many, indeed, the thing might take the form and present the attractions of serviceable martyrdom. Where the situation and the scene were both so remarkable, it seems almost superfluous to point out that the appearance of both men was also remarkable ; although, among such surroundings, any man might well strive to live and present an appearance up to the scene. One of them — the German — was a man of colossal propor- tions, certainly six feet six in height, and broad in proportion, with strong shoulders and well-shaped legs — both legs aud shoulders being bare, and therefore in evidence. He was still quite a young man — well under thirty. His hair was light brown, short and curly ; an immense brown beard covered his face and fell over his chest. His eyes were blue and prominent, and he wore spectacles. His dress was modelled generally, but with modifications, on the dress of the inhabitants of these islands. His only robe was a great piece of Fiji tapu cloth, white, decorated with black lozenges and a brown edging ; it was rolled once round his waist, descending to his knees, aud was then thrown over his left shoulder, leaving the right arm bare. The sun had painted this limb a rich warm bi'own. He wore a cap something like that invented, and patented for the use of solitaries, by Robinson Crusoe ; it was conical in shape, and made of feathers brightly coloured. He had sandals of thin bark tied to his feet jjy leather thongs, and he wore a kind of leather scarf, from which depended a revolver case, a field-glass in a case, a case of instruments, and a large water-proof bag. These con- stituted his whole possessions, except a thick cotton uniljrclla, with a double cover, green below and white above. This he constantly carried open. He was smoking a large pipe of the shape well known in (Jermany. Lastly, one ob.served in him a thing so incongruous tliat it was really the most remarkable of all. You know the llolnnson Crusoe of the stage ; you know the holy man or the hermit of the lloyal Academy. Both the Robinson Ciu.soo of the stage and the St. Anthony of the desert in the picture, are just as clean as if tlicy liad just come out of the bath, or at least had been finite recently Ijlesscd with a heavy shower, and they arc, besides, as well groomed as if they had just completed a careful morning toilette. Now, Robinson on his island aud the hermit in his desert may have l)een picturcsf[ue, l>ut I am rpiitc certain tliat they were always unkempt, unclean, and uncared for. This young 1—2 4 TO CALL HER MINE. man — say (his young gentleman — was most carefully groomed, although he was on a cannibal island. His hands were clean, and his nails did not look as if they had been torn off by the teeth — I have often thought of poor Robinson's sufferings in this respect ; his face was clean ; his hair neatly cut, though it was cut by his own hands, and had been brushed that day ; his great beard was carefully combed ; and his toga of native cloth was clean. Now, a neat and clean beachcomber is a thing never heard of. Always they are in rags ; and, when they do descend so low as to wear the native dress, they have generally assumed and made their own the manners and customs of a native. This interesting person was, as I have said, a German. Now, what is pedantry in an Englishman is thoroughness in a German. No Englishman could have worn this dress without feeling as if the whole world's tinger of scorn was turned upon him : but to the German the dress was ])art of the ])rogramme. He had learned the language, and what he could of the manners, before landing on the shore. A dress as nearly as possible approximating to the Polynesian garb was a natural accompaniment to the language. The spectacles, the umbrella, and the cap of feathers were necessary concessions to European civilization. The other man, one could see immediately, was an Englishman. It was also clear to anyone who had eyes and understanding that he was an Englishman of country birth and breeding. To begin with, his clothes were not those of a sailor. The rough flannel shirt which had lost all its buttons and one of its sleeves ; the coarse canvas trousers ; the old boots broken down at heel, and showing in the toes an inclination — nay, a resolution — for divorce between sole and upper ; the broad shapeless felt hat — all spoke of the soil. His gait and carriage sang aloud of ploughed fields ; his broad and ruddy cheeks, his reddish brown hair and beard, spoke of the south or west of England. No doubt he was once— how did such a one contrive to get to the shores of New Ireland ? — a farmer or labourer. He was a well-built man, who looked short Vjeside this tall German. But he was above the average height. His age might be about six or eight and twenty. His hair hung in masses over his shoulders, and his beard was thicker than his com- panion's, though not so long ; and so far from being clean and trim, he presented a very unwashed, uncombed, and neglected appearance indeed. His face, which had been once a square, full face, was drawn and haggard ; his eyes, which were meant to be frank, were troubled ; and his carriage, which should have been ON AN ISLAND. 5 upright and brave, was heavy aud dejected. He seemed, as he stood before the other man, at once ashamed and remorseful, 'Listen : I will read it carefully and slowly,' said the German. ' Sit down while I read it. If there is a single word that is not true, you can alter that word before you sign.' The man sat down obediently — there was a curious slowness about his movements as well as his speech — while the German read the document, which was written very closely on two pages of a note-book. Space was valuable, because this note-book con- tained all the paper there was on the island of New Ireland, and had, therefore, to be husbanded. He read in a good English accent, not making more confusion of his f's and v"s than was sufticient to assert his pride of nationality. And as he read, he looked down upon the man whose words he was repeating with contempt and astonishment. For the man had done so dreadful and terrible a thing ; he had committed a crime which was horrible, and required the white heat of rage and fury ; and yet the man looked so pitiful a creature ! ' Listen,' he said again, ' and correct me when I am wrong.' This was the paper which he read on the shore of the Pacific Ocean, and on the island of New Ireland, one evening in the year 1884:- 'I, David Leighan, farmer, of the i)arish of Challacombe, Devon- shire, being now on an island in the Pacific Ocean, where I expect to be shortly killed and eaten by the cannibals, declare that the following is the whole truth concerning the death of my uncle, Daniel Leighan, of the same parish, farmer. ' He jockeyed me out of my property ; he kept on lending me money in large sums and small sums and making me sign papers in return, and never let me know how much I owed him ; he made me mortgage my land to him ; lie encouraged me to drink, and to neglect my farm. At last, when I was head over ears in debt, he suddenly brought down the law upon me, forcclo.sed, and took my land. That was the reason of our quarrel. I stayed about the piiiec, sometimes at Challacombe, sometimes at Moreton, and some- times at IJovey, till my money was nearly all gone. Then J must either starve, or I must become a labourer where I had been a master, or I must go away and find work somewhere else. I had but thirty pounds left in the world, and 1 made up ray mind to go away. It was a day in October of the year IHW), which I remember because it was the cold, wet season of 187'.' wliieh finished my ruin, as it did many others, who that year came to tlie end of their 6 TO CALL HER MINE. capital or their credit. I went to sec my uncle, and begged him to lend me thirty pounds more, to start mc in Canada, where I'd heard say that fifty pounds will start a man who is willing to make his own clearance and to work. I was that sick of myself that I was willing to work like a negro slave if I could work on my own land. But work in England on another man's land I could not. Said my uncle — I shall not forget his words — " Nephew David," he said, grinning, " you've been a fool and lost your money. I've been a wise man and kept mine. Do you think I am going to give you more money to fool away ?" I wonder I did not kill him then and there, because it was through him and his lendings that I came so low. He Fat in his room at Gi'atnor, his iiccount-books before birn, and he looked up and laughed at me while ha said it, jingling the money that was in his pocket. Yet I asked him for nothing but the loan of thirty pounds, which I might pay back, or, perhaps, I mightn't. Thirty pounds ! And I was his nephew, and by his arts and practices he'd jockeyed me out of a farm of three hundred acres, most of it good land, with the brook running through it and a mill upon it. What was thirty pounds compared with what he'd got out of me ? ' I remember very well what I said to him — never mind what it was — but I warrant he laughed no longer, though he kept up bis bull^dng to the end, and told me to go to the Devil my own way, and the farther from my native parish the better. So I left him, and walked away through Watercourt to John Exon's inn, where I sat all that day drinking brandy-and-water. I told nobody what had happened, but they guessed very well that I'd had a quarrel with my uncle, and all the world knew by that time how he'd got my land into his own possession. ' About six o'clock in the evening Harry Rabjahns, the black- smith, came to the inn, and Grandfather Derges with him, and they had a mug of cider a-piece. And then, being more than a bit in liquor, but not so far gone as not to know what I was saying, I began to talk to them about my own affairs. I told them nothing about the quarrel with my uncle, but I said what was quite true, that I had no stomach to stay and take labourer's wages in the parish where I should see all day long the land that had been mine and my father's before me, and his father's, further back than the church register goes. Why, the Sidcotes and the Leighaus came to Challacombe together — the Sidcotes to Sidcote Farm and the Leighans to Berry Down — as everybody knows, when it was nothing but hillside and forest, with never a house, or a field, or a ON AN ISLAND. 7 church, or anything upon it. Therefore I said I should go away ; and it was my purpose to go away that very evening. I should walk to Bovey Tracey, I said ; I should take the train to Newton Abbot and so to Bristol, where I should find a ship bound for foreign parts. That was what I said ; and, perhaps, it was lucky I said so much. But I don't know, because the verdict of the jury I never heard. ' " "Well, Mr. David,"' says Harry the blacksmith, " you've been an unlucky one, sir, and we wish you better luck where you be going — wherever that may be." And so said Grandfather Dergcs. And Mrs. Exon must pour out a last glass of brandy-and- water, which I took, though I'd had more than enough already. Then we shook hands and I came away. ' 'Twas then about eight, and there was a half moon, the night being fine and breezy, and flying clouds in the sky. As I crossed the green, the thought came into my head that I was a fool to go to Bristol when Plymouth and Falmouth were nearer and would suit ray purpose better. I could walk to Plymouth easy, and so save the railway money. Therefore, I resolved to change my plan, and, instead of turning to the left by Farmer Cummings', I turned to the right at Ivy Cottage and walked across the churchyard, and took the road which goes over Ileytrce Down to "Widdicombe, and then leads to Ashburton and Totnes. ' It was only a chance, mark you, that I took that road ; only a chance. I did not know, and I did not suspect, that my uncle had ridden over to Ashburton after I left him. All a chance it was. I never thought to meet him ; and he might have been living till now if it hadn't been for that chance.' The man who was listening groaned aloud at this point. ' The first two miles of the road is a narrow lane between high hedges. What with the brandy I had taken, and the memory of the morning quarrel, I was in as bad a temper as a man need to be ; which was the reason why the Devil took possession of me. 'Presently I passed tlirough Ilcytreo (Jatc, and .so out where the road runs over the open down, and here I began to tliink— tlie Devil getting in at my head — what I would do if I had my uncle before me ; and the l^lood came into iriy eyes, and I clutched tlio cmlgel hard. Who do you tliink put that tliouglit into my head? The Devil. Why did he put that thought into my head ? Because the very man was riding along the road on his way home frf)m AHliliurton, and because I was going to meet him in about ten minutes.' 8 TO CALL HER MINE. ' Why,' asked the German, looking up from the paper, 'why is it that criminals and ignorant people cling so fondly to their Devil ?' As nobody replied, he went on reading. 'I heard the footsteps of his pony, a long way off. I was in the middle of the open road when I heard him open Hewedstone Gate with his hunting-crop and clatter through. I saw him coming along in the moonlight. While he was still a good way off, before I could see his face, I knew who it was by the shape of his shoulders and the way he bent over the pony as he rode. Then I saw his face, and I stood still by the side of the road and waited for him. " Murder him ! Murder him !" whispered a voice in my ear. Whose voice was that ? The Devil's voice. ' My stick was a thick heavy cudgel with a knob. I grasped it by the end and waited. ' He did not see me. He was looking straight before him, think- ing, I suppose, how he had done well to get his nephew out of the •vvay — the nephew he had robbed and ruined. So, as he came up to me, I lifted my arm and struck him on the head once, crying. " Give me back my laud, villain !" But I do not know whether he heard me or saw me ; for he fell to the ground without a word or a groan. ' He fell, I say, from his pony clean on to the ground, his feet slipping from the stirrups. And there he lay, on the broad of his back— dead. ' He was quite dead. His face was white and his heart had ceased to beat. I stood beside him for an hour, waiting to see if he would recover. I hoped he would ; because it is a dreadful thing to think that you have murdered a man, even when you are still hot with rage. If he would only recover a little and sit up, I thought, I should be a happy man. ' But he did not. He lay quite still and cold. ' Then I began to think that if I were caught I should be hanged. Would they suspect me ? Fortunately, no one had seen me take that road. I was certain of that, so far, and they thought I had gone to Bovey. I must go away as quickly as I could, and leave no trace or sign that would make them suspect me. ' Then I thought that if I were to rob him people would be less inclined to think of me ; because, though 1 might murder the man who had ruined me, they would never believe that I would rob him. 'I felt in his pockets. There was his watch — no, I would not ON AN ISLAND. 9 touch his watch. There was some loose silver, which I left. There was a bag coatainiug money. I know not how much, but it was a light bag. This I took. Also he had under his arm a good- sized tin box in a blue bag, such as lawyers carry. The box I knew would contain his papers, and his papers were his money. So I thought I would do as much mischief to his property as I could, and I took that box. Then I went away, leaving him there cold and dead, with his white cheeks and gray hair, and his eyes wide open. I felt sick when I looked at those eyes, because they reproached me. I reeled and staggered as I left him, carrying the box with me in its blue bag, and the little bag of money. ' I was not going to walk along the road. That would have been a foors act. I turned straight off and struck for the open moor, intending to cross Hamil Down, and so, by way of Post Bridge, make for Tavistock and Plymouth. And 1 remembered a place where the box could be hidden away, a safe place, where no one would ever think of looking for it, so that everybody should go on believiug that the old man had been robbed as well as murdered. This place was right over the Down, and on the other side, but it was all on my way to Post Bridge. 'I climbed the hill then and walked across the top of Ilamil Down. On the way, I passed the Grey Wether Stone, and I thought I would hide the bag of money in a hole I knew of at the foot of it. Nobody would look for it there. Xot twenty people in a year ever go near the Grey "Wether. There I put it, and then I walked down the hill on the other side and got to Grimspound, where 1 mcaut to hide the other bag with the box in it. ' Tell them, if you ever get away from this awful place, that the box lies on the side nearest Ilamil, where three stones piled one above the other make a sort of little cave, where you might think to draw a badger, but which would never make anyone Buspcct a hiding [)lace. The .'itoues are in the corner, and are the first you come to on your way down. There I put tlie Ijox, and then 1 walked away pa.st N'ltifer to Post Bridge, and then along the high road to Two Bridges and Tavistock. But I did not stop in Tavi- stock. P(Tha[)H there would be an alarm. So I went on walking all the way without stopping— except to sit down a l)it — to Plymouth. There I got a newspaper ; but I could read nothing of the murder. Then I took the train to Falmouth, and waited there for three days, aud bought a new.'^paper every day — one would surely think that a murder in a quiet country place would be reported ; but I could find not a single word about my murder. ro TO CALL HER MINE. ' Then I was able to take passage on board a Gorman ship bound for New York. I got to New York, and I stayed there till my money was all gone, which did not take long. There I made the acquaintance of some men, who told me to go with them, for they were going West. They were all, I found, men who had done something, and the police were anxious to take them. I never told them what I had done, but they knew it was something, and when they found out that I knew nothing about robbery and burglary? and couldn't cheat at gambling and the like, they set it down that it must be murder. But they cared nothing, and I went along with them,' ' Your confession, my friend,' said the German, stopping at this point, ' of what followed — the horse-stealing adventure, your own escape, and the untimely end of your companions ; your honesty in California, and its interruption ; j-our career as a bonnet or con- federate ; and your experience of a Californian prison — are all interesting, but I cannot waste paper upon them. I return, there- fore, to the material part of the confession. And with this I conclude.' ' I desire to state that from the first night that I arrived in New York till now I have every night been visited by the ghost of the man I killed. My uncle stands beside the bed — whether it is in a bed in a crowded room, or on the ground in the open, or in a cabin at sea, or on the deck — whether I am drunk or sober, he always comes every night. His face is white, and the wound in his fore- head is bleeding. " Come back to England," he says, "and confess the crime." ' I must go back and give myself up to justice. I will make no more struggles against my fate. But because I am uncertain whether I shall live to get back, and because I know not how to escape from this island, I wish to have my confession written and signed, so that, if I die, the truth may be told.' Thus ended the paper. ' So,' said the big German, ' you acknowledge this to be your full and true confession ?' ' I do.' ' Sign it, then.' He produced from his bag a pencil and gave it to the man, who signed, in a trembling hand, ' David Leighan.' Under the signature the German wrote, ' Witnessed by me. Baron Sergius Von Holsten.' This done, he replaced the note-book in his wallet. ' The reason why T wanted you to sign the paper to-night,' he ON AX ISLAND. ii said, ' is that there seems as if there might be a chance of your getting away from the island.' ' How ?' ' Look out to sea.' They were ahnost at the extreme south point of the island — the maps call it Cape St. George, but what the islanders call it has not yet been ascertained. In the west the shores of New Britain could be seen, because the sun was just sinking behind them ; to the south and the east there was open sea. ' I can see nothing.' ' Look through my glass, then.' 'I can see a ship — a two-masted sailing-ship.' ' She is in quest of blackbirds. She will probably send a l)oat ashore. Fortunately for you, the people are all gone off to fight. You will, therefore, if she does send a boat here, have a chance of getting away. If she sails north, and sends a boat ashore fifty miles or so further up the coast, that boat's crew will be speared, and yoo will probably see portions of their arms and legs for some little time to come in the huts. Well, my friend ' — for the man shuddered and trembled — ' better their arms and legs than your own. Yet, see the strange decrees of fate. The men in the boat are very likely no worse than their neighbours. That is to say, they will have done nothing worse than the smaller sins freely forgiven by every tolerant person. They have drunk, fought, sworn, lied, and 80 forth. But they have not committed murder. Yet they will be speared ; while you, thanks to my protection, have hitherto escaped, and may possibly get clear ofi^ the island. Yet consider what a sinner — what a sinner and a criminal — you have Ijccu. Now, my friend, the sun is about to set. In ten minutes it will be dark, and we have neither candles nor matches. Go to your bed and await the further commands of the ileir Ghost, your respect- able uncle. On the eve of your departure, if you are to go to- morrow, he will probably be more peremptory and more terrifying than usual. T)o not groan more loudly than you can help, because groans disturb ncnghbours. Such is the abominable selfishness of the repentant, that their remorse is as great a nuisance to their companions as their crime was an annoyance to their victims. Go to bed, David, and await the Ilcrr f I host.' 12 TO CALL HER ML\E. CHAPTER II. A JONAH COME ABOARD. ' Then you think,' said the Mate, looking about him with doubt, ' that we shall do no business here ?' He was a young fellow of two-and-twenty or so, a frank and honest-looking sailor, though his business was that of a cunning kidnapper. Perhaps he had not been long enough at it for the pro- fession to get itself stamped upon his forehead. He was armed with a revolver, ready to hand, and a cutlass hanging at his side. Behind him were four sailors, also armed, in readiness for an attack, for Polynesians are treacherous ; and in the boat, pulled as near the shore as the shallow water allowed, were two more men, oars out and in their hands, guns at their side, ready to shove off in a moment. But there were no islanders in sight, only these two Europeans : one a tall man of nearly seven feet, dressed in fantastic imitation of the natives ; and the other, apparently, an ordinary beachcomber, quite out of luck, ragged, dejected, and haggard. A little way off the land lay the schooner. Her business was to enlist, kidnap, procure, or secure, by any means in the power of the cap- tain and the crew, as many natives as the ship would hold, and to bring them to North Queensland, where they would be hired out to the planters, exactly as the redemptioners were hired out, in the last century, in Maryland and Virginia, to work out their term of service, and, also exactly like the redemptioners, to find that term indefinitely prolonged by reason of debt for tobacco, clothes, rum, and all kinds of things. They would be privileged to cultivate sugar, coffee, and other tropical productions, and to witness, a long way off, the choicest blessings of civilization ; they would also be allowed to cheer their souls with the hope of some day returning to their native islands where these blessings have not yet penetrated, and where they would have to live out the remainder of their days in savagery of that deplorable kind which enjoys perpetual sunshine and warmth, with i)lenty to eat, nothing to wear, and nothing to do. Warmth, food, and rest— for these as a bribe what would not our people resign of their blessings V The clothes they wear ? Well, it would be a good exchange, indeed, from their insufficient and ragged clothes in a cold climate, to none at all iu a place where A JONAH COME ABOARD. 13 none are wanted. To exchange the food they eat for the food of the South Sea Islander ? Well— apart from roasted Brother — it would certainly seem, at first, a change for the better. To exchange work— hard, horrible, unceasing work — for rest? Who would not ? — oh ! who would not ? Free institutions and Socialist clubs for a country with no institutions at all ? Why, why is there not an extensive emigration of the Indolent, the Unlucky, and theOut- of-Work for these Fortunate Islands V ' It is an unlucky voyage,' said the Mate, gazing earnestly at the two men before him, whose appearance and the contrast between them puzzled him. ' Two months out and five weeks becalmed ; no business done, and the skipper drunk all day long. Say, strangers, how did you come here ?' ' For my part,' said the German, ' I am a naturalist. I make the coleoptera my special study. I have, I believe, enriched science with so many rare and previously unknown specimens, if I succeed in getting them to Europe, that my name will be certainly remem- bered in scientific history as one of those who have advanced knowledge. Can any man ask more ?' • Colly ! — colly what ?' asked the Mate. ' But never mind your Colly-what's-her-name. How the devil did you get such a rig, man ?' ' I am a linguist,' the Baron Sergius Von Holsten went on to explain, ' as well as a naturalist. I therefore learned the language before landing here, having found a native or two of New Ireland in the mission of tlic Duke of York Island. It is a great thing to know how to talk witli these black children. I am also a surgeon and a physician, so that I can heal their wounds and their diseases when they get any. You see, further, that I am bigger than most men. T am also thorough. I adopted their dress — at least, some of it,' lie looked complacently at his toga of tapu cloth ; 'and, therefore, being able to talk to them, to impress them with my stature, and to cure them, I landed among them without fear. Wlien they came round me with their spears, T Hbouted to tbcin that I was a great nuigirian, come io their liclp straight down fro'n the sun. And as I know a little prestidigitation and conjuring, and am a bit of a ventriloquist, I am from time to time able to work a few of the sim[iler miracles. So that they readily believe me.' ' How long are yon going to stay here ?' ' I know not ; New Irrland is j-ich in new flpccies : but I shall have to stop as soon as my means of collection and description come 14 TO CALL HER MINE. to an end. When that day comes I shall be glad to sec a ship. But it will not be yet !' ' They may kill you.' ' It is possible,' the Baron shrugged his tall shoulders ; ' they are like little children. It may occur to one of them some day to find out what I should do, and how I should look, if he were to drive his spear into my back. We all run our little dangers, and must not allow them to stoj) our work.' The Mate looked doubtful. ' I am also an ethnologist, and I assure you. Lieutenant, that the study of these people is of profound interest.' ' Have you no arms ?' * I have a revolver ; but what is one revolver against the spears of a whole people ? I have really no other weapon but my power of persuasion, and my reputation for magic and sorcery. These will not fail me, unless, as I said before, one of them may be anxious to see how a god behaves and how he looks with a spear stuck through him.' ' And how do you live ?' ' The people bring me food every day. If they did not, I should afflict them with horrible misfortunes, as they very well know. I should tell them that in three days such a one would be dead, and then it would be that man's duty to go away and die, in fulfilment of prophecj'. I suppose his friends would never speak to him again if he refused to fulfil the words of the Prophet, so great is their faith. They bring me the unripe cocoanut for its milk ; there are fish of every kind in the sea, which they net and spear for me ; there are kangaroo and cassowary on the hills, which they snare and trap for me ; there are birds, which they shoot for me ; there are mangoes, bread-fruit, bananas, yams, sweet potatoes, and taro. I assure you we feed very well. Don't we, David ?' He laid his hand on the other man's shoulder. ' We have also tobacco. There is, however— which you regret, David, don't you ? — no rum on the island.' ' Is your — your — chum also worshipped ?' asked the Mate, re- garding David with an obvious decrease of interest. ' No ; David is recognised as of inferior clay. This poor fellow was wrecked upon the island ; he came ashore on a plank, the rest of the ship's crew aud passengers have given indigestion to the sharks?. He is not happy here, and he would like you to take him off the island.' A JONAH COME ABOARD. 15 'Yes,' said David eagerly, but still iu his slow way, 'anywhere, so that I can only get on my way to England.' * He was just getting oS his plank, and the people were preparing to receive him joyfully, warmly, and hospitably, after their fashion ; that is to say, into their pots — they have a beautiful method of cooking, in a kind of sunken pot, which would greatly interest you if you were a captive and expecting your turn — when I fortunately arrived, and succeeded, by promising an eclipse if I was disobeyed, in saving him. The eclipse came in good time ; but I had forgiven the people for their momentary mutiny, and I averted its power for evil. So long as David sticks close to me now he is safe. If he leaves me his end is certain. But he is no use to me, and for certain reasons I should very much prefer that he was gone. Will you take him ?' ' The ship doesn't carry passengers,' said the Mate ; ' besides ' ' He is harmless, and you can trust him not to make mischief. I will pay for him if you like.' ' What does he want to go home for ?' asked the Mate doubt- fully. Indeed, the appearance of the man did not warrant the belief that he would be welcomed by his friends. ' He has to pay a pilgrimage : he has to deliver a message before a magistrate, and to be subsequently elevated to a post of great distinction,' said the Baron. ' Humph !' said the Mate. ' lie looks as if he'd done something. Better keep in these latitudes, stranger ; where no one asks and no one cares. But about his fare — who's to pay for his passage and his grub, if we take him ?' ' You will return some time to Queensland, Take or send this note.' He took his note-book, tore olf half a leaf, and wrote a few words upon it. ' Send this note to Messrs. Ilengstenburg and Company, Sydney. Tell them where you got it, and they will give you £20 for it, and will thank you into the bargain for letting them know that, so far, the Baron Scrgius Von llolsteu is safe. If there is any money left after paying for your ])asHenger, give it to this poor devil. He is not such a bad duvil, tlif)iigii ho looks so miserable, unless ho begins to confide in you. When he does that, lock him up in a cabin. Perhaps lie has done something, as you say : what do we know V As for doing things,' he said, regarding his humble companion with the utmost severity, 'a man who is tempted to commit a crime ought always to remember that he will some day, in all probability, be wrecked on a desert island, an island of cannibals, in the company of one, and only one, other i6 TO CALL HER MINE. European, and that man greatly his RU])crior ; and he ought truly to resolve that under no temptations will he do anything which may make him a nuisance and a bore to that companion through the vehemence of his repentance.' David Leighan groaned. ' Man,' added the Baron sententiously, 'docs not live for himself alone ; and he who rashly commits a crime may hereafter seriously inter- fere with the comfort of his brother man.' David hung his head. ' I forgive you, David. I have protected ycu from the natives' spears and their ])ots and carving-knives for six months, though it has cost me many foolish threats and vain curses. I have fed you and sheltered you. I have been rewarded by penitential groans and by outward tokens of fervent contrition. These have saddened my days, and have disturbed my slumbers. Groan, henceforth, into other ears. I forgive you, however, only on one condition, that you return no more. If you do, you shall be speared and potted without remorse. As for the document in my note- book ' ' I shall get to England before you,' said David ; * and when I get there, I shall go at once to Challacombe or Moreton and make a statement just like the one you have in your note-book. By the time you come to England, I shall be ' ' Exactly,' said the Baron, smiling sweetly. ' You will have been a public character. Well, to each man comes, somehow, his chance of greatness. I hope you may enjoy your reputation, David, though it may be shortlived.' The Mate, meantime, was considering the note put into his hands. It was very short, and was a simple draught upon a merchant's house in Sydney — the shortest draught, 1 suppose, ever written, and on the smallest piece of paper. ' Messrs. Hengstenburg and Co., Sydney. Pay bearer £20. New Ireland. 1884. Baron Sergius Von Holsten.' ' I will take him,' said the Mate. ' The Ca])tain is always drunk, so it is no use waiting to ask him. Most likely he will never know. I expect to be out another three or four months. He can come aboard with me. But, stranger,' he said persuasively, ' can no business be done ? Are they open to reason ?' He looked round at the forest and the deserted huts. ' Can we trade for a few natives, you and me, between us ? Lord ! if I could only see my way to persuade 'cm to worship me, I'd — blessed if I -.vouldn't ! — I would ship the whole island. There would be a fortune in it.' ' They are open to no reason at all. In fact, if they were at this moment — nothing is more probable — to come down upon us unex- A jfOXAH COME ABOARD. 17 pectedly, it would be a painful necessity for me — if I valued my reputation as a Prophet — to order them to attack and spear both you and your crew ; otherwise, I should be considered a false Prophet, and should pay the penalty in being myself speared and put into these curious large sunken pots in which one lies so snug and warm. They are a bloodthirsty, ferocious race. In their cookery they are curious, as I have already informed you. They are wonderfully handy with their lances, and they move in large bodies. Those pop-guns of yours would knock over two or three, but would be of no avail to save your own lives. Therefore, I would advice that you get into your boat and aboard your ship with as little delay as possible.' The Mate took his advice, and departed with his passenger. ' And now,' said the Baron Sergius, ' I am alone at last, and can enjoy myself without any of that fellow's groans. I never knew before how extremely disagreeable one single simple murder may make a man.' ****** That evening the rescued man, David Leighan, sat on the deck with his friend the Mate. They had a bottle of rum between them and a jtannikin apiece. The island of Xew Ireland was now a black patch low down on the horizon ; the night was clear, and the sky full of stars ; there was a steady breeze, and the schooner was making her way easily and gently across the smooth water. David was off the island at last, and once more free to return to England, yet he did not look happier ; on the contrary, the gloom upon his face was blacker than ever. 'The Skipper,' said the Mate, 'is drunk again. He's been Al IH fc orEN WINDOW WAM MAllV NKTIIEIUJOI K. THE FIRST DREAM. 25 a little, to keep her uncle in good temper, and sometimes reads a novel for an hour before she goes to bed. This is her life. Some- times there may be a tea-drinking. Sometimes she will mount her pony and ride over to Xewton Abbot, to Moretou Hampstead, or to Ashburton, where the shop-people all know her, and are pleased to see her. But mostly, from week to week, she stays at home. As for a summer holiday, that is a thing which has never entered into her mind. The girl-graduate, perhaps, scorns the work of the household. I, for my part, do not scorn the work of the farmer, •whose work exactly corresponds to that of Mary. It seems to me a better and a happier life, in and out of house and barn, and linney, and dairy, in the open air, warmed by the sun, beaten by every wind that blows, breathing the sweet smells of newly-turned earth, of hedge and ditch, and the wild-flowers, than any that can be found in the study and at the desk. The maids of Devon are, we know, fair to outward view as other maidens are, and perhaps fairer than most ; though in so delicate a matter as beauty, comparisons are horrid. Some there are with black hair and black eyes. These must be descended from the ancient Cornish stock, and are cousins of those who still speak the Celtic tongue across the Channel. But there is talk of the Spanish prisoners who had no desire to go home again, but settled in Devon and Cornwall, and became Protestants in a land Avhore there was no In([ui.sition. Others there are who have brown hair and lilue eyes. Mary came of this stock. Her eyes, like her uncle's, were blue, but they were of a deei)er blue ; and they were soft, while his were hard. Her hair was a rich, warm brown, and there was a lot of it. When all is said, can tiiere be a better colour for hair and eyes ? As for her face, I do not claim, as the Americans say, for IMary that she was a stately and statueKfjuc beauty ; nor had she the least touch of style and fasiiion— how should she have? But for sweetness, and the simple beauty of regular features, rosy lips, bright eyes, and liealthy cheek, lit up with the sunshine of love and truth, and coloured with the bUfoni of youth, then; are few damsels, indeed, who can conii)are with Mary Xuliiercote, of (iratrior Farm. As for her figure, it was tall and well-proportioned, full of healtli and yet not buxom. Need one say more V Such was Mary in the summer of the year IHSU ; nay, such slie is now, as you may see in Cliallacomljc (Jliurch, where she still .sits in tier old place with the choir, beside (ieorge Sidcotc. Many things — of which I am the historian- have happened since the summer of last year; but JIary's place in church is not changed, nor has the bloom of lir-r 26 TO CAT.L TIER MINE. beauty left her cheek : — many things, as you shall learn, with many surprises and great changes ; yet mcthinks her face is ha])pier and more full of sunshine now than it was twelve months ago. The room in which she sat was low and long : it was an old- fashioned wainscoted room, rather dark, because it was lit by one window only, and because a great branch of white roses was hang- ing over the window, broken from its fastenings by the wind, or by the weight of its flowers. It had a south aspect, which in winter made it warm ; its chief article of furniture, because it was always in one place and took up so much room, was Mr. Leighan's arm- chair, which stood so that his back was turned to the light. This prevented him from looking out of the window, but it enabled him to read and write and pore over his papers. The best scenery in the eyes of Mr. Leighan was the sight of a mortgage or a deed of con- veyance. As for the sunshine outside — the flowers, and the view of hill and vale and wood — he cared naught for these things. There were, besides, two or three ordinary chairs— Mary had never enjoyed the luxury of an easy-chair or a sofa— there was a small work-table for her ' things,' and there was a really splendid old cabinet, black with age, wonderful with carvings, for which Wardour Street would sigh in vain ; in fact, the reputation of that cabinet had gone abroad, and overtures had been made again and again for its purchase. And the contents ! Your heart would sink with the sickness of longing only to look upon them. There were old brass candlesticks, old silver candlesticks, brass and silver snuffers and snuffer-trays ; silver cups of every size, from the little christening-cup to the great silver whistle-cup holding a quart and a half ; there were punch-bowls and ladles ; and there was old china — yea, china which would move a collector to sighs and sobs of envy. These things represented many generations of Leighans, who had been settled in Challacombe since that parish began to exist. It is now five hundred years since their ancestors moved up from the lowlands to the hillsides and combes on the fringe of the Moor. It was about the time when the Yorkists and Lancastrians were chopping and hacking at one another, though no report of the Vmttles came up here for many a month after the event, that the church was built. Civil wars, indeed, never caused any broils at Challacombe : the Reformation found the people obedient ; Queen Mary burned none of them, for they were easily reconverted ; and Queen Bess found them docile to the royal supremacy. The only enthusiasm they were ever known to show was a hundred years after Queen Bess's time, when King Monmouth rode across the West 'it WAH an OLb-fAHHIUNKb WAINMC