THE GREEN FLAG. 

ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE. 

CONTENTS. 

THE GREEN FLAG. 

CAPTAIN SHARKEY. 

THE CROXLEY MASTER. 

THE LORD OF CHATEAU NOIR. 

THE STRIPED CHEST. 

A SHADOW BEFORE. 

THE KING OF THE FOXES. 

THE THREE CORRESPONDENTS. 

THE NEW CATACOMB. 

THE DEBUT OF BIMBASHI JOYCE. 

A FOREIGN OFFICE ROMANCE. 

THE GREEN FLAG

When Jack Conolly, of the Irish Shotgun Brigade, the Rory of the HillsInner Circle, and the extreme left wing of the Land League, wasincontinently shot by Sergeant Murdoch of the constabulary, in a littlemoonlight frolic near Kanturk, his twin-brother Dennis joined theBritish Army. The countryside had become too hot for him; and, as theseventy-five shillings were wanting which might have carried him toAmerica, he took the only way handy of getting himself out of the way. Seldom has Her Majesty had a less promising recruit, for his hot Celticblood seethed with hatred against Britain and all things British. The sergeant, however, smiling complacently over his 6 ft. Of brawn andhis 44 in. Chest, whisked him off with a dozen other of the boys to thedepot at Fermoy, whence in a few weeks they were sent on, with thespade-work kinks taken out of their backs, to the first battalion of theRoyal Mallows, at the top of the roster for foreign service. 

The Royal Mallows, at about that date, were as strange a lot of men asever were paid by a great empire to fight its battles. It was thedarkest hour of the land struggle, when the one side came out withcrow-bar and battering-ram by day, and the other with mask and withshot-gun by night. Men driven from their homes and potato-patches foundtheir way even into the service of the Government, to which it seemed tothem that they owed their troubles, and now and then they did wildthings before they came. There were recruits in the Irish regiments whowould forget to answer to their own names, so short had been theiracquaintance with them. Of these the Royal Mallows had their fullshare; and, while they still retained their fame as being one of thesmartest corps in the army, no one knew better than their officers thatthey were dry-rotted with treason and with bitter hatred of the flagunder which they served. 

And the centre of all the disaffection was C Company, in which DennisConolly found himself enrolled. They were Celts, Catholics, and men ofthe tenant class to a man; and their whole experience of the BritishGovernment had been an inexorable landlord, and a constabulary whoseemed to them to be always on the side of the rent-collector. Denniswas not the only moonlighter in the ranks, nor was he alone in having anintolerable family blood-feud to harden his heart. Savagery hadbegotten savagery in that veiled civil war. A landlord with an ironmortgage weighing down upon him had small bowels for his tenantry. He did but take what the law allowed, and yet, with men like Jim Holan, or Patrick McQuire, or Peter Flynn, who had seen the roofs torn fromtheir cottages and their folk huddled among their pitiable furnitureupon the roadside, it was ill to argue about abstract law. What matterthat in that long and bitter struggle there was many another outrage onthe part of the tenant, and many another grievance on the side of thelandowner! A stricken man can only feel his own wound, and the rank andfile of the C Company of the Royal Mallows were sore and savage to thesoul. There were low whisperings in barrack-rooms and canteens, stealthy meetings in public-house parlours, bandying of passwords frommouth to mouth, and many other signs which made their officers rightglad when the order came which sent them to foreign, and better still, to active service. 

For Irish regiments have before now been disaffected, and have at adistance looked upon the foe as though he might, in truth, be thefriend; but when they have been put face on to him, and when theirofficers have dashed to the front with a wave and halloo, those rebelhearts have softened and their gallant Celtic blood has boiled with themad Joy of the fight, until the slower Britons have marvelled that theyever could have doubted the loyalty of their Irish comrades. So itwould be again, according to the officers, and so it would not be ifDennis Conolly and a few others could have their way. 

It was a March morning upon the eastern fringe of the Nubian desert. The sun had not yet risen, but a tinge of pink flushed up as far as thecloudless zenith, and the long strip of sea lay like a rosy ribbonacross the horizon. From the coast inland stretched dreary sand-plains, dotted over with thick clumps at mimosa scrub and mottled patches ofthorny bush. No tree broke the monotony of that vast desert. The dull, dusty hue of the thickets, and the yellow glare of the sand, were theonly colours, save at one point, where, from a distance, it seemed thata land-slip of snow-white stones had shot itself across a low foot-hill. But as the traveller approached he saw, with a thrill, that these wereno stones, but the bleaching bones of a slaughtered army. With its dulltints, its gnarled, viprous bushes, its arid, barren soil, and thisdeath streak trailed across it, it was indeed a nightmare country. 

Some eight or ten miles inland the rolling plain curved upwards with asteeper slope until it ran into a line of red basaltic rock whichzigzagged from north to south, heaping itself up at one point into afantastic knoll. On the summit of this there stood upon that Marchmorning three Arab chieftains--the Sheik Kadra of the Hadendowas, MoussaWad Aburhegel, who led the Berber dervishes, and Hamid Wad Hussein, whohad come northward with his fighting men from the land of the Baggaras. They had all three just risen from their praying-carpets, and werepeering out, with fierce, high-nosed faces thrust forwards, at thestretch of country revealed by the spreading dawn. 

The red rim of the sun was pushing itself now above the distant sea, andthe whole coast-line stood out brilliantly yellow against the rich deepblue beyond. At one spot lay a huddle of white-walled houses, a meresplotch in the distance; while four tiny cock-boats, which lay beyond, marked the position of three of Her Majesty's 10, 000-ton troopers andthe admiral's flagship. But it was not upon the distant town, nor uponthe great vessels, nor yet upon the sinister white litter which gleamedin the plain beneath them, that the Arab chieftains gazed. Two milesfrom where they stood, amid the sand-hills and the mimosa scrub, a greatparallelogram had been marked by piled-up bushes. From the inside ofthis dozens of tiny blue smoke-reeks curled up into the still morningair; while there rose from it a confused deep murmur, the voices of menand the gruntings of camels blended into the same insect buzz. 

"The unbelievers have cooked their morning food, " said the Baggarachief, shading his eyes with his tawny, sinewy hand. "Truly their sleephas been scanty; for Hamid and a hundred of his men have fired upon themsince the rising of the moon. "

"So it was with these others, " answered the Sheik Kadra, pointing withhis sheathed sword towards the old battle-field. "They also had a dayof little water and a night of little rest, and the heart was gone outof them ere ever the sons of the Prophet had looked them in the eyes. This blade drank deep that day, and will again before the sun hastravelled from the sea to the hill. "

"And yet these are other men, " remarked the Berber dervish. "Well, Iknow that Allah has placed them in the clutch of our fingers, yet it maybe that they with the big hats will stand firmer than the cursed men ofEgypt. "

"Pray Allah that it may be so, " cried the fierce Baggara, with a flashof his black eyes. "It was not to chase women that I brought 700 menfrom the river to the coast. See, my brother, already they are formingtheir array. "

A fanfare of bugle-calls burst from the distant camp. At the same timethe bank of bushes at one side had been thrown or trampled down, and thelittle army within began to move slowly out on to the plain. Once clearof the camp they halted, and the slant rays of the sun struck flashesfrom bayonet and from gun-barrel as the ranks closed up until the bigpith helmets joined into a single long white ribbon. Two streaks ofscarlet glowed on either side of the square, but elsewhere the fringe offighting-men was of the dull yellow khaki tint which hardly showsagainst the desert sand. Inside their array was a dense mass of camelsand mules bearing stores and ambulance needs. Outside a twinkling clumpof cavalry was drawn up on each flank, and in front a thin, scatteredline of mounted infantry was already slowly advancing over thebush-strewn plain, halting on every eminence, and peering warily roundas men might who have to pick their steps among the bones of those whohave preceded them. 

The three chieftains still lingered upon the knoll, looking down withhungry eyes and compressed lips at the dark steel-tipped patch. "They are slower to start than the men of Egypt, " the Sheik of theHadendowas growled in his beard. 

"Slower also to go back, perchance, my brother, " murmured the dervish. 

"And yet they are not many--3, 000 at the most. "

"And we 10, 000, with the Prophet's grip upon our spear-hafts and hiswords upon our banner. See to their chieftain, how he rides upon theright and looks up at us with the glass that sees from afar! It may bethat he sees this also. " The Arab shook his sword at the small clump ofhorsemen who had spurred out from the square. 

"Lo! he beckons, " cried the dervish; "and see those others at thecorner, how they bend and heave. Ha! by the Prophet, I had thought it. "As he spoke, a little woolly puff of smoke spurted up at the corner ofthe square, and a 7 lb. Shell burst with a hard metallic smack just overtheir heads. The splinters knocked chips from the red rocks aroundthem. 

"Bismillah!" cried the Hadendowa; "if the gun can carry thus far, thenours can answer to it. Ride to the left, Moussa, and tell Ben Ali tocut the skin from the Egyptians if they cannot hit yonder mark. And you, Hamid, to the right, and see that 3, 000 men lie close in thewady that we have chosen. Let the others beat the drum and show thebanner of the Prophet, for by the black stone their spears will havedrunk deep ere they look upon the stars again. "

A long, straggling, boulder-strewn plateau lay on the summit of the redhills, sloping very precipitously to the plain, save at one point, wherea winding gully curved downwards, its mouth choked with sand-mounds andolive-hued scrub. Along the edge of this position lay the Arab host--amotley crew of shock-headed desert clansmen, fierce predatory slavedealers of the interior, and wild dervishes from the Upper Nile, allblent together by their common fearlessness and fanaticism. Two raceswere there, as wide as the poles apart--the thin-lipped, straight-hairedArab and the thick-lipped, curly negro--yet the faith of Islam had boundthem closer than a blood tie. Squatting among the rocks, or lyingthickly in the shadow, they peered out at the slow-moving square beneaththem, while women with water-skins and bags of dhoora fluttered fromgroup to group, calling out to each other those fighting texts from theKoran which in the hour of battle are maddening as wine to the truebeliever. A score of banners waved over the ragged, valiant crew, andamong them, upon desert horses and white Bishareen camels, were theEmirs and Sheiks who were to lead them against the infidels. 

As the Sheik Kadra sprang into his saddle and drew his sword there was awild whoop and a clatter of waving spears, while the one-ended war-drumsburst into a dull crash like a wave upon shingle. For a moment 10, 000men were up on the rocks with brandished arms and leaping figures; thenext they were under cover again, waiting sternly and silently for theirchieftain's orders. The square was less than half a mile from the ridgenow, and shell after shell from the 7 lb. Guns were pitching over it. A deep roar on the right, and then a second one showed that the EgyptianKrupps were in action. Sheik Kadra's hawk eyes saw that the shellsburst far beyond the mark, and he spurred his horse along to where aknot of mounted chiefs were gathered round the two guns, which wereserved by their captured crews. 

"How is this, Ben Ali?" he cried. "It was not thus that the dogs firedwhen it was their own brothers in faith at whom they aimed!"

A chieftain reined his horse back, and thrust a blood-smeared sword intoits sheath. Beside him two Egyptian artillerymen with their throats cutwere sobbing out their lives upon the ground. "Who lays the gun thistime?" asked the fierce chief, glaring at the frightened gunners. "Here, thou black-browed child of Shaitan, aim, and aim for thy life. "

It may have been chance, or it may have been skill, but the third andfourth shells burst over the square. Sheik Kadra smiled grimly andgalloped back to the left, where his spearmen were streaming down intothe gully. As he joined them a deep growling rose from the plainbeneath, like the snarling of a sullen wild beast, and a little knot oftribesmen fell into a struggling heap, caught in the blast of lead froma Gardner. Their comrades pressed on over them, and sprang down intothe ravine. From all along the crest burst the hard, sharp crackle ofRemington fire. 

The square had slowly advanced, rippling over the low sandhills, andhalting every few minutes to re-arrange its formation. Now, having madesure that there was no force of the enemy in the scrub, it changed itsdirection, and began to take a line parallel to the Arab position. It was too steep to assail from the front, and if they moved far enoughto the right the general hoped that he might turn it. On the top ofthose ruddy hills lay a baronetcy for him, and a few extra hundreds inhis pension, and he meant having them both that day. The Remington firewas annoying, and so were those two Krupp guns; already there were morecacolets full than he cared to see. But on the whole he thought itbetter to hold his fire until he had more to aim at than a few hundredof fuzzy heads peeping over a razor-back ridge. He was a bulky, red-faced man, a fine whist-player, and a soldier who knew his work. His men believed in him, and he had good reason to believe in them, forhe had excellent stuff under him that day. Being an ardent champion ofthe short-service system, he took particular care to work with veteranfirst battalions, and his little force was the compressed essence of anarmy corps. 

The left front of the square was formed by four companies of the RoyalWessex, and the right by four of the Royal Mallows. On either side theother halves of the same regiments marched in quarter column ofcompanies. Behind them, on the right was a battalion of Guards, and onthe left one of Marines, while the rear was closed in by a Riflebattalion. Two Royal Artillery 7 lb. Screw-guns kept pace with thesquare, and a dozen white-bloused sailors, under their blue-coated, tight-waisted officers, trailed their Gardner in front, turning everynow and then to spit up at the draggled banners which waved over thecragged ridge. Hussars and Lancers scouted in the scrub at each side, and within moved the clump of camels, with humorous eyes andsupercilious lips, their comic faces a contrast to the blood-stained menwho already lay huddled in the cacolets on either side. 

The square was now moving slowly on a line parallel with the rocks, stopping every few minutes to pick up wounded, and to allow thescrew-guns and Gardner to make themselves felt. The men looked serious, for that spring on to the rocks of the Arab army had given them a vagueglimpse of the number and ferocity of their foes; but their faces wereset like stone, for they knew to a man that they must win or they mustdie--and die, too, in a particularly unlovely fashion. But most seriousof all was the general, for he had seen that which brought a flush tohis cheeks and a frown to his brow. 

"I say, Stephen, " said he to his galloper, "those Mallows seem a triflejumpy. The right flank company bulged a bit when the niggers showed onthe hill. "

"Youngest troops in the square, sir, " murmured the aide, looking at themcritically through his eye-glass. 

"Tell Colonel Flanagan to see to it, Stephen, " said the general; and thegalloper sped upon his way. The colonel, a fine old Celtic warrior, wasover at C Company in an instant. 

"How are the men, Captain Foley?"

"Never better, sir, " answered the senior captain, in the spirit thatmakes a Madras officer look murder if you suggest recruiting hisregiment from the Punjab. 

"Stiffen them up!" cried the colonel. As he rode away a colour-sergeantseemed to trip, and fell forward into a mimosa bush. He made no effortto rise, but lay in a heap among the thorns. 

"Sergeant O'Rooke's gone, sorr, " cried a voice. "Never mind, lads, "said Captain Foley. "He's died like a soldier, fighting for his Queen. "

"Down with the Queen!" shouted a hoarse voice from the ranks. 

But the roar of the Gardner and the typewriter-like clicking of thehopper burst in at the tail of the words. Captain Foley heard them, andSubalterns Grice and Murphy heard them; but there are times when a deafear is a gift from the gods. 

"Steady, Mallows!" cried the captain, in a pause of the gruntingmachine-gun. "We have the honour of Ireland to guard this day. "

"And well we know how to guard it, captin!" cried the same ominousvoice; and there was a buzz from the length of the company. 

The captain and the two subs. Came together behind the marching line. 

"They seem a bit out of hand, " murmured the captain. 

"Bedad, " said the Galway boy, "they mean to scoot like redshanks. "

"They nearly broke when the blacks showed on the hill, " said Grice. 

"The first man that turns, my sword is through him, " cried Foley, loudenough to be heard by five files on either side of him. Then, in alower voice, "It's a bitter drop to swallow, but it's my duty to reportwhat you think to the chief, and have a company of Jollies put behindus. " He turned away with the safety of the square upon his mind, andbefore he had reached his goal the square had ceased to exist. 

In their march in front of what looked like a face of cliff, they hadcome opposite to the mouth of the gully, in which, screened by scrub andboulders, 3, 000 chosen dervishes, under Hamid Wad Hussein, of theBaggaras, were crouching. Tat, tat, tat, went the rifles of threemounted infantrymen in front of the left shoulder of the square, and aninstant later they wore spurring it for their lives, crouching over themanes of their horses, and pelting over the sandhills with thirty orforty galloping chieftains at their heels. Rocks and scrub and mimosaswarmed suddenly into life. Rushing black figures came and went in thegaps of the bushes. A howl that drowned the shouts of the officers, along quavering yell, burst from the ambuscade. Two rolling volleys fromthe Royal Wessex, one crash from the screw-gun firing shrapnel, and thenbefore a second cartridge could be rammed in, a living, glistening blackwave, tipped with steel, had rolled over the gun, the Royal Wessex hadbeen dashed back among the camels, and 1, 000 fanatics were hewing andhacking in the heart of what had been the square. 

The camels and mules in the centre, jammed more and more together astheir leaders flinched from the rush of the tribesmen, shut out the viewof the other three faces, who could only tell that the Arabs had got inby the yells upon Allah, which rose ever nearer and nearer amid theclouds of sand-dust, the struggling animals, and the dense mass ofswaying, cursing men. Some of the Wessex fired back at the Arabs whohad passed them, as excited Tommies will, and it is whispered amongdoctors that it was not always a Remington bullet which was cut from awound that day. Some rallied in little knots, stabbing furiously withtheir bayonets at the rushing spearmen. Others turned at bay with theirbacks against the camels, and others round the general and his staff, who, revolver in hand, had flung themselves into the heart of it. But the whole square was sidling slowly away from the gorge, pushed backby the pressure at the shattered corner. 

The officers and men at the other faces were glancing nervously to therear, uncertain what was going on, and unable to take help to theircomrades without breaking the formation. 

"By Jove, they've got through the Wessex!" cried Grice of the Mallows. 

"The divils have hurrooshed us, Ted, " said his brother subaltern, cocking his revolver. 

The ranks were breaking, and crowding towards Private Conolly, alltalking together as the officers peered back through the veil of dust. The sailors had run their Gardner out, and she was squirting death outof her five barrels into the flank of the rushing stream of savages. "Oh, this bloody gun!" shouted a voice. "She's jammed again. "The fierce metallic grunting had ceased, and her crew were straining andhauling at the breech. 

"This damned vertical feed!" cried an officer. 

"The spanner, Wilson!--the spanner! Stand to your cutlasses, boys, orthey're into us. " His voice rose into a shriek as he ended, for ashovel-headed spear had been buried in his chest. A second wave ofdervishes lapped over the hillocks, and burst upon the machine-gun andthe right front of the line. The sailors were overborne in an instant, but the Mallows, with their fighting blood aflame, met the yell of theMoslem with an even wilder, fiercer cry, and dropped two hundred of themwith a single point-blank volley. The howling, leaping crew swervedaway to the right, and dashed on into the gap which had already beenmade for them. 

But C Company had drawn no trigger to stop that fiery rush. The menleaned moodily upon their Martinis. Some had even thrown them upon theground. Conolly was talking fiercely to those about him. CaptainFoley, thrusting his way through the press, rushed up to him with arevolver in his hand. 

"This is your doing, you villain!" he cried. 

"If you raise your pistol, Captin, your brains will be over your coat, "said a low voice at his side. 

He saw that several rifles were turned on him. The two subs. Hadpressed forward, and were by his side. "What is it, then?" he cried, looking round from one fierce mutinous face to another. "Are youIrishmen? Are you soldiers? What are you here for but to fight foryour country?"

"England is no country of ours, " cried several. 

"You are not fighting for England. You are fighting for Ireland, andfor the Empire of which it as part. "

"A black curse on the Impire!" shouted Private McQuire, throwing downhis rifle. "'Twas the Impire that backed the man that druv me onto theroadside. May me hand stiffen before I draw trigger for it. 

"What's the Impire to us, Captain Foley, and what's the Widdy to usayther?" cried a voice. 

"Let the constabulary foight for her. "

"Ay, be God, they'd be better imployed than pullin' a poor man's thatchabout his ears. "

"Or shootin' his brother, as they did mine. "

"It was the Impire laid my groanin' mother by the wayside. Her son willrot before he upholds it, and ye can put that in the charge-sheet in thenext coort-martial. "

In vain the three officers begged, menaced, persuaded. The square wasstill moving, ever moving, with the same bloody fight raging in itsentrails. Even while they had been speaking they had been shufflingbackwards, and the useless Gardner, with her slaughtered crew, wasalready a good hundred yards from them. And the pace was accelerating. The mass of men, tormented and writhing, was trying, by a commoninstinct, to reach some clearer ground where they could re-form. Threefaces were still intact, but the fourth had been caved in, and badlymauled, without its comrades being able to help it. The Guards had meta fresh rush of the Hadendowas, and had blown back the tribesmen with avolley, and the cavalry had ridden over another stream of them, as theywelled out of the gully. A litter of hamstrung horses, and haggled menbehind them, showed that a spearman on his face among the bushes canshow some sport to the man who charges him. But, in spite of all, thesquare was still reeling swiftly backwards, trying to shake itself clearof this torment which clung to its heart. Would it break or would itre-form? The lives of five regiments and the honour of the flag hungupon the answer. 

Some, at least, were breaking. The C Company of the Mallows had lostall military order, and was pushing back in spite of the haggardofficers, who cursed, and shoved, and prayed in the vain attempt to holdthem. The captain and the subs. Were elbowed and jostled, while the mencrowded towards Private Conolly for their orders. The confusion had notspread, for the other companies, in the dust and smoke and turmoil, hadlost touch with their mutinous comrades. Captain Foley saw that evennow there might be time to avert a disaster. "Think what you are doing, man, " he yelled, rushing towards the ringleader. "There are a thousandIrish in the square, and they are dead men if we break. "

The words alone might have had little effect on the old moonlighter. It is possible that, in his scheming brain, he had already planned howhe was to club his Irish together and lead them to the sea. But at thatmoment the Arabs broke through the screen of camels which had fendedthem off. There was a Struggle, a screaming, a mule rolled over, awounded man sprang up in a cacolet with a spear through him, and thenthrough the narrow gap surged a stream of naked savages, mad withbattle, drunk with slaughter, spotted and splashed with blood--blooddripping from their spears, their arms, their faces. Their yells, theirbounds, their crouching, darting figures, the horrid energy of theirspear-thrusts, made them look like a blast of fiends from the pit. Andwere these the Allies of Ireland? Were these the men who were to strikefor her against her enemies? Conolly's soul rose up in loathing at thethought. 

He was a man of firm purpose, and yet at the first sight of thosehowling fiends that purpose faltered, and at the second it was blown tothe winds. He saw a huge coal-black negro seize a shriekingcamel-driver and saw at his throat with a knife. He saw a shock-headedtribesman plunge his great spear through the back of their own littlebugler from Mill-street. He saw a dozen deeds of blood--the murder ofthe wounded, the hacking of the unarmed--and caught, too, in a glance, the good wholesome faces of the faced-about rear rank of the Marines. The Mallows, too, had faced about, and in an instant Conolly had thrownhimself into the heart of C Company, striving with the officers to formthe men up with their comrades. 

But the mischief had gone too far. The rank and file had no heart intheir work. They had broken before, and this last rush of murderoussavages was a hard thing for broken men to stand against. They flinchedfrom the furious faces and dripping forearms. Why should they throwaway their lives for a flag for which they cared nothing? Why shouldtheir leader urge them to break, and now shriek to them to re-form?They would not re-form. They wanted to get to the sea and to safety. He flung himself among them with outstretched arms, with words ofreason, with shouts, with gaspings. It was useless; the tide was beyondhis control. They were shredding out into the desert with their facesset for the coast. 

"Bhoys, will ye stand for this?" screamed a voice. It was so ringing, so strenuous, that the breaking Mallows glanced backwards. They wereheld by what they saw. Private Conolly had planted his rifle-stockdownwards in a mimosa bush. From the fixed bayonet there fluttered alittle green flag with the crownless harp. God knows for what blackmutiny, for what signal of revolt, that flag had been treasured upwithin the corporal's tunic! Now its green wisp stood amid the rush, while three proud regimental colours were reeling slowly backwards. 

"What for the flag?" yelled the private. 

"My heart's blood for it! and mine! and mine!" cried a score of voices. "God bless it! The flag, boys--the flag!"

C Company were rallying upon it. The stragglers clutched at eachother, and pointed. "Here, McQuire, Flynn, O'Hara, " ran the shoutings. "Close on the flag! Back to the flag!" The three standards reeledbackwards, and the seething square strove for a clearer space where theycould form their shattered ranks; but C Company, grim andpowder-stained, choked with enemies and falling fast, still closed in onthe little rebel ensign that flapped from the mimosa bush. 

It was a good half-hour before the square, having disentangled itselffrom its difficulties and dressed its ranks, began to slowly moveforwards over the ground, across which in its labour and anguish it hadbeen driven. The long trail of Wessex men and Arabs showed but tooclearly the path they had come. 

"How many got into us, Stephen?" asked the general, tapping hissnuff-box. 

"I should put them down at a thousand or twelve hundred, sir. "

"I did not see any get out again. What the devil were the Wessexthinking about? The Guards stood well, though; so did the Mallows. "

"Colonel Flanagan reports that his front flank company was cut off, sir. "

"Why, that's the company that was out of hand when we advanced!"

"Colonel Flanagan reports, sir, that the company took the whole brunt ofthe attack, and gave the square time to re-form. "

"Tell the Hussars to ride forward, Stephen, " said the general, "and tryif they can see anything of them. There's no firing, and I fear thatthe Mallows will want to do some recruiting. Let the square take groundby the right, and then advance!"

But the Sheik Kadra of the Hadendowas saw from his knoll that the menwith the big hats had rallied, and that they were coming back in thequiet business fashion of men whose work was before them. He tookcounsel with Moussa the Dervish and Hussein the Baggara, and a woestruckman was he when he learned that the third of his men were safe in theMoslem Paradise. So, having still some signs of victory to show, hegave the word, and the desert warriors flitted off unseen and unheard, even as they had come. 

A red rock plateau, a few hundred spears and Remingtons, and a plainwhich for the second time was strewn with slaughtered men, was all thathis day's fighting gave to the English general. 

It was a squadron of Hussars which came first to the spot where therebel flag had waved. A dense litter of Arab dead marked the place. Within, the flag waved no longer, but the rifle stood in the mimosabush, and round it, with their wounds in front, lay the Fenian privateand the silent ranks of the Irishry. Sentiment is not an Englishfailing, but the Hussar captain raised his hilt in a salute as he rodepast the blood-soaked ring. 

The British general sent home dispatches to his Government, and so didthe chief of the Hadendowas, though the style and manner differedsomewhat in each. 

The Sheik Kadra of the Hadendowa people to Mohammed Ahmed, the chosen ofAllah, homage and greeting, (began the latter). Know by this that onthe fourth day of this moon we gave battle to the Kaffirs who callthemselves Inglees, having with us the Chief Hussein with ten thousandof the faithful. By the blessing of Allah we have broken them, andchased them for a mile, though indeed these infidels are different fromthe dogs of Egypt, and have slain very many of our men. Yet we hope tosmite them again ere the new moon be come, to which end I trust thatthou wilt send us a thousand Dervishes from Omdurman. In token of ourvictory I send you by this messenger a flag which we have taken. By thecolour it might well seem to have belonged to those of the true faith, but the Kaffirs gave their blood freely to save it, and so we thinkthat, though small, it is very dear to them. 

CAPTAIN SHARKEY. 

 I

HOW THE GOVERNOR OF SAINT KITT'S CAME HOME. 

When the great wars of the Spanish Succession had been brought to an endby the Treaty of Utrecht, the vast number of privateers which had beenfitted out by the contending parties found their occupation gone. Sometook to the more peaceful but less lucrative ways of ordinary commerce, others were absorbed into the fishing fleets, and a few of the morereckless hoisted the Jolly Rodger at the mizzen, and the bloody flag atthe main, declaring a private war upon their own account against thewhole human race. 

With mixed crews, recruited from every nation, they scoured the seas, disappearing occasionally to careen in some lonely inlet, or putting infor a debauch at some outlying port, where they dazzled the inhabitantsby their lavishness, and horrified them by their brutalities. 

On the Coromandel Coast, at Madagascar, in the African waters, and aboveall in the West Indian and American seas, the pirates were a constantmenace. With an insolent luxury they would regulate their depredationsby the comfort of the seasons, harrying New England in the summer, anddropping south again to the tropical islands in the winter. 

They were the more to be dreaded because they had none of thatdiscipline and restraint which made their predecessors, the Buccaneers, both formidable and respectable. These Ishmaels of the sea rendered anaccount to no man, and treated their prisoners according to the drunkenwhim of the moment. Flashes of grotesque generosity alternated withlonger stretches of inconceivable ferocity, and the skipper who fellinto their hands might find himself dismissed with his cargo, afterserving as boon companion in some hideous debauch, or might sit at hiscabin table with his own nose and his lips served up with pepper andsalt in front of him. It took a stout seaman in those days to ply hiscalling in the Caribbean Gulf. 

Such a man was Captain John Scarrow, of the ship _Morning Star_, and yethe breathed a long sigh of relief when he heard the splash of thefalling anchor and swung at his moorings within a hundred yards of theguns of the citadel of Basseterre. St. Kitt's was his final port ofcall, and early next morning his bowsprit would be pointed for OldEngland. He had had enough of those robber-haunted seas. Ever since hehad left Maracaibo upon the Main, with his full lading of sugar and redpepper, he had winced at every topsail which glimmered over the violetedge of the tropical sea. He had coasted up the Windward Islands, touching here and there, and assailed continually by stories of villainyand outrage. 

Captain Sharkey, of the twenty-gun pirate barque, _Happy Delivery_, hadpassed down the coast, and had littered it with gutted vessels and withmurdered men. Dreadful anecdotes were current of his grim pleasantriesand of his inflexible ferocity. From the Bahamas to the Main hiscoal-black barque, with the ambiguous name, had been freighted withdeath and many things which are worse than death. So nervous wasCaptain Scarrow, with his new full-rigged ship, and her full andvaluable lading, that he struck out to the west as far as Bird's Islandto be out of the usual track of commerce. And yet even in thosesolitary waters he had been unable to shake off sinister traces ofCaptain Sharkey. 

One morning they had raised a single skiff adrift upon the face of theocean. Its only occupant was a delirious seaman, who yelled hoarsely asthey hoisted him aboard, and showed a dried-up tongue like a black andwrinkled fungus at the back of his mouth. Water and nursing soontransformed him into the strongest and smartest sailor on the ship. He was from Marblehead, in New England, it seemed, and was the solesurvivor of a schooner which had been scuttled by the dreadful Sharkey. 

For a week Hiram Evanson, for that was his name, had been adrift beneatha tropical sun. Sharkey had ordered the mangled remains of his latecaptain to be thrown into the boat, "as provisions for the voyage, " butthe seaman had at once committed it to the deep, lest the temptationshould be more than he could bear. He had lived upon his own huge frameuntil, at the last moment, the _Morning Star_ had found him in thatmadness which is the precursor of such a death. It was no bad find forCaptain Scarrow, for, with a short-handed crew, such a seaman as thisbig New Englander was a prize worth having. He vowed that he was theonly man whom Captain Sharkey had ever placed under an obligation. 

Now that they lay under the guns of Basseterre, all danger from thepirate was at an end, and yet the thought of him lay heavily upon theseaman's mind as he watched the agent's boat shooting out from theCustom-house quay. 

"I'll lay you a wager, Morgan, " said he to the first mate, "that theagent will speak of Sharkey in the first hundred words that pass hislips. "

"Well, captain, I'll have you a silver dollar, and chance it, " said therough old Bristol man beside him. 

The negro rowers shot the boat alongside, and the linen-clad steersmansprang up the ladder. "Welcome, Captain Scarrow!" he cried. "Have youheard about Sharkey?"

The captain grinned at the mate. 

"What devilry has he been up to now?" he asked. 

"Devilry! You've not heard, then? Why, we've got him safe under lockand key at Basseterre. He was tried last Wednesday, and he is to behanged to-morrow morning. "

Captain and mate gave a shout of joy, which an instant later was takenup by the crew. Discipline was forgotten as they scrambled up throughthe break of the poop to hear the news. The New Englander was in thefront of them with a radiant face turned up to Heaven, for he came ofthe Puritan stock. 

"Sharkey to be hanged!" he cried. "You don't know, Master Agent, ifthey lack a hangman, do you?"

"Stand back!" cried the mate, whose outraged sense of discipline waseven stronger than his interest at the news. "I'll pay that dollar, Captain Scarrow, with the lightest heart that ever I paid a wager yet. How came the villain to be taken?"

"Why, as to that, he became more than his own comrades could abide, andthey took such a horror of him that they would not have him on the ship. So they marooned him upon the Little Mangles to the south of theMysteriosa Bank, and there he was found by a Portobello trader, whobrought him in. There was talk of sending him to Jamaica to be tried, but our good little Governor, Sir Charles Ewan, would not hear of it. 'He's my meat, ' said he, 'and I claim the cooking of it. ' If you canstay till to-morrow morning at ten, you'll see the joint swinging. "

"I wish I could, " said the captain, wistfully, "but I am sadly behindtime now. I should start with the evening tide. "

"That you can't do, " said the agent with decision. "The Governor isgoing back with you. "

"The Governor!"

"Yes. He's had a dispatch from Government to return without delay. The fly-boat that brought it has gone on to Virginia. So Sir Charleshas been waiting for you, as I told him you were due before the rains. "

"Well, well!" cried the captain in some perplexity, "I'm a plain seaman, and I don't know much of governors and baronets and their ways. I don'tremember that I ever so much as spoke to one. But if it's in KingGeorge's service, and he asks a cast in the _Morning Star_ as far asLondon, I'll do what I can for him. There's my own cabin he can haveand welcome. As to the cooking, it's lobscouse and salmagundy six daysin the week; but he can bring his own cook aboard with him if he thinksour galley too rough for his taste. "

"You need not trouble your mind, Captain Scarrow, " said the agent. "Sir Charles is in weak health just now, only clear of a quartan ague, and it is likely he will keep his cabin most of the voyage. Dr. Larousse said that he would have sunk had the hanging of Sharkey notput fresh life into him. He has a great spirit in him, though, and youmust not blame him if he is somewhat short in his speech. "

"He may say what he likes, and do what he likes, so long as he does notcome athwart my hawse when I am working the ship, " said the captain. "He is Governor of St. Kitt's, but I am Governor of the _Morning Star_, and, by his leave, I must weigh with the first tide, for I owe a duty tomy employer, just as he does to King George. "

"He can scarce be ready to-night, for he has many things to set in orderbefore he leaves. "

"The early morning tide, then. "

"Very good. I shall send his things aboard to-night; and he will followthem to-morrow early if I can prevail upon him to leave St. Kitt'swithout seeing Sharkey do the rogue's hornpipe. His own orders wereinstant, so it may be that he will come at once. It is likely that Dr. Larousse may attend him upon the journey. "

Left to themselves, the captain and mate made the best preparationswhich they could for their illustrious passenger. The largest cabin wasturned out and adorned in his honour, and orders were given by whichbarrels of fruit and some cases of wine should be brought off to varythe plain food of an ocean-going trader. In the evening the Governor'sbaggage began to arrive--great iron-bound ant-proof trunks, and officialtin packing-cases, with other strange-shaped packages, which suggestedthe cocked hat or the sword within. And then there came a note, with aheraldic device upon the big red seal, to say that Sir Charles Ewan madehis compliments to Captain Scarrow, and that he hoped to be with him inthe morning as early as his duties and his infirmities would permit. 

He was as good as his word, for the first grey of dawn had hardly begunto deepen into pink when he was brought alongside, and climbed with somedifficulty up the ladder. The captain had heard that the Governor wasan eccentric, but he was hardly prepared for the curious figure who camelimping feebly down his quarter-deck, his steps supported by a thickbamboo cane. He wore a Ramillies wig, all twisted into little tailslike a poodle's coat, and cut so low across the brow that the largegreen glasses which covered his eyes looked as if they were hung fromit. A fierce beak of a nose, very long and very thin, cut the air infront of him. His ague had caused him to swathe his throat and chinwith a broad linen cravat, and he wore a loose damask powdering-gownsecured by a cord round the waist. As he advanced he carried hismasterful nose high in the air, but his head turned slowly from side toside in the helpless manner of the purblind, and he called in a high, querulous voice for the captain. 

"You have my things?" he asked. 

"Yes, Sir Charles. "

"Have you wine aboard?"

"I have ordered five cases, sir. "

"And tobacco?"

"There is a keg of Trinidad. "

"You play a hand at picquet?"

"Passably well, sir. "

"Then anchor up, and to sea!"

There was a fresh westerly wind, so by the time the sun was fairlythrough the morning haze, the ship was hull down from the islands. The decrepit Governor still limpid the deck, with one guiding hand uponthe quarter rail. 

"You are on Government service now, captain, " said he. "They arecounting the days till I come to Westminster, I promise you. Have youall that she will carry?"

"Every inch, Sir Charles. "

"Keep her so if you blow the sails out of her. I fear, Captain Scarrow, that you will find a blind and broken man a poor companion for yourvoyage. "

"I am honoured in enjoying your Excellency's society, " said the captain. "But I am sorry that your eyes should be so afflicted. "

"Yes, indeed. It is the cursed glare of the sun on the white streets ofBasseterre which has gone far to burn them out. "

"I had heard also that you had been plagued by a quartan ague. "

"Yes; I have had a pyrexy, which has reduced me much. "

"We had set aside a cabin for your surgeon. "

"Ah, the rascal! There was no budging him, for he has a snug businessamongst the merchants. But hark!" He raised his ring-covered band inthe air. From far astern there came the low, deep thunder of cannon. 

"It is from the island!" cried the captain in astonishment. "Can it bea signal for us to put back?"

The Governor laughed. "You have heard that Sharkey, the pirate, is tobe hanged this morning. I ordered the batteries to salute when therascal was kicking his last, so that I might know of it out at sea. There's an end of Sharkey!"

"There's an end of Sharkey!" cried the captain; and the crew took up thecry as they gathered in little knots upon the deck and stared back atthe low, purple line of the vanishing land. 

It was a cheering omen for their start across the Western Ocean, and theinvalid Governor found himself a popular man on board, for it wasgenerally understood that but for his insistence upon an immediate trialand sentence, the villain might have played upon some more venal judgeand so escaped. At dinner that day Sir Charles gave many anecdotes ofthe deceased pirate; and so affable was he, and so skilful in adaptinghis conversation to men of lower degree, that captain, mate, andGovernor smoked their long pipes, and drank their claret as three goodcomrades should. 

"And what figure did Sharkey cut in the dock?" asked the captain. 

"He is a man of some presence, " said the Governor. 

"I had always understood that he was an ugly, sneering devil, " remarkedthe mate. 

"Well, I dare say he could look ugly upon occasions, " said the Governor. 

"I have heard a New Bedford whaleman say that he could not forget hiseyes, " said Captain Scarrow. "They were of the lightest filmy blue, with red-rimmed lids. Was that not so, Sir Charles?"

"Alas, my own eyes will not permit me to know much of those of others!But I remember now that the adjutant-general said that he had such aneye as you describe, and added that the jury was so foolish as to bevisibly discomposed when it was turned upon them. It is well for themthat he is dead, for he was a man who would never forget an injury, andif he had laid hands upon any one of them he would have stuffed him withstraw and hung him for a figure-head. "

The idea seemed to amuse the Governor, for he broke suddenly into ahigh, neighing laugh, and the two seamen laughed also, but not soheartily, for they remembered that Sharkey was not the last pirate whosailed the western seas, and that as grotesque a fate might come to betheir own. Another bottle was broached to drink to a pleasant voyage, and the Governor would drink just one other on the top of it, so thatthe seamen were glad at last to stagger off--the one to his watch, andthe other to his bunk. But when, after his four hours' spell, the matecame down again, he was amazed to see the Governor, in his Ramillieswig, his glasses, and his powdering-gown, still seated sedately at thelonely table with his reeking pipe and six black bottles by his side. 

"I have drunk with the Governor of St. Kitt's when he was sick, " saidhe, "and God forbid that I should ever try to keep pace with him when heis well. "

The voyage of the _Morning Star_ was a successful one, and in aboutthree weeks she was at the mouth of the British Channel. From the firstday the infirm Governor had begun to recover his strength, and beforethey were halfway across the Atlantic, he was, save only for his eyes, as well as any man upon the ship. Those who uphold the nourishingqualities of wine might point to him in triumph, for never a nightpassed that he did not repeat the performance of his first one. And yetbe would be out upon deck in the early morning as fresh and brisk as thebest of them, peering about with his weak eyes, and asking questionsabout the sails and the rigging, for he was anxious to learn the ways ofthe sea. And he made up for the deficiency of his eyes by obtainingleave from the captain that the New England seaman--he who had been castaway in the boat--should lead him about, and, above all, that he shouldsit beside him when he played cards and count the number of the pips, for unaided he could not tell the king from the knave. 

It was natural that this Evanson should do the Governor willing service, since the one was the victim of the vile Sharkey and the other was hisavenger. One could see that it was a pleasure to the big American tolend his arm to the invalid, and at night he would stand with allrespect behind his chair in the cabin and lay his great stub-nailedforefinger upon the card which he should play. Between them there waslittle in the pockets either of Captain Scarrow or of Morgan, the firstmate, by the time they sighted the Lizard. 

And it was not long before they found that all they had heard of thehigh temper of Sir Charles Ewan fell short of the mark. At a sign ofopposition or a word of argument his chin would shoot out from hiscravat, his masterful nose would be cocked at a higher and more insolentangle, and his bamboo cane would whistle up over his shoulders. He cracked it once over the head of the carpenter when the man hadaccidentally jostled him upon the deck. Once, too, when there was somegrumbling and talk of a mutiny over the state of the provisions, he wasof opinion that they should not wait for the dogs to rise, but that theyshould march forward and set upon them until they had trounced thedevilment out of them. "Give me a knife and a bucket!" he cried with anoath, and could hardly be withheld from setting forth alone to deal withthe spokesman of the seamen. 

Captain Scarrow had to remind him that though he might be onlyanswerable to himself at St. Kitt's, killing became murder upon the highseas. In politics he was, as became his official position, a stout propof the House of Hanover, and he swore in his cups that he had never meta Jacobite without pistolling him where he stood. Yet for all hisvapouring and his violence he was so good a companion, with such astream of strange anecdote and reminiscence, that Scarrow and Morgan hadnever known a voyage pass so pleasantly. 

And then at length came the last day, when, after passing the island, they had struck land again at the high white cliffs at Beachy Head. Asevening fell the ship lay rolling in an oily calm, a league off fromWinchelsea, with the long, dark snout of Dungeness jutting out in frontof her. Next morning they would pick up their pilot at the Foreland, and Sir Charles might meet the King's ministers at Westminster beforethe evening. The boatswain had the watch, and the three friends weremet for a last turn of cards in the cabin, the faithful American stillserving as eyes to the Governor. There was a good stake upon the table, for the sailors had tried on this last night to win their losses backfrom their passenger. Suddenly he threw his cards down, and swept allthe money into the pocket of his long-flapped silken waistcoat. 

"The game's mine!" said he. 

"Heh, Sir Charles, not so fast!" cried Captain Scarrow; "you have notplayed out the hand, and we are not the losers. "

"Sink you for a liar!" said the Governor. "I tell you I _have_ playedout the hand, and that you _are_ a loser. " He whipped off his wig andhis glasses as he spoke, and there was a high, bald forehead, and a pairof shifty blue eyes with the red rims of a bull terrier. 

"Good God!" cried the mate. "It's Sharkey!"

The two sailors sprang from their seats, but the big American castawayhad put his huge back against the cabin door, and he held a pistol ineach of his hands. The passenger had also laid a pistol upon thescattered cards in front of him, and he burst into his high, neighinglaugh. "Captain Sharkey is the name, gentlemen, " said he, "and this isRoaring Ned Galloway, the quartermaster of the _Happy Delivery_. We made it hot, and so they marooned us: me on a dry Tortuga cay, andhim in an oarless boat. You dogs--you poor, fond, water-hearted dogs--we hold you at the end of our pistols!"

"You may shoot, or you may not!" cried Scarrow, striking his hand uponthe breast of his frieze jacket. "If it's my last breath, Sharkey, Itell you that you are a bloody rogue and miscreant, with a halter andhell-fire in store for you!"

"There's a man of spirit, and one of my own kidney, and he's going tomake a very pretty death of it!" cried Sharkey. "There's no one aftsave the man at the wheel, so you may keep your breath, for you'll needit soon. Is the dinghy astern, Ned?"

"Ay, ay, captain!"

"And the other boats scuttled?"

"I bored them all in three places. "

"Then we shall have to leave you, Captain Scarrow. You look as if youhadn't quite got your bearings yet. Is there anything you'd like to askme?"

"I believe you're the devil himself!" cried the captain. "Where is theGovernor of St. Kitt's?"

"When last I saw him his Excellency was in bed with his throat cut. When I broke prison I learnt from my friends--for Captain Sharkey hasthose who love him in every port--that the Governor was starting forEurope under a master who had never seen him. I climbed his verandah, and I paid him the little debt that I owed him. Then I came aboard youwith such of his things as I had need of, and a pair of glasses to hidethese tell-tale eyes of mine, and I have ruffled it as a governorshould. Now, Ned, you can get to work upon them. "

"Help! help! Watch ahoy!" yelled the mate; but the butt of the pirate'spistol crashed down on his head, and he dropped like a pithed ox. Scarrow rushed for the door, but the sentinel clapped his hand over hismouth, and threw his other arm round his waist. 

"No use, Master Scarrow, " said Sharkey. "Let us see you go down on yourknees and beg for your life. "

"I'll see you--" cried Scarrow, shaking his mouth clear. 

"Twist his arm round, Ned. Now will you?"

"No; not if you twist it off. "

"Put an inch of your knife into him. "

"You may put six inches, and then I won't. "

"Sink me, but I like his spirit!" cried Sharkey. "Put your knife inyour pocket, Ned. You've saved your skin, Scarrow, and it's a pity sostout a man should not take to the only trade where a pretty fellow canpick up a living. You must be born for no common death, Scarrow, sinceyou have lain at my mercy and lived to tell the story. Tie him up, Ned. "

"To the stove, captain?"

"Tut, tut! there's a fire in the stove. None of your rover tricks, NedGalloway, unless they are called for, or I'll let you know which of ustwo is captain and which is quartermaster. Make him fast to the table. "

"Nay, I thought you meant to roast him!" said the quartermaster. "You surely do not mean to let him go?"

"If you and I were marooned on a Bahama cay, Ned Galloway, it is stillfor me to command and for you to obey. Sink you for a villain, do youdare to question my orders?"

"Nay, nay, Captain Sharkey, not so hot, sir!" said the quartermaster, and, lifting Scarrow like a child, he laid him on the table. With thequick dexterity of a seaman, he tied his spread-eagled hands and feetwith a rope which was passed underneath, and gagged him securely withthe long cravat which used to adorn the chin of the Governor ofSt. Kitt's. 

"Now, Captain Scarrow, we must take our leave of you, " said the pirate. "If I had half a dozen of my brisk boys at my heels I should have hadyour cargo and your ship, but Roaring Ned could not find a foremast handwith the spirit of a mouse. I see there are some small craft about, andwe shall get one of them. When Captain Sharkey has a boat he can get asmack, when he has a smack he can get a brig, when he has a brig he canget a barque, and when he has a barque he'll soon have a full-riggedship of his own--so make haste into London town, or I may be comingback, after all, for the _Morning Star_. "

Captain Scarrow heard the key turn in the lock as they left the cabin. Then, as he strained at his bonds, he heard their footsteps pass up thecompanion and along the quarter-deck to where the dinghy hung in thestern. Then, still struggling and writhing, he heard the creak of thefalls and the splash of the boat in the water. In a mad fury he toreand dragged at his ropes, until at last, with flayed wrists and ankles, he rolled from the table, sprang over the dead mate, kicked his waythrough the closed door, and rushed hatless on to the deck. 

"Ahoy! Peterson, Armitage, Wilson!" he screamed. "Cutlasses andpistols! Clear away the long-boat! Clear away the gig! Sharkey, thepirate, is in yonder dinghy. Whistle up the larboard watch, bo'sun, and tumble into the boats, all hands. "

Down splashed the long-boat and down splashed the gig, but in an instantthe coxswains and crews were swarming up the falls on to the deck oncemore. 

"The boats are scuttled!" they cried. "They are leaking like a sieve. "

The captain gave a bitter curse. He had been beaten and outwitted atevery point. Above was a cloudless, starlit sky, with neither wind northe promise of it. The sails flapped idly in the moonlight. Far awaylay a fishing-smack, with the men clustering over their net. Close tothem was the little dinghy, dipping and lifting over the shining swell. 

"They are dead men!" cried the captain. "A shout all together, boys, to warn them of their danger. " But it was too late. At that verymoment the dinghy shot into the shadow of the fishing-boat. There weretwo rapid pistol-shots, a scream, and then another pistol-shot, followedby silence. The clustering fishermen had disappeared. And then, suddenly, as the first puffs of a land-breeze came out from the Sussexshore, the boom swung out, the mainsail filled, and the little craftcrept out with her nose to the Atlantic. 

 II

THE DEALINGS OF CAPTAIN SHARKEY WITH STEPHEN CRADDOCK

Careening was a very necessary operation for the old pirate. On hissuperior speed he depended both for overhauling the trader and escapingthe man-of-war. But it was impossible to retain his sailing qualitiesunless he periodically--once a year, at the least--cleared his vessel'sbottom from the long, trailing plants and crusting barnacles whichgather so rapidly in the tropical seas. For this purpose he lightenedhis vessel, thrust her into some narrow inlet where she would be lefthigh and dry at low water, fastened blocks and tackles to her masts topull her over on to her bilge, and then scraped her thoroughly fromrudder-post to cut-water. 

During the weeks which were thus occupied the ship was, of course, defenceless; but, on the other hand, she was unapproachable by anythingheavier than an empty hull, and the place for careening was chosen withan eye to secrecy, so that there was no great danger. So secure did thecaptains feel, that it was not uncommon for them, at such times, toleave their ships under a sufficient guard, and to start off in thelong-boat, either upon a sporting expedition or, more frequently, upon avisit to some outlying town, where they burned the heads of the women bytheir swaggering gallantry, or broached pipes of wine in the marketsquare, with a threat to pistol all who would not drink with them. 

Sometimes they would even appear in cities of the size of Charleston, and walk the streets with their clattering side-arms--an open scandal tothe whole law-abiding colony. Such visits were not always paid withimpunity. It was one of them, for example, which provoked LieutenantMaynard to hack off Blackbeard's head, and to spear it upon the end ofhis bowsprit. But, as a rule, the pirate ruffled and bullied anddrabbed without let or hindrance, until it was time for him to go backto his ship once more. 

There was one pirate, however, who never crossed even the skirts ofcivilisation, and that was the sinister Sharkey, of the barque _HappyDelivery_. It may have been from his morose and solitary temper, or, asis more probable, that he knew that his name upon the coast was suchthat outraged humanity would, against all odds, have thrown themselvesupon him, but never once did he show his face in a settlement. 

When his ship was laid up he would leave her under the charge of NedGalloway--her New England quartermaster--and would take long voyages inhis boat, sometimes, it was said, for the purpose of burying his shareof the plunder, and sometimes to shoot the wild oxen of Hispaniola, which, when dressed and barbecued, provided provisions for his nextvoyage. In the latter case the barque would come round to somepre-arranged spot to pick him up, and take on board what he had shot. 

There had always been a hope in the islands that Sharkey might be takenon one of these occasions; and at last there came news to Kingston whichseemed to justify an attempt upon him. It was brought by an elderlylogwood-cutter who had fallen into the pirate's hands, and in some freakof drunken benevolence had been allowed to get away with nothing worsethan a slit nose and a drubbing. His account was recent and definite. The _Happy Delivery_ was careening at Torbec on the south-west ofHispaniola. Sharkey, with four men, was buccaneering on the outlyingisland of La Vache. The blood of a hundred murdered crews was callingout for vengeance, and now at last it seemed as if it might not call invain. 

Sir Edward Compton, the high-nosed, red-faced Governor, sitting insolemn conclave with the commandant and the head of the council, wassorely puzzled in his mind as to how he should use this chance. There was no man-of-war nearer than Jamestown, and she was a clumsy oldfly-boat, which could neither overhaul the pirate on the seas, nor reachher in a shallow inlet. There were forts and artillerymen both atKingston and Port Royal, but no soldiers available for an expedition. 

A private venture might be fitted out--and there were many who had ablood-feud with Sharkey--but what could a private venture do?The pirates were numerous and desperate. As to taking Sharkey and hisfour companions, that, of course, would be easy if they could get atthem; but how were they to get at them on a large well-wooded islandlike La Vache, full of wild hills and impenetrable jungles? A rewardwas offered to whoever could find a solution, and that brought a man tothe front who had a singular plan, and was himself prepared to carry itout. 

Stephen Craddock had been that most formidable person, the Puritan gonewrong. Sprung from a decent Salem family, his ill-doing seemed to be arecoil from the austerity of their religion, and he brought to vice allthe physical strength and energy with which the virtues of his ancestorshad endowed him. He was ingenious, fearless, and exceedingly tenaciousof purpose, so that when he was still young, his name became notoriousupon the American coast. He was the same Craddock who was tried for hislife in Virginia for the slaying of the Seminole Chief, and, though heescaped, it was well known that he had corrupted the witnesses andbribed the judge. 

Afterwards, as a slaver, and even, as it was hinted, as a pirate, he hadleft an evil name behind him in the Bight of Benin. Finally he hadreturned to Jamaica with a considerable fortune, and had settled down toa life of sombre dissipation. This was the man, gaunt, austere, anddangerous, who now waited upon the Governor with a plan for theextirpation of Sharkey. Sir Edward received him with little enthusiasm, for in spite of some rumours of conversion and reformation, he hadalways regarded him as an infected sheep who might taint the whole ofhis little flock. Craddock saw the Governor's mistrust under his thinveil of formal and restrained courtesy. 

"You've no call to fear me, sir, " said he; "I'm a changed man from whatyou've known. I've seen the light again of late, after losing sight ofit for many a black year. It was through the ministration of the Rev. John Simons, of our own people. Sir, if your spirit should be in needof quickening, you would find a very sweet savour in his discourse. "

The Governor cocked his episcopalian nose at him. 

"You came here to speak of Sharkey, Master Craddock, " said he. 

"The man Sharkey is a vessel of wrath, " said Craddock. "His wickedhorn has been exalted over long, and it is borne in upon me that if Ican cut him off and utterly destroy him, it will be a goodly deed, andone which may atone for many backslidings in the past. A plan has beengiven to me whereby I may encompass his destruction. "

The Governor was keenly interested, for there was a grim and practicalair about the man's freckled face which showed that he was in earnest. After all, he was a seaman and a fighter, and, if it were true that hewas eager to atone for his past, no better man could be chosen for thebusiness. 

"This will be a dangerous task, Master Craddock, " said he. 

"If I meet my death at it, it may be that it will cleanse the memory ofan ill-spent life. I have much to atone for. "

The Governor did not see his way to contradict him. 

"What was your plan?" he asked. 

"You have heard that Sharkey's barque, the _Happy Delivery_, came fromthis very port of Kingston?"

"It belonged to Mr. Codrington, and it was taken by Sharkey, whoscuttled his own sloop and moved into her because she was faster, " saidSir Edward. 

"Yes; but it may be that you have lever heard that Mr. Codrington has asister ship, the _White Rose_, which lies even now in the harbour, andwhich is so like the pirate, that, if it were not for a white paintline, none could tell them apart. "

"Ah! and what of that?" asked the Governor keenly, with the air of onewho is just on the edge of an idea. 

"By the help of it this man shall be delivered into our hands. "

"And how?"

"I will paint out the streak upon the _White Rose_, and make it in allthings like the _Happy Delivery_. Then I will set sail for the Islandof La Vache, where this man is slaying the wild oxen. When he sees mehe will surely mistake me for his own vessel which he is awaiting, andhe will come on board to his own undoing. "

It was a simple plan, and yet it seemed to the Governor that it might beeffective. Without hesitation he gave Craddock permission to carry itout, and to take any steps he liked in order to further the object whichhe had in view. Sir Edward was not very sanguine, for many attempts hadbeen made upon Sharkey, and their results had shown that he was ascunning as he was ruthless. But this gaunt Puritan with the evil recordwas cunning aid ruthless also. The contest of wits between two such menas Sharkey and Craddock appealed to the Governor's acute sense of sport, and though he was inwardly convinced that the chances were against him, he backed his man with the same loyalty which he would have shown to hishorse or his cock. 

Haste was, above all things, necessary, for upon any day the careeningmight be finished, and the pirates out at sea once more. But there wasnot very much to do, and there were many willing hands to do it, so thesecond day saw the _White Rose_ beating out for the open sea. Therewere many seamen in the port who knew the lines and rig of the piratebarque, and not one of them could see the slightest difference in thiscounterfeit. Her white side line had been painted out, her masts andyards were smoked, to give them the dingy appearance of theweather-beaten rover, and a large diamond-shaped patch was let into herforetopsail. Her crew were volunteers, many of them being men who hadsailed with Stephen Craddock before--the mate, Joshua Hird, an oldslaver, had been his accomplice in many voyages, and came now at thebidding of his chief. 

The avenging barque sped across the Caribbean Sea, and, at the sight ofthat patched topsail, the little craft which they met flew left andright like frightened trout in a pool. On the fourth evening PointAbacou bore five miles to the north and east of them. On the fifth theywere at anchor in the Bay of Tortoises at the Island of La Vache, whereSharkey and his four men had been hunting. It was a well-wooded place, with the palms and underwood growing down to the thin crescent of silversand which skirted the shore. They had hoisted the black flag and thered pennant, but no answer came from the shore. Craddock strained hiseyes, hoping every instant to see a boat shoot out to them with Sharkeyseated in the sheets. But the night passed away, and a day and yetanother night, without any sign of the men whom they were endeavouringto trap. It looked as if they were already gone. 

On the second morning Craddock went ashore in search of some proofwhether Sharkey and his men were still upon the island. What he foundreassured him greatly. Close to the shore was a boucan of green wood, such as was used for preserving the meat, and a great store of barbecuedstrips of ox-flesh was hung upon lines all round it. The pirate shiphad not taken off her provisions, and therefore the hunters were stillupon the island. 

Why had they not shown themselves? Was it that they had detected thatthis was not their own ship? Or was it that they were hunting in theinterior of the island, and were not on the look-out for a ship yet?Craddock was still hesitating between the two alternatives, when a CaribIndian came down with information. The pirates were in the island, hesaid, and their camp was a day's march from the Sea. They had stolenhis wife, and the marks of their stripes were still pink upon his brownback. Their enemies were his friends, and he would lead them to wherethey lay. 

Craddock could not have asked for anything better; so early nextmorning, with a small party armed to the teeth, he set off, under theguidance of the Carib. All day they struggled through brushwood andclambered over rocks, pushing their way further and further into thedesolate heart of the island. Here and there they found traces of thehunters, the bones of a slain ox, or the marks of feet in a morass, andonce, towards evening, it seemed to some of them that they heard thedistant rattle of guns. 

That night they spent under the trees, and pushed on again with theearliest light. About noon they came to the huts of bark, which, theCarib told them, were the camp of the hunters, but they were silent anddeserted. No doubt their occupants were away at the hunt and wouldreturn in the evening, so Craddock and his men lay in ambush in thebrushwood around them. But no one came, and another night was spent inthe forest. Nothing more could be done, and it seemed to Craddock thatafter the two days' absence it was time that he returned to his shiponce more. 

The return journey was less difficult, as they had already blazed a pathfor themselves. Before evening they found themselves once more at theBay of Palms, and saw their ship riding at anchor where they had lefther. Their boat and oars had been hauled up among the bushes, so theylaunched it and pulled out to the barque. 

"No luck, then!" cried Joshua Hird, the mate, looking down with a paleface from the poop. 

"His camp was empty, but he may come down to us yet, " said Craddock, with his hand on the ladder. 

Somebody upon deck began to laugh. "I think, " said the mate, "thatthese men had better stay in the boat. "

"Why so?"

"If you will come aboard, sir, you will understand it. " He spoke in acurious, hesitating fashion. 

The blood flushed to Craddock's gaunt face. "How is this, Master Hird?"he cried, springing up the side. "What mean you by giving orders to myboat's crew?"

But as he passed over the bulwarks, with one foot upon the deck and oneknee upon the rail, a tow-bearded man, whom he had never before observedaboard his vessel, grabbed suddenly at his pistol. Craddock clutched atthe fellow's wrist, but at the same instant his mate snatched thecutlass from his side. 

"What roguery is this?" shouted Craddock, looking furiously around him. But the crew stood in knots about the deck, laughing and whisperingamongst themselves without showing any desire to go to his assistance. Even in that hurried glance Craddock noticed that they were dressed inthe most singular manner, with long riding-coats, full-skirted velvetgowns and coloured ribands at their knees, more like men of fashion thanseamen. 

As he looked at their grotesque figures he struck his brow with hisclenched fist to be sure that he was awake. The deck seemed to be muchdirtier than when he had left it, and there were strange, sun-blackenedfaces turned upon him from every side. Not one of them did he know saveonly Joshua Hird. Had the ship been captured in his absence? Werethese Sharkey's men who were around him? At the thought he brokefuriously away and tried to climb over to his boat, but a dozen handswere on him in an instant, and he was pushed aft through the open doorof his own cabin. 

And it was all different to the cabin which he had left. The floor wasdifferent, the ceiling was different, the furniture was different. His had been plain and austere. This was sumptuous and yet dirty, hungwith rare velvet curtains splashed with wine-stains, and panelled withcostly woods which were pocked with pistol-marks. 

On the table was a great chart of the Caribbean Sea, and beside it, withcompasses in his hand, sat a clean-shaven, pale-faced man with a fur capand a claret-coloured coat of damask. Craddock turned white under hisfreckles as he looked upon the long, thin high-nostrilled nose and thered-rimmed eyes which were turned upon him with the fixed, humorous gazeof the master player who has left his opponent without a move. "Sharkey!" cried Craddock. 

Sharkey's thin lips opened, and he broke into his high, sniggeringlaugh. 

"You fool!" he cried, and, leaning over, he stabbed Craddock's shoulderagain and again with his compasses. "You poor, dull-witted fool, wouldyou match yourself against me?"

It was not the pain of the wounds, but it was the contempt in Sharkey'svoice which turned Craddock into a savage madman. He flew at thepirate, roaring with rage, striking, kicking, writhing, foaming. It took six men to drag him down on to the floor amidst the splinteredremains of the table--and not one of the six who did not bear theprisoner's mark upon him. But Sharkey still surveyed him with the samecontemptuous eye. From outside there came the crash of breaking woodand the clamour of startled voices. 

"What is that?" asked Sharkey. 

"They have stove the boat with cold shot, and the men are in the water. "

"Let them stay there, " said the pirate. "Now, Craddock, you know whereyou are. You are aboard my ship, the _Happy Delivery_, and you lie atmy mercy. I knew you for a stout seaman, you rogue, before you took tothis long-shore canting. Your hands then were no cleaner than my own. Will you sign articles, as your mate has done, and join us, or shall Iheave you over to follow your ship's company?"

"Where is my ship?" asked Craddock. 

"Scuttled in the bay. "

"And the hands?"

"In the bay, too. "

"Then I'm for the bay, also. "

"Hock him and heave him over, " said Sharkey. 

Many rough hands had dragged Craddock out upon deck, and Galloway, thequartermaster, had already drawn his hanger to cripple him, when Sharkeycame hurrying from his cabin with an eager face. "We can do better withthe hound!" he cried. "Sink me if it is not a rare plan. Throw himinto the sail-room with the irons on, and do you come here, quarter-master, that I may tell you what I have in my mind. "

So Craddock, bruised and wounded in soul and body, was thrown into thedark sail-room, so fettered that he could not stir hand or foot, but hisNorthern blood was running strong in his veins, and his grim spiritaspired only to make such an ending as might go some way towards atoningfor the evil of his life. All night he lay in the curve of the bilgelistening to the rush of the water and the straining of the timberswhich told him that the ship was at sea and driving fast. In the earlymorning someone came crawling to him in the darkness over the heap ofsails. 

"Here's rum and biscuits, " said the voice of his late mate. "It's atthe risk of my life, Master Craddock, that I bring them to you. "

"It was you who trapped me and caught me as in a snare!" cried Craddock. "How shall you answer for what you have done?"

"What I did I did with the point of a knife betwixt my blade-bones. "

"God forgive you for a coward, Joshua Hird. How came you into theirhands?"

"Why, Master Craddock, the pirate ship came back from its careening uponthe very day that you left us. They laid us aboard, and, short-handedas we were, with the best of the men ashore with you, we could offer buta poor defence. Some were cut down, and they were the happiest. Theothers were killed afterwards. As to me, I saved my life by signing onwith them. "

"And they scuttled my ship?"

"They scuttled her, and then Sharkey and his men, who had been watchingus from the brushwood, came off to the ship. His mainyard had beencracked and fished last voyage, so he had suspicions of us, seeing thatours was whole. Then he thought of laying the same trap for you whichyou had set for him. "

Craddock groaned. "How came I not to see that fished mainyard?" hemuttered. "But whither are we bound?"

"We are running north and west. "

"North and west! Then we are heading back towards Jamaica. "

"With an eight-knot wind. "

"Have you heard what they mean to do with me?"

"I have not heard. If you would but sign the articles--"

"Enough, Joshua Hird! I have risked my soul too often. "

"As you wish. I have done what I could. Farewell!"

All that night and the next day the _Happy Delivery_ ran before theeasterly trades, and Stephen Craddock lay in the dark of the sail-roomworking patiently at his wrist-irons. One he had slipped off at thecost of a row of broken and bleeding knuckles, but, do what he would, hecould not free the other, and his ankles were securely fastened. From hour to hour he heard the swish of the water, and knew that thebarque must be driving with all set in front of the trade wind. In thatcase they must be nearly back again to Jamaica by now. What plan couldSharkey have in his head, and what use did he hope to make of him?Craddock set his teeth, and vowed that if he had once been a villainfrom choice he would, at least, never be one by compulsion. 

On the second morning Craddock became aware that sail had been reducedin the vessel, and that she was tacking slowly, with a light breeze onher beam. The varying slope of the sail room and the sounds from thedeck told his practised senses exactly what she was doing. The shortreaches showed him that she was manoeuvring near shore, and making forsome definite point. If so, she must have reached Jamaica. But whatcould she be doing there?

And then suddenly there was a burst of hearty cheering from the deck, and then the crash of a gun above his head, and then the answeringbooming of guns from far over the water. Craddock sat up and strainedhis ears. Was the ship in action? Only the one gun had been fired, andthough many had answered, there were none of the crashings which told ofa shot coming home. Then, if it was not an action, it must be a salute. But who would salute Sharkey, the pirate? It could only be anotherpirate ship which would do so. So Craddock lay back again with a groan, and continued to work at the manacle which still held his right wrist. But suddenly there came the shuffling of steps outside, and he hadhardly time to wrap the loose links round his free hand, when the doorwas unbolted and two pirates came in. 

"Got your hammer, carpenter?" asked one, whom Craddock recognised as thebig quartermaster. 

"Knock off his leg shackles, then. Better leave the bracelets--he'ssafer with them on. "

With hammer and chisel the carpenter loosened the irons. 

"What are you going to do with me?" asked Craddock. 

"Come on deck and you'll see. "

The sailor seized him by the arm and dragged him roughly to the foot ofthe companion. Above him was a square of blue sky cut across by themizzen gaff, with the colours flying at the peak. But it was the sightof those colours which struck the breath from Stephen Craddock's lips. For there were two of them, and the British ensign was flying above theJolly Rodger--the honest flag above that of the rogue. 

For an instant Craddock stopped in amazement, but a brutal push from thepirates behind drove him up the companion ladder. As he stepped outupon deck, his eyes turned up to the main, and there again were theBritish colours flying above the red pennant, and all the shrouds andrigging were garlanded with streamers. 

Had the ship been taken, then? But that was impossible, for there werethe pirates clustering in swarms along the port bulwarks, and wavingtheir hats joyously in the air. Most prominent of all was the renegademate, standing on the foc'sle head, and gesticulating wildly. Craddocklooked over the side to see what they were cheering at, and then in aflash he saw how critical was the moment. 

On the port bow, and about a mile off, lay the white houses and forts ofPort Royal, with flags breaking out everywhere over their roofs. Right ahead was the opening of the palisades leading to the town ofKingston. Not more than a quarter of a mile off was a small sloopworking out against the very slight wind. The British ensign was at herpeak, and her rigging was all decorated. On her deck could be seen adense crowd of people cheering and waving their hats, and the gleam ofscarlet told that there were officers of the garrison among them. 

In an instant, with the quick perception of a man of action, Craddocksaw through it all. Sharkey, with that diabolical cunning and audacitywhich were among his main characteristics, was simulating the part whichCraddock would himself have played had he come back victorious. It wasin _his_ honour that the salutes were firing and the flags flying. It was to welcome _him_ that this ship with the Governor, thecommandant, and the chiefs of the island were approaching. In anotherten minutes they would all be under the guns of the _Happy Delivery_, and Sharkey would have won the greatest stake that ever a pirate playedfor yet. 

"Bring him forward, " cried the pirate captain, as Craddock appearedbetween the carpenter and the quartermaster. "Keep the ports closed, but clear away the port guns, and stand by for a broadside. Another twocable lengths and we have them. "

"They are edging away, " said the boatswain. "I think they smell us. "

"That's soon set right, " said Sharkey, turning his filmy eyes uponCraddock. "Stand there, you--right there, where they can recognise you, with your hand on the guy, and wave your hat to them. Quick, or yourbrains will be over your coat. Put an inch of your knife into him, Ned. Now, will you wave your hat? Try him again, then. Hey, shoot him! Stophim!"

But it was too late. Relying upon the manacles, the quartermaster hadtaken his hands for a moment off Craddock's arm. In that instant he hadflung off the carpenter, and, amid a spatter of pistol bullets, hadsprung the bulwarks and was swimming for his life. He had been hit andhit again, but it takes many pistols to kill a resolute and powerful manwho has his mind set upon doing something before he dies. He was astrong swimmer, and, in spite of the red trail which he left in thewater behind him, he was rapidly increasing his distance from thepirate. "Give me a musket!" cried Sharkey, with a savage oath. 

He was a famous shot, and his iron nerves never failed him in anemergency. The dark head appearing on the crest of a roller, and thenswooping down on the other side, was already half-way to the sloop. Sharkey dwelt long upon his aim before he fired. With the crack of thegun the swimmer reared himself up in the water, waved his hands in agesture of warning, and roared out in a voice which rang over the bay. Then, as the sloop swung round her head-sails, and the pirate fired animpotent broadside, Stephen Craddock, smiling grimly in his death agony, sank slowly down to that golden couch which glimmered far beneath him. 

 III

HOW COPLEY BANKS SLEW CAPTAIN SHARKEY

The Buccaneers were something higher than a mere band of marauders. They were a floating republic, with laws, usages, and discipline oftheir own. In their endless and remorseless quarrel with theSpaniards they had some semblance of right upon their side. Their bloody harryings of the cities of the Main were not more barbarousthan the inroads of Spain upon the Netherlands--or upon the Caribs inthese same American lands. 

The chief of the Buccaneers, were he English or French, a Morgan or aGranmont, was still a responsible person, whose country mightcountenance him, or even praise him, so long as he refrained from anydeed which might shock the leathery seventeenth-century conscience toooutrageously. Some of them were touched with religion, and it is stillremembered how Sawkins threw the dice overboard upon the Sabbath, andDaniel pistolled a man before the altar for irreverence. 

But there came a day when the fleets of the Buccaneers no longermustered at the Tortugas, and the solitary and outlawed pirate tooktheir place. Yet even with him the tradition of restraint and ofdiscipline still lingered; and among the early pirates, the Avorys, theEnglands, and the Robertses, there remained some respect for humansentiment. They were more dangerous to the merchant than to the seaman. But they in turn were replaced by more savage and desperate men, whofrankly recognised that they would get no quarter in their war with thehuman race, and who swore that they would give as little as they got. Of their histories we know little that is trustworthy. They wrote nomemoirs and left no trace, save an occasional blackened andblood-stained derelict adrift upon the face of the Atlantic. Their deeds could only be surmised from the long roll of ships who nevermade their port. 

Searching the records of history, it is only here and there in anold-world trial that the veil that shrouds them seems for an instant tobe lifted, and we catch a glimpse of some amazing and grotesquebrutality behind. Such was the breed of Ned Low, of Gow the Scotchman, and of the infamous Sharkey, whose coal-black barque, the _HappyDelivery_, was known from the Newfoundland Banks to the mouths of theOrinoco as the dark forerunner of misery and of death. 

There were many men, both among the islands and on the Main, who had ablood feud with Sharkey, but not one who had suffered more bitterly thanCopley Banks, of Kingston. Banks had been one of the leading sugarmerchants of the West Indies. He was a man of position, a member of theCouncil, the husband of a Percival, and the cousin of the Governor ofVirginia. His two sons had been sent to London to be educated, andtheir mother had gone over to bring them back. On their return voyagethe ship, the _Duchess of Cornwall_, fell into the hands of Sharkey, andthe whole family met with an infamous death. 

Copley Banks said little when he heard the news, but he sank into amorose and enduring melancholy. He neglected his business, avoided hisfriends, and spent much of his time in the low taverns of the fishermenand seamen. There, amidst riot and devilry, he sat silently puffing athis pipe, with a set face and a smouldering eye. It was generallysupposed that his misfortunes had shaken his wits, and his old friendslooked at him askance, for the company which he kept was enough to barhim from honest men. 

From time to time there came rumours of Sharkey over the sea. Sometimesit was from some schooner which had seen a great flame upon the horizon, and approaching to offer help to the burning ship, had fled away at thesight of the sleek, black barque, lurking like a wolf near a mangledsheep. Sometimes it was a frightened trader, which had come tearing inwith her canvas curved like a lady's bodice, because she had seen apatched foretopsail rising slowly above the violet water-line. Sometimes it was from a coaster, which had found a waterless Bahama caylittered with sun-dried bodies. Once there came a man who had been mateof a Guineaman, and who had escaped from the pirate's hands. He couldnot speak--for reasons which Sharkey could best supply--but he couldwrite, and he did write, to the very great interest of Copley Banks. For hours they sat together over the map, and the dumb man pointed hereand there to outlying reefs and tortuous inlets, while his companion satsmoking in silence, with his unvarying face and his fiery eyes. 

One morning, some two years after his misfortunes, Mr. Copley Banksstrode into his own office with his old air of energy and alertness. The manager stared at him in surprise, for it was months since he hadshown any interest in business. 

"Good morning, Mr. Banks!" said he. 

"Good morning, Freeman. I see that _Ruffling Harry_ is in the Bay. "

"Yes, sir; she clears for the Windward Islands on Wednesday. "

"I have other plans for her, Freeman. I have determined upon a slavingventure to Whydah. "

"But her cargo is ready, sir. "

"Then it must come out again, Freeman. My mind is made up, and the_Ruffling Harry_ must go slaving to Whydah. "

All argument and persuasion were vain, so the manager had dolefully toclear the ship once more. And then Copley Banks began to makepreparations for his African voyage. It appeared that he relied uponforce rather than barter for the filling of his hold, for he carriednone of those showy trinkets which savages love, but the brig was fittedwith eight nine-pounder guns, and racks full of muskets and cutlasses. The after-sailroom next the cabin was transformed into a powdermagazine, and she carried as many round shot as a well-found privateer. Water and provisions were shipped for a long voyage. 

But the preparation of his ship's company was most surprising. It madeFreeman, the manager, realise that there was truth in the rumour thathis master had taken leave of his senses. For, under one pretext oranother, he began to dismiss the old and tried hands, who had served thefirm for years, and in their place he embarked the scum of the port--menwhose reputations were so vile that the lowest crimp would have beenashamed to furnish them. There was Birthmark Sweetlocks, who was knownto have been present at the killing of the logwood-cutters, so that hishideous scarlet disfigurement was put down by the fanciful as being ared afterglow from that great crime. He was first mate, and under himwas Israel Martin, a little sun-wilted fellow who had served with HowellDavies at the taking of Cape Coast Castle. 

The crew were chosen from amongst those whom Banks had met and known intheir own infamous haunts, and his own table-steward was a haggard-facedman, who gobbled at you when he tried to talk. His beard had beenshaved, and it was impossible to recognise him as the same man whomSharkey had placed under the knife, and who had escaped to tell hisexperiences to Copley Banks. These doings were not unnoticed, nor yetuncommented upon in the town of Kingston. The Commandant of thetroops--Major Harvey of the Artillery--made serious representations tothe Governor. 

"She is not a trader, but a small warship, " said he. 

"I think it would be as well to arrest Copley Banks and to seize thevessel. "

"What do you suspect?" asked the Governor, who was a slow-witted man, broken down with fevers and port wine. 

"I suspect, " said the soldier, "that it is Stede Bonnet over again. "

Now, Stede Bonnet was a planter of high reputation and religiouscharacter who, from some sudden and overpowering freshet of wildness inhis blood, had given up everything in order to start off pirating in theCaribbean Sea. The example was a recent one, and it had caused theutmost consternation in the islands. Governors had before now beenaccused of being in league with pirates, and of receiving commissionsupon their plunder, so that any want of vigilance was open to a sinisterconstruction. 

"Well, Major Harvey, " said he, "I am vastly sorry to do anything whichmay offend my friend Copley Banks, for many a time have my knees beenunder his mahogany, but in face of what you say there is no choice forme but to order you to board the vessel and to satisfy yourself as toher character and destination. "

So at one in the morning Major Harvey, with a launchful of his soldiers, paid a surprise visit to the _Ruffling Harry_, with the result that theypicked up nothing more solid than a hempen cable floating at themoorings. It had been slipped by the brig, whose owner had scenteddanger. She had already passed the Palisades, and was beating outagainst the north-east trades on a course for the Windward Passage. 

When upon the next morning the brig had left Morant Point a mere hazeupon the Southern horizon, the men were called aft, and Copley Banksrevealed his plans to them. He had chosen them, he said, as brisk boysand lads of spirit, who would rather run some risk upon the sea thanstarve for a living upon the shore. King's ships were few and weak, andthey could master any trader who might come their way. Others had donewell at the business, and with a handy, well-found vessel, there was noreason why they should not turn their tarry jackets into velvet coats. If they were prepared to sail under the black flag, he was ready tocommand them; but if any wished to withdraw, they might have the gig androw back to Jamaica. 

Four men out of six-and-forty asked for their discharge, went over theship's side into the boat, and rowed away amidst the jeers and howlingsof the crew. The rest assembled aft, and drew up the articles of theirassociation. A square of black tarpaulin had the white skull paintedupon it, and was hoisted amidst cheering at the main. 

Officers were elected, and the limits of their authority fixed. CopleyBanks was chosen captain, but, as there are no mates upon a piratecraft, Birthmark Sweetlocks became quartermaster, and Israel Martin theboatswain. There was no difficulty in knowing what was the custom ofthe brotherhood, for half the men at least had served upon piratesbefore. Food should be the same for all, and no man should interferewith another man's drink! The captain should have a cabin, but allhands should be welcome to enter it when they chose. 

All should share and share alike, save only the captain, quartermaster, boatswain, carpenter, and master-gunner, who had from a quarter to awhole share extra. He who saw a prize first should have the best weapontaken out of her. He who boarded her first should have the richest suitof clothes aboard of her. Every man might treat his own prisoner, be itman or woman, after his own fashion. If a man flinched from his gun, the quartermaster should pistol him. These were some of the rules whichthe crew of the _Ruffling Harry_ subscribed by putting forty-two crossesat the foot of the paper upon which they had been drawn. 

So a new rover was afloat upon the seas, and her name before a year wasover became as well known as that of the _Happy Delivery_. From theBahamas to the Leewards, and from the Leewards to the Windwards, CopleyBanks became the rival of Sharkey and the terror of traders. For a longtime the barque and the brig never met, which was the more singular asthe _Ruffling Harry_ was for ever looking in at Sharkey's resorts; butat last one day, when she was passing down the inlet of Coxon's Hole, atthe east end of Cuba, with the intention of careening, there was the_Happy Delivery_, with her blocks and tackle-falls already rigged forthe same purpose. Copley Banks fired a shotted salute and hoisted thegreen trumpeter ensign, as the custom was among gentlemen of the sea. Then he dropped his boat and went aboard. 

Captain Sharkey was not a man of a genial mood, nor had he any kindlysympathy for those who were of the same trade as himself. Copley Banksfound him seated astride upon one of the after guns, with his NewEngland quartermaster, Ned Galloway, and a crowd of roaring ruffiansstanding about him. Yet none of them roared with quite such assurancewhen Sharkey's pale face and filmy blue eyes were tuned upon him. He was in his shirt-sleeves, with his cambric frills breaking throughhis open red satin long-flapped vest. The scorching sun seemed to haveno power upon his fleshless frame, for he wore a low fur cap, as thoughit had been winter. A many-coloured band of silk passed across his bodyand supported a short, murderous sword, while his broad, brass-buckledbelt was stuffed with pistols. 

"Sink you for a poacher!" he cried, as Copley Banks passed over thebulwarks. "I will drub you within an inch of your life, and that inchalso! What mean you by fishing in my waters?"

Copley Banks looked at him, and his eyes were like those of a travellerwho sees his home at last. "I am glad that we are of one mind, " saidhe, "for I am myself of opinion that the seas are not large enough forthe two of us. But if you will take your sword and pistols and comeupon a sand-bank with me, then the world will be rid of a damnedvillain, whichever way it goes. "

"Now, this is talking!" said Sharkey, jumping off the gun and holdingout his hand. "I have not met many who could look John Sharkey in theeyes and speak with a full breath. May the devil seize me if I do notchoose you as a consort! But if you play me false, then I will comeaboard of you and gut you upon your own poop. "

"And I pledge you the same!" said Copley Banks, and so the two piratesbecame sworn comrades to each other. 

That summer they went north as far as the Newfoundland Banks, andharried the New York traders and the whale ships from New England. It was Copley Banks who captured the Liverpool ship, _House of Hanover_, but it was Sharkey who fastened her master to the windlass and peltedhim to death with empty claret-bottles. 

Together they engaged the King's ship _Royal Fortune_, which had beensent in search of them, and beat her off after a night action of fivehours, the drunken, raving crews fighting naked in the light of thebattle-lanterns, with a bucket of rum and a pannikin laid by the tacklesof every gun. They ran to Topsail Inlet in North Carolina to refit, andthen in the spring they were at the Grand Caicos, ready for a longcruise down the West Indies. 

By this time Sharkey and Copley Banks had become very excellent friends, for Sharkey loved a whole-hearted villain, and he loved a man of metal, and it seemed to him that the two met in the captain of the _RufflingHarry_. It was long before he gave his confidence to him, for coldsuspicion lay deep in his character. Never once would he trust himselfoutside his own ship and away from his own men. But Copley Banks cameoften on board the _Happy Delivery_, and joined Sharkey in many of hismorose debauches, so that at last any lingering misgivings of the latterwere set at rest. He knew nothing of the evil that he had done to hisnew boon companion, for of his many victims how could he remember thewoman and the two boys whom he had slain with such levity so long ago!When, therefore, he received a challenge to himself and to hisquartermaster for a carouse upon the last evening of their stay at theCaicos Bank he saw no reason to refuse. 

A well-found passenger ship had been rifled the week before, so theirfare was of the best, and after supper five of them drank deeplytogether. There were the two captains, Birthmark Sweetlocks, NedGalloway, and Israel Martin, the old buccaneers-man. To wait upon themwas the dumb steward, whose head Sharkey split with a glass, because hehad been too slow in the filling of it. The quarter-master has slippedSharkey's pistols away from him, for it was an old joke with him to firethem cross-handed under the table and see who was the luckiest man. It was a pleasantry which had cost his boatswain his leg, so now, whenthe table was cleared, they would coax Sharkey's weapons away from himon the excuse of the heat, and lay them out of his reach. 

The captain's cabin of the _Ruffling Harry_ was in a deck-house upon thepoop, and a stern-chaser gun was mounted at the back of it. Round shotwere racked round the wall, and three great hogsheads of powder made astand for dishes and for bottles. In this grim room the five piratessang and roared and drank, while the silent steward still filled uptheir glasses, and passed the box and the candle round for theirtobacco-pipes. Hour after hour the talk became fouler, the voiceshoarser, the curses and shoutings more incoherent, until three of thefive had closed their blood-shot eyes, and dropped their swimming headsupon the table. 

Copley Banks and Sharkey were left face to face, the one because he haddrunk the least, the other because no amount of liquor would ever shakehis iron nerve or warm his sluggish blood. Behind him stood thewatchful steward, for ever filling up his waning glass. From withoutcame the low lapping of the tide, and from over the water a sailor'schanty from the barque. In the windless tropical night the words cameclearly to their ears:--

 A trader sailed from Stepney Town, Wake her up! Shake her up! Try her with the mainsail! A trader sailed from Stepney Town With a keg full of gold and a velvet gown. Ho, the bully Rover Jack, Waiting with his yard aback Out upon the Lowland Sea. 

The two boon companions sat listening in silence. Then Copley Banksglanced at the steward, and the man took a coil of rope fromthe shot-rack behind him. 

"Captain Sharkey, " said Copley Banks, "do you remember the _Duchess ofCornwall_, hailing from London, which you took and sank three years agooff the Statira Shoal?"

"Curse me if I can bear their names in mind, " said Sharkey. "We did asmany as ten ships a week about that time. "

"There were a mother and two sons among the passengers. Maybe that willbring it back to your mind. "

Captain Sharkey leant back in thought, with his huge thin beak of a nosejutting upwards. Then he burst suddenly into a high treble, neighinglaugh. He remembered it, he said, and he added details to prove it. "But burn me if it had not slipped from my mind!" he cried. "How cameyou to think of it?"

"It was of interest to me, " said Copley Banks, "for the woman was mywife, and the lads were my only sons. "

Sharkey stared across at his companion, and saw that the smoulderingfire which lurked always in his eyes had burned up into a lurid flame. He read their menace, and he clapped his hands to his empty belt. Then he turned to seize a weapon, but the bight of a rope was cast roundhim, and in an instant his arms were bound to his side. He fought likea wild cat, and screamed for help. "Ned!" he yelled. "Ned! Wake up!Here's damned villainy! Help, Ned!--help!"

But the three men were far too deeply sunk in their swinish sleep forany voice to wake them. Round and round went the rope, until Sharkeywas swathed like a mummy from ankle to neck. They propped him stiff andhelpless against a powder barrel, and they gagged him with ahandkerchief, but his filmy, red-rimmed eyes still looked curses atthem. The dumb man chattered in his exultation, and Sharkey winced forthe first time when he saw the empty mouth before him. He understoodthat vengeance, slow and patient, had dogged him long, and clutched himat last. 

The two captors had their plans all arranged, and they were somewhatelaborate. First of all they stove the heads of two of the great powderbarrels, and they heaped the contents out upon the table and floor. They piled it round and under the three drunken men, until each sprawledin a heap of it. Then they carried Sharkey to the gun and they tricedhim sitting over the port-hole, with his body about a foot from themuzzle. Wriggle as he would he could not move an inch either to theright or left, and the dumb man trussed him up with a sailor's cunning, so that there was no chance that he should work free. 

"Now, you bloody devil, " said Copley Banks, softly, "you must listen towhat I have to say to you, for they are the last words that you willhear. You are my man now, and I have bought you at a price, for I havegiven all that a man can give here below, and I have given my soul aswell. 

"To reach you I have had to sink to your level. For two years I stroveagainst it, hoping that some other way might come, but I learnt thatthere was no other. I've robbed and I have murdered--worse still, Ihave laughed and lived with you--and all for the one end. And now mytime has come, and you will die as I would have you die, seeing theshadow creeping upon you and the devil waiting for you in the shadow. "

Sharkey could hear the hoarse voices of his rovers singing their chantyover the water. 

 Where is the trader of Stepney Town? Wake her up! Shake her up! Every stick a-bending! Where is the trader of Stepney Town? His gold's on the capstan, his blood's on his gown, All for bully Rover Jack, Reaching on the weather tack Right across the Lowland Sea. 

The words came clear to his ear, and just outside he could hear two menpacing backwards and forwards upon the deck. And yet he was helpless, staring down the mouth of the nine-pounder, unable to move an inch or toutter so much as a groan. Again there came the burst of voices from thedeck of the barque. 

 So it's up and it's over to Stornoway Bay, Pack it on! Crack it on! Try her with stunsails! It's off on a bowline to Stornoway Bay, Where the liquor is good and the lasses are gay, Waiting for their bully Jack, Watching for him sailing back, Right across the Lowland Sea. 

To the dying pirate the jovial words and rollicking tune made his ownfate seem the harsher, but there was no softening in those venomous blueeyes. Copley Banks had brushed away the priming of the gun, and hadsprinkled fresh powder over the touch-hole. Then he had taken up thecandle and cut it to the length of about an inch. This he placed uponthe loose powder at the breach of the gun. Thin he scattered powderthickly over the floor beneath, so that when the candle fell at therecoil it must explode the huge pile in which the three drunkards werewallowing. 

"You've made others look death in the face, Sharkey, " said he; "now ithas come to be your own turn. You and these swine here shall gotogether!" He lit the candle-end as he spoke, and blew out the otherlights upon the table. Then he passed out with the dumb man, and lockedthe cabin door upon the outer side. But before he closed it he took anexultant look backwards, and received one last curse from thoseunconquerable eyes. In the single dim circle of light that ivory-whiteface, with the gleam of moisture upon the high, bald forehead, was thelast that was ever seen of Sharkey. 

There was a skiff alongside, and in it Copley Banks and the dumb stewardmade their way to the beach, and looked back upon the brig riding in themoon-light just outside the shadow of the palm trees. They waited andwaited watching that dim light which shone through the stem port. Andthen at last there came the dull thud of a gun, and an instant later theshattering crash of an explosion. The long, sleek, black barque, thesweep of white sand, and the fringe of nodding feathery palm treessprang into dazzling light and back into darkness again. Voicesscreamed and called upon the bay. 

Then Copley Banks, his heart singing within him, touched his companionupon the shoulder, and they plunged together into the lonely jungle ofthe Caicos. 

THE CROXLEY MASTER

 I

Mr. Robert Montgomery was seated at his desk, his head upon his hands, in a state of the blackest despondency. Before him was the open ledgerwith the long columns of Dr. Oldacre's prescriptions. At his elbow laythe wooden tray with the labels in various partitions, the cork box, thelumps of twisted sealing-wax, while in front a rank of bottles waited tobe filled. But his spirits were too low for work. He sat in silencewith his fine shoulders bowed and his head upon his hands. 

Outside, through the grimy surgery window over a foreground of blackenedbrick and slate, a line of enormous chimneys like Cyclopean pillarsupheld the lowering, dun-coloured cloud-bank. For six days in the weekthey spouted smoke, but to-day the furnace fires were banked, for it wasSunday. Sordid and polluting gloom hung over a district blighted andblasted by the greed of man. There was nothing in the surroundings tocheer a desponding soul, but it was more than his dismal environmentwhich weighed upon the medical assistant. His trouble was deeper andmore personal. The winter session was approaching. He should be backagain at the University completing the last year which would give himhis medical degree; but, alas! he had not the money with which to payhis class fees, nor could he imagine how he could procure it. Sixty pounds were wanted to make his career, and it might have been asmany thousand for any chance there seemed to be of his obtaining it. He was roused from his black meditation by the entrance of Dr. Oldacrehimself, a large, clean-shaven, respectable man, with a prim manner andan austere face. He had prospered exceedingly by the support of thelocal Church interest, and the rule of his life was never by word oraction to run a risk of offending the sentiment which had made him. His standard of respectability and of dignity was exceedingly high, andhe expected the same from his assistants. His appearance and words werealways vaguely benevolent. A sudden impulse came over the despondentstudent. He would test the reality of this philanthropy. 

"I beg your pardon, Dr. Oldacre, " said he, rising from his chair;"I have a great favour to ask of you. "

The doctor's appearance was not encouraging. His mouth suddenlytightened, and his eyes fell. 

"Yes, Mr. Montgomery?"

"You are aware, sir, that I need only one more session to complete mycourse. "

"So you have told me. "

"It is very important to me, sir. "

"Naturally. "

"The fees, Dr. Oldacre, would amount to about sixty pounds. "

"I am afraid that my duties call me elsewhere, Mr. Montgomery. "

"One moment, sir! I had hoped, sir, that perhaps, if I signed a paperpromising you interest upon your money, you would advance this sum tome. I will pay you back, sir, I really will. Or, if you like, I willwork it off after I am qualified. "

The doctor's lips had thinned into a narrow line. His eyes were raisedagain, and sparkled indignantly. 

"Your request is unreasonable, Mr. Montgomery. I am surprised that youshould have made it. Consider, sir, how many thousands of medicalstudents there are in this country. No doubt there are many of them whohave a difficulty in finding their fees. Am I to provide for them all?Or why should I make an exception in your favour? I am grieved anddisappointed, Mr. Montgomery, that you should have put me into thepainful position of having to refuse you. " He turned upon his heel, andwalked with offended dignity out of the surgery. 

The student smiled bitterly, and turned to his work of making up themorning prescriptions. It was poor and unworthy work--work which anyweakling might have done as well, and this was a man of exceptionalnerve and sinew. But, such as it was, it brought him his board and Onepound a week--enough to help him during the summer months and let himsave a few pounds towards his winter keep. But those class fees!Where were they to come from? He could not save them out of his scantywage. Dr. Oldacre would not advance them. He saw no way of earningthem. His brains were fairly good, but brains of that quality were adrug in the market. He only excelled in his strength, and where was heto find a customer for that? But the ways of Fate are strange, and hiscustomer was at hand. 

"Look y'ere!" said a voice at the door. Montgomery looked up, for thevoice was a loud and rasping one. A young man stood at the entrance--a stocky, bull-necked young miner, in tweed Sunday clothes and anaggressive neck-tie. He was a sinister-looking figure, with dark, insolent eyes, and the jaw and throat of a bulldog. 

"Look y'ere!" said he again. "Why hast thou not sent t' medicine oop asthy master ordered?"

Montgomery had become accustomed to the brutal frankness of the northernworker. At first it had enraged him, but after a time he had growncallous to it, and accepted it as it was meant. But this was somethingdifferent. It was insolence--brutal, overbearing insolence, withphysical menace behind it. 

"What name?" he asked coldly. 

"Barton. Happen I may give thee cause to mind that name, yoong man. Mak' oop t' wife's medicine this very moment, look ye, or it will be theworse for thee. "

Montgomery smiled. A pleasant sense of relief thrilled softly throughhim. What blessed safety-valve was this through which his janglednerves might find some outlet. The provocation was so gross, the insultso unprovoked, that he could have none of those qualms which take theedge off a man's mettle. He finished sealing the bottle upon which hewas occupied, and he addressed it and placed it carefully in the rack. "Look here!" said he, turning round to the miner, "your medicine will bemade up in its turn and sent down to you. I don't allow folk in thesurgery. Wait outside in the waiting-room if you wish to wait at all. "

"Yoong man, " said the miner, "thou's got to mak' t' wife's medicinehere, and now, and quick, while I wait and watch thee, or else happenthou might need some medicine thysel' before all is over. "

"I shouldn't advise you to fasten a quarrel upon me. " Montgomery wasspeaking in the hard, staccato voice of a man who is holding himself inwith difficulty. "You'll save trouble if you'll go quietly. If youdon't you'll be hurt. Ah, you would? Take it, then!"

The blows were almost simultaneous--a savage swing which whistled pastMontgomery's ear, and a straight drive which took the workman on thechin. Luck was with the assistant. That single whizzing uppercut, andthe way in which it was delivered, warned him that he had a formidableman to deal with. But if he had underrated his antagonist, hisantagonist had also underrated him, and had laid himself open to a fatalblow. 

The miner's head had come with a crash against the corner of the surgeryshelves, and he had dropped heavily on to the ground. There he lay withhis bandy legs drawn up and his hands thrown abroad, the blood tricklingover the surgery tiles. 

"Had enough?" asked the assistant, breathing fiercely through his nose. 

But no answer came. The man was insensible. And then the danger of hisposition came upon Montgomery, and he turned as white as his antagonist. A Sunday, the immaculate Dr. Oldacre with his pious connection, a savagebrawl with a patient; he would irretrievably lose his situation if thefacts came out. It was not much of a situation, but he could not getanother without a reference, and Oldacre might refuse him one. Withoutmoney for his classes, and without a situation--what was to become ofhim? It was absolute ruin. 

But perhaps he could escape exposure after all. He seized hisinsensible adversary, dragged him out into the centre of he room, loosened his collar, and squeezed the surgery sponge over his face. Hesat up at last with a gasp and a scowl. "Domn thee, thou's spoilt myneck-tie, " said he, mopping up the water from his breast. 

"I'm sorry I hit you so hard, " said Montgomery, apologetically. 

"Thou hit me hard! I could stan' such fly-flappin' all day. 'Twas thishere press that cracked my pate for me, and thou art a looky man to beable to boast as thou hast outed me. And now I'd be obliged to thee ifthou wilt give me t' wife's medicine. "

Montgomery gladly made it up and handed it to the miner. 

"You are weak still, " said he. "Won't you stay awhile and rest?"

"T' wife wants her medicine, " said the man, and lurched out at the door. 

The assistant, looking after him, saw him rolling, with an uncertainstep, down the street, until a friend met him, and they walked on arm inarm. The man seemed in his rough Northern fashion to bear no grudge, and so Montgomery's fears left him. There was no reason why the doctorshould know anything about it. He wiped the blood from the floor, putthe surgery in order, and went on with his interrupted task, hoping thathe had come scathless out of a very dangerous business. 

Yet all day he was aware of a sense of vague uneasiness, which sharpenedinto dismay when, late in the afternoon, he was informed that threegentlemen had called and were waiting for him in the surgery. A coroner's inquest, a descent of detectives, an invasion of angryrelatives--all sorts of possibilities rose to scare him. With tensenerves and a rigid face he went to meet his visitors. 

They were a very singular trio. Each was known to him by sight; butwhat on earth the three could be doing together, and, above all, whatthey could expect from _him_, was a most inexplicable problem. The first was Sorley Wilson, the son of the owner of the NonpareilCoalpit. He was a young blood of twenty, heir to a fortune, a keensportsman, and down for the Easter Vacation from Magdalene College. He sat now upon the edge of the surgery table, looking in thoughtfulsilence at Montgomery and twisting the ends of his small, black, waxedmoustache. The second was Purvis, the publican, owner of the chiefbeer-shop, and well known as the local bookmaker. He was a coarse, clean-shaven man, whose fiery face made a singular contrast with hisivory-white bald head. He had shrewd, light-blue eyes with foxy lashes, and he also leaned forward in silence from his chair, a fat, red handupon either knee, and stared critically at the young assistant. So didthe third visitor, Fawcett, the horse-breaker, who leaned back, hislong, thin legs, with their boxcloth riding-gaiters, thrust out in frontof him, tapping his protruding teeth with his riding-whip, with anxiousthought in every line of his rugged, bony face. Publican, exquisite, and horse-breaker were all three equally silent, equally earnest, andequally critical. Montgomery seated in the midst of them, looked fromone to the other. 

"Well, gentlemen?" he observed, but no answer came. 

The position was embarrassing. 

"No, " said the horse-breaker, at last. "No. It's off. It's nowt. "

"Stand oop, lad; let's see thee standin'. " It was the publican whospoke. Montgomery obeyed. He would learn all about it, no doubt, if hewere patient. He stood up and turned slowly round, as if in front ofhis tailor. 

"It's off! It's off!" cried the horse-breaker. "Why, mon, the Masterwould break him over his knee. "

"Oh, that be hanged for a yarn!" said the young Cantab. "You can dropout if you like, Fawcett, but I'll see this thing through, if I have todo it alone. I don't hedge a penny. I like the cut of him a great dealbetter than I liked Ted Barton. "

"Look at Barton's shoulders, Mr. Wilson. "

"Lumpiness isn't always strength. Give me nerve and fire and breed. That's what wins. "

"Ay, sir, you have it theer--you have it theer!" said the fat, red-facedpublican, in a thick suety voice. "It's the same wi' poops. Get 'emclean-bred an' fine, an' they'll yark the thick 'uns--yark 'em out o'their skins. "

"He's ten good pund on the light side, " growled the horse-breaker. 

"He's a welter weight, anyhow. "

"A hundred and thirty. "

"A hundred and fifty, if he's an ounce. "

"Well, the Master doesn't scale much more than that. "

"A hundred and seventy-five. "

"That was when he was hog-fat and living high. Work the grease out ofhim and I lay there's no great difference between them. Have you beenweighed lately, Mr. Montgomery?"

It was the first direct question which had been asked him. He had stoodin the midst of them like a horse at a fair, and he was just beginningto wonder whether he was more angry or amused. 

"I am just eleven stone, " said he. 

"I said that he was a welter weight. "

"But suppose you was trained?" said the publican. "Wot then?"

"I am always in training. "

"In a manner of speakin', no doubt, he _is_ always in trainin', "remarked the horse-breaker. "But trainin' for everyday work ain't thesame as trainin' with a trainer; and I dare bet, with all respec' toyour opinion, Mr. Wilson, that there's half a stone of tallow on him atthis minute. "

The young Cantab put his fingers on the assistant's upper arm, then withhis other hand on his wrist, he bent the forearm sharply, and felt thebiceps, as round and hard as a cricket-ball, spring up under hisfingers. 

"Feel that!" said he. 

The publican and horse-breaker felt it with an air of reverence. "Goodlad! He'll do yet!" cried Purvis. 

"Gentlemen, " said Montgomery, "I think that you will acknowledge that Ihave boon very patient with you. I have listened to all that you haveto say about my personal appearance, and now I must really beg that youwill have the goodness to tell me what is the matter. "

They all sat down in their serious, business-like way. 

"That's easy done, Mr. Montgomery, " said the fat-voiced publican. "But before sayin' anything we had to wait and see whether, in a way ofspeakin', there was any need for us to say anything at all. Mr. Wilsonthinks there is. Mr. Fawcett, who has the same right to his opinion, bein' also a backer and one o' the committee, thinks the other way. "

"I thought him too light built, and I think so now, " said thehorse-breaker, still tapping his prominent teeth with the metal head ofhis riding-whip. "But happen he may pull through, and he's afine-made, buirdly young chap, so if you mean to back him, Mr. Wilson--

"Which I do. "

"And you, Purvis?"

"I ain't one to go back, Fawcett. "

"Well, I'll stan' to my share of the purse. "

"And well I knew you would, " said Purvis, "for it would be somethin' newto find Isaac Fawcett as a spoil-sport. Well, then, we will make up thehundred for the stake among us, and the fight stands--always supposin'the young man is willin'. "

"Excuse all this rot, Mr. Montgomery, " said the University man, in agenial voice. "We've begun at the wrong end, I know, but we'll soonstraighten it out, and I hope that you will see your way to falling inwith our views. In the first place, you remember the man whom youknocked out this morning? He is Barton--the famous Ted Barton. "

"I'm sure, sir, you may well be proud to have outed him in one round, "said the publican. "Why, it took Morris, the ten-stone-six champion, adeal more trouble than that before he put Barton to sleep. You've donea fine performance, sir, and happen you'll do a finer, if you giveyourself the chance. "

"I never heard of Ted Barton, beyond seeing the name on a medicinelabel, " said the assistant. 

"Well, you may take it from me that he's a slaughterer, " said thehorse-breaker. "You've taught him a lesson that he needed, for it wasalways a word and a blow with him, and the word alone was worth fiveshillin' in a public court. He won't be so ready now to shake his niefin the face of everyone he meets. However, that's neither here northere. "

Montgomery looked at them in bewilderment. 

"For goodness' sake, gentlemen, tell me what it is you want me to do!"he cried. 

"We want you to fight Silas Craggs, better known as the Master ofCroxley. "

"But why?"

"Because Ted Barton was to have fought him next Saturday. He was thechampion of the Wilson coal-pits, and the other was the Master of theiron-folk down at the Croxley smelters. We'd matched our man for apurse of a hundred against the Master. But you've queered our man, andhe can't face such a battle with a two-inch cut at the back of his head. There's only one thing to be done, sir, and that is for you to take hisplace. If you can lick Ted Barton you may lick the Master of Croxley, but if you don't we're done, for there's no one else who is in the samestreet with him in this district. It's twenty rounds, two-ounce gloves, Queensberry rules, and a decision on points if you fight to the finish. "

For a moment the absurdity of the thing drove every other thought out ofMontgomery's head. But then there came a sudden revulsion. A hundredpounds!--all he wanted to complete his education was lying there readyto his hand, if only that hand were strong enough to pick it up. He hadthought bitterly that morning that there was no market for his strength, but here was one where his muscle might earn more in an hour than hisbrains in a year. But a chill of doubt came over him. "How can I fightfor the coal-pits?" said he. "I am not connected with them. "

"Eh, lad, but thou art!" cried old Purvis. "We've got it down inwritin', and it's clear enough 'Anyone connected with the coal-pits. 'Doctor Oldacre is the coal-pit club doctor; thou art his assistant. What more can they want?"

"Yes, that's right enough, " said the Cantab. "It would be a verysporting thing of you, Mr. Montgomery, if you would come to our helpwhen we are in such a hole. Of course, you might not like to take thehundred pounds; but I have no doubt that, in the case of your winning, we could arrange that it should take the form of a watch or piece ofplate, or any other shape which might suggest itself to you. You see, you are responsible for our having lost our champion, so we really feelthat we have a claim upon you. "

"Give me a moment, gentlemen. It is very unexpected. I am afraid thedoctor would never consent to my going--in fact, I am sure that he wouldnot. "

"But he need never know--not before the fight, at any rate. We are notbound to give the name of our man. So long as he is within the weightlimits on the day of the fight, that is all that concerns anyone. "

The adventure and the profit would either of them have attractedMontgomery. The two combined were irresistible. "Gentlemen, " said he, "I'll do it!"

The three sprang from their seats. The publican had seized his righthand, the horse-dealer his left, and the Cantab slapped him on the back. 

"Good lad! good lad!" croaked the publican. "Eh, mon, but if thou yarkhim, thou'll rise in one day from being just a common doctor to thebest-known mon 'twixt here and Bradford. Thou art a witherin' tyke, thou art, and no mistake; and if thou beat the Master of Croxley, thou'll find all the beer thou want for the rest of thy life waiting forthee at the 'Four Sacks. '"

"It is the most sporting thing I ever heard of in my life, " said youngWilson. "By George, sir, if you pull it off, you've got theconstituency in your pocket, if you care to stand. You know theout-house in my garden?"

"Next the road?"

"Exactly. I turned it into a gymnasium for Ted Barton. You'll find allyou want there: clubs, punching ball, bars, dumb-bells, everything. Then you'll want a sparring partner. Ogilvy has been acting for Barton, but we don't think that he is class enough. Barton bears you no grudge. He's a good-hearted fellow, though cross-grained with strangers. Helooked upon you as a stranger this morning, but he says he knows younow. He is quite ready to spar with you for practice, and he will comeany hour you will name. "

"Thank you; I will let you know the hour, " said Montgomery; and so thecommittee departed jubilant upon their way. 

The medical assistant sat for a time in the surgery turning it over alittle in his mind. He had been trained originally at the University bythe man who had been middle-weight champion in his day. It was truethat his teacher was long past his prime, slow upon his feet, and stiffin his joints, but even so he was still a tough antagonist; butMontgomery had found at last that he could more than hold his own withhim. He had won the University medal, and his teacher, who had trainedso many students, was emphatic in his opinion that he had never had onewho was in the same class with him. He had been exhorted to go in forthe Amateur Championships, but he had no particular ambition in thatdirection. Once he had put on the gloves with Hammer Tunstall in abooth at a fair and had fought three rattling rounds, in which he hadthe worst of it, but had made the prize fighter stretch himself to theuttermost. There was his whole record, and was it enough to encouragehim to stand up to the Master of Croxley? He had never heard of theMaster before, but then he had lost touch of the ring during the lastfew years of hard work. After all, what did it matter? If he won, there was the money, which meant so much to him. If he lost, it wouldonly mean a thrashing. He could take punishment without flinching, ofthat he was certain. If there were only one chance in a hundred ofpulling it off, then it was worth his while to attempt it. 

Dr. Oldacre, new come from church, with an ostentatious Prayer-book inhis kid-gloved hand, broke in upon his meditation. 

"You don't go to service, I observe, Mr. Montgomery" said he, coldly. 

"No, sir; I have had some business to detain me. "

"It is very near to my heart that my household should set a goodexample. There are so few educated people in this district that a greatresponsibility devolves upon us. If we do not live up to the highest, how can we expect these poor workers to do so? It is a dreadful thingto reflect that the parish takes a great deal more interest in anapproaching glove fight than in their religious duties. "

"A glove fight, sir?" said Montgomery, guiltily. 

"I believe that to be the correct term. One of my patients tells methat it is the talk of the district. A local ruffian, a patient ofours, by the way, matched against a pugilist over at Croxley. I cannot understand why the law does not step in and stop so degradingan exhibition. It is really a prize fight. "

"A glove fight, you said. "

"I am informed that a 2oz. Glove is an evasion by which they dodge thelaw, and make it difficult for the police to interfere. They contendfor a sum of money. It seems dreadful and almost incredible--does itnot?--to think that such scenes can be enacted within a few miles of ourpeaceful home. But you will realise, Mr. Montgomery, that while thereare such influences for us to counteract, it is very necessary that weshould live up to our highest. "

The doctor's sermon would have had more effect if the assistant had notonce or twice had occasion to test his highest, and come upon it atunexpectedly humble elevations. It is always so particularly easy to"compound for sins we're most inclined to by damning those we have nomind to. " In any case, Montgomery felt that of all the men concerned insuch a fight--promoters, backers, spectators--it is the actual fighterwho holds the strongest and most honourable position. His consciencegave him no concern upon the subject. Endurance and courage arevirtues, not vices, and brutality is, at least, better than effeminacy. 

There was a little tobacco-shop at the corner of the street, whereMontgomery got his bird's-eye and also his local information, for theshopman was a garrulous soul, who knew everything about the affairs ofthe district. The assistant strolled down there after tea and asked, ina casual way, whether the tobacconist had ever heard of the Master ofCroxley. 

"Heard of him! Heard of him!" the little man could hardly articulate inhis astonishment. "Why, sir, he's the first mon o' the district, an'his name's as well known in the West Riding as the winner o' t' Derby. But Lor, ' sir, "--here he stopped and rummaged among a heap of papers. "They are makin' a fuss about him on account o' his fight wi' TedBarton, and so the _Croxley Herald_ has his life an' record, an' here itis, an' thou canst read it for thysel'"

The sheet of the paper which he held up was a lake of print around anislet of illustration. The latter was a coarse wood-cut of a pugilist'shead and neck set in a cross-barred jersey. It was a sinister butpowerful face, the face of a debauched hero, clean-shaven, stronglyeye-browed, keen-eyed, with huge, aggressive jaw, and an animal dewlapbeneath it. The long, obstinate cheeks ran flush up to the narrow, sinister eyes. The mighty neck came down square from the ears andcurved outwards into shoulders, which had lost nothing at the hands ofthe local artist. Above was written "Silas Craggs, " and beneath, "The Master of Croxley. "

"Thou'll find all about him there, sir, " said the tobacconist. "He's awitherin' tyke, he is, and we're proud to have him in the county. If hehadn't broke his leg he'd have been champion of England. "

"Broke his leg, has he?"

"Yes, and it set badly. They ca' him owd K, behind his back, for thatis how his two legs look. But his arms--well, if they was both stroppedto a bench, as the sayin' is, I wonder where the champion of Englandwould be then. "

"I'll take this with me, " said Montgomery; and putting the paper intohis pocket he returned home. 

It was not a cheering record which he read there. The whole history ofthe Croxley Master was given in full, his many victories, his fewdefeats. 

 Born in 1857 (said the provincial biographer), Silas Craggs, better known in sporting circles as the Master of Croxley, is now in his fortieth year. 

"Hang it, I'm only twenty-three!" said Montgomery to himself, and readon more cheerfully. 

 Having in his youth shown a surprising aptitude for the game, he fought his way up among his comrades, until he became the recognised champion of the district and won the proud title which he still holds. Ambitious of a more than local fame, he secured a patron, and fought his first fight against Jack Barton, of Birmingham, in May 1880, at the old Loiterers' Club. Craggs, who fought at ten stone-two at the time, had the better of fifteen rattling rounds, and gained an award on points against the Midlander. Having disposed of James Dunn, of Rotherhithe, Cameron, of Glasgow, and a youth named Fernie, he was thought so highly of by the fancy that he was matched against Ernest Willox, at that time middle-weight champion of the North of England, and defeated him in a hard-fought battle, knocking him out in the tenth round after a punishing contest. At this period it looked as if the very highest honours of the ring were within the reach of the young Yorkshireman, but he was laid upon the shelf by a most unfortunate accident. The kick of a horse broke his thigh, and for a year he was compelled to rest himself. When he returned to his work the fracture had set badly, and his activity was much impaired. It was owing to this that he was defeated in seven rounds by Willox, the man whom he had previously beaten, and afterwards by James Shaw, of London, though the latter acknowledged that he had found the toughest customer of his career. Undismayed by his reverses, the Master adapted the style of his fighting to his physical disabilities and resumed his career of victory--defeating Norton (the black), Hobby Wilson, and Levi Cohen, the latter a heavy-weight. Conceding two stone, he fought a draw with the famous Billy McQuire, and afterwards, for a purse of fifty pounds, he defeated Sam Hare at the Pelican Club, London. In 1891 a decision was given against him upon a foul when fighting a winning fight against Jim Taylor, the Australian middle weight, and so mortified was he by the decision, that he withdrew from the ring. Since then he has hardly fought at all save to accommodate any local aspirant who may wish to learn the difference between a bar-room scramble and a scientific contest. The latest of these ambitious souls comes from the Wilson coal-pits, which have undertaken to put up a stake of 100 pounds and back their local champion. There are various rumours afloat as to who their representative is to be, the name of Ted Barton being freely mentioned; but the betting, which is seven to one on the Master against any untried man, is a fair reflection of the feeling of the community. 

Montgomery read it over twice, and it left him with a very serious face. No light matter this which he had undertaken; no battle with arough-and-tumble fighter who presumed upon a local reputation. The man's record showed that he was first-class--or nearly so. Therewere a few points in his favour, and he must make the most of them. There was age--twenty-three against forty. There was an old ringproverb that "Youth will be served, " but the annals of the ring offer agreat number of exceptions. A hard veteran full of cool valour andring-craft, could give ten or fifteen years and a beating to moststriplings. He could not rely too much upon his advantage in age. But then there was the lameness; that must surely count for a greatdeal. And, lastly, there was the chance that the Master might underratehis opponent, that he might be remiss in his training, and refuse toabandon his usual way of life, if he thought that he had an easy taskbefore him. In a man of his age and habits this seemed very possible. Montgomery prayed that it might be so. Meanwhile, if his opponent werethe best man who ever jumped the ropes into a ring, his own duty wasclear. He must prepare himself carefully, throw away no chance, and dothe very best that he could. But he knew enough to appreciate thedifference which exists in boxing, as in every sport, between theamateur and the professional. The coolness, the power of hitting, aboveall the capability of taking punishment, count for so much. Thosespecially developed, gutta-percha-like abdominal muscles of the hardenedpugilist will take without flinching a blow which would leave anotherman writhing on the ground. Such things are not to be acquired in aweek, but all that could be done in a week should be done. 

The medical assistant had a good basis to start from. He was 5ft. 11ins. --tall enough for anything on two legs, as the old ring men used tosay--lithe and spare, with the activity of a panther, and a strengthwhich had hardly yet ever found its limitations. His musculardevelopment was finely hard, but his power came rather from that highernerve-energy which counts for nothing upon a measuring tape. He had thewell-curved nose and the widely opened eye which never yet were seenupon the face of a craven, and behind everything he had the drivingforce, which came from the knowledge that his whole career was at stakeupon the contest. The three backers rubbed their hands when they sawhim at work punching the ball in the gymnasium next morning; andFawcett, the horse-breaker, who had written to Leeds to hedge his bets, sent a wire to cancel the letter, and to lay another fifty at the marketprice of seven to one. 

Montgomery's chief difficulty was to find time for his training withoutany interference from the doctor. His work took him a large part of theday, but as the visiting was done on foot, and considerable distanceshad to be traversed, it was a training in itself. For the rest, hepunched the swinging ball and worked with the dumb-bells for an hourevery morning and evening, and boxed twice a day with Ted Barton in thegymnasium, gaining as much profit as could be got from a rushing, two-handed slogger. Barton was full of admiration for his clevernessand quickness, but doubtful about his strength. Hard hitting was thefeature of his own style, and he exacted it from others. 

"Lord, sir, that's a turble poor poonch for an eleven-stone man!" hewould cry. "Thou wilt have to hit harder than that afore t' Master willknow that thou art theer. All, thot's better, mon, thot's fine!" hewould add, as his opponent lifted him across the room on the end of aright counter. "Thot's how I likes to feel 'em. Happen thou'lt pullthrough yet. " He chuckled with joy when Montgomery knocked him into acorner. "Eh, mon, thou art coming along grand. Thou hast fair yarkedme off my legs. Do it again, lad, do it again!"

The only part of Montgomery's training which came within the doctor'sobservation was his diet, and that puzzled him considerably. 

"You will excuse my remarking, Mr. Montgomery, that you are becomingrather particular in your tastes. Such fads are not to be encouraged inone's youth. Why do you eat toast with every meal?"

"I find that it suits me better than bread, sir. "

"It entails unnecessary work upon the cook. I observe, also, that youhave turned against potatoes. "

"Yes, sir; I think that I am better without them. "

"And you no longer drink your beer?"

"No, sir. "

"These causeless whims and fancies are very much to be deprecated, Mr. Montgomery. Consider how many there are to whom these very potatoes andthis very beer would be most acceptable. "

"No doubt, sir, but at present I prefer to do without them. "

They were sitting alone at lunch, and the assistant thought that itwould be a good opportunity of asking leave for the day of the fight. 

"I should be glad if you could let me have leave for Saturday, Dr. Oldacre. "

"It is very inconvenient upon so busy a day. "

"I should do a double day's work on Friday so as to leave everything inorder. I should hope to be back in the evening. "

"I am afraid I cannot spare you, Mr. Montgomery. "

This was a facer. If he could not get leave he would go without it. 

"You will remember, Dr. Oldacre, that when I came to you it wasunderstood that I should have a clear day every month. I have neverclaimed one. But now there are reasons why I wish to have a holidayupon Saturday. "

Dr. Oldacre gave in with a very bad grace. "Of course, if you insistupon your formal rights, there is no more to be said, Mr. Montgomery, though I feel that it shows a certain indifference to my comfort and thewelfare of the practice. Do you still insist?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Very good. Have your way. "

The doctor was boiling over with anger, but Montgomery was a valuableassistant--steady, capable, and hardworking--and he could not afford tolose him. Even if he had been prompted to advance those class fees, forwhich his assistant had appealed, it would have been against hisinterests to do so, for he did not wish him to qualify, and he desiredhim to remain in his subordinate position, in which he worked so hardfor so small a wage. There was something in the cool insistence of theyoung man, a quiet resolution in his voice as he claimed his Saturday, which aroused his curiosity. 

"I have no desire to interfere unduly with your affairs, Mr. Montgomery, but were you thinking of having a day in Leeds upon Saturday?"

"No, sir. 

"In the country?"

"Yes, sir. "

"You are very wise. You will find a quiet day among the wild flowers avery valuable restorative. Have you thought of any particulardirection?"

"I am going over Croxley way. "

"Well, there is no prettier country when once you are past theiron-works. What could be more delightful than to lie upon the Fells, basking in the sunshine, with perhaps some instructive and elevatingbook as your companion? I should recommend a visit to the ruins of St. Bridget's Church, a very interesting relic of the early Norman era. By the way, there is one objection which I see to your going to Croxleyon Saturday. It is upon that date, as I am informed, that thatruffianly glove fight takes place. You may find yourself molested bythe blackguards whom it will attract. "

"I will take my chance of that, sir, " said the assistant. 

On the Friday night, which was the last night before the fight, Montgomery's three backers assembled in the gymnasium and inspectedtheir man as he went through some light exercises to keep his musclessupple. He was certainly in splendid condition, his skin shining withhealth, and his eyes with energy and confidence. The three walked roundhim and exulted. 

"He's simply ripping!" said the undergraduate. 

"By gad, you've come out of it splendidly. You're as hard as a pebble, and fit to fight for your life. "

"Happen he's a trifle on the fine side, " said the publican. "Runs a bitlight at the loins, to my way of thinking'. "

"What weight to-day?"

"Ten stone eleven, " the assistant answered. 

"That's only three pund off in a week's trainin', " said thehorse-breaker. "He said right when he said that he was in condition. Well, it's fine stuff all there is of it, but I'm none so sure as thereis enough. " He kept poking his finger into Montgomery as if he were oneof his horses. "I hear that the Master will scale a hundred and sixtyodd at the ring-side. "

"But there's some of that which he'd like well to pull off and leavebehind wi' his shirt, " said Purvis. "I hear they've had a rare job toget him to drop his beer, and if it had not been for that greatred-headed wench of his they'd never ha' done it. She fair scratted theface off a potman that had brought him a gallon from t' 'Chequers. 'They say the hussy is his sparrin' partner, as well as his sweetheart, and that his poor wife is just breakin' her heart over it. Hullo, young'un, what do you want?"

The door of the gymnasium had opened and a lad, about sixteen, grimy andblack with soot and iron, stepped into the yellow glare of the oil lamp. Ted Barton seized him by the collar. 

"See here, thou yoong whelp, this is private, and we want noan o' thyspyin'!"

"But I maun speak to Mr. Wilson. "

The young Cantab stepped forward. 

"Well, my lad, what is it?"

"It's aboot t' fight, Mr. Wilson, sir. I wanted to tell your monsomethin' aboot t' Maister. "

"We've no time to listen to gossip, my boy. We know all about theMaster. "

"But thou doan't, sir. Nobody knows but me and mother, and we thoughtas we'd like thy mon to know, sir, for we want him to fair bray him. "

"Oh, you want the Master fair brayed, do you? So do we. Well, whathave you to say?"

"Is this your mon, sir?"

"Well, suppose it is?"

"Then it's him I want to tell aboot it. T' Maister is blind o' the lefteye. "

"Nonsense!"

"It's true, sir. Not stone blind, but rarely fogged. He keeps itsecret, but mother knows, and so do I. If thou slip him on the leftside he can't cop thee. Thou'll find it right as I tell thee. And markhim when he sinks his right. 'Tis his best blow, his right upper-cut. T' Maister's finisher, they ca' it at t' works. It's a turble blow whenit do come home. "

"Thank you, my boy. This is information worth having about his sight, "said Wilson. "How came you to know so much? Who are you?"

"I'm his son, sir. "

Wilson whistled. 

"And who sent you to us?"

"My mother. I maun get back to her again. "

"Take this half-crown. "

"No, sir, I don't seek money in comin' here. I do it--"

"For love?" suggested the publican. 

"For hate!" said the boy, and darted off into the darkness. 

"Seems to me t' red-headed wench may do him more harm than good, afterall, " remarked the publican. "And now, Mr. Montgomery, sir, you've doneenough for this evenin', an' a nine-hours' sleep is the best trainin'before a battle. Happen this time to-morrow night you'll be safe backagain with your 100 pound in your pocket. "

 II

Work was struck at one o'clock at the coal-pits and the iron-works, andthe fight was arranged for three. From the Croxley Furnaces, fromWilson's Coal-pits, from the Heartsease Mine, from the Dodd Mills, fromthe Leverworth Smelters the workmen came trooping, each with hisfox-terrier or his lurcher at his heels. Warped with labour and twistedby toil, bent double by week-long work in the cramped coal galleries orhalf-blinded with years spent in front of white-hot fluid metal, thesemen still gilded their harsh and hopeless lives by their devotion tosport. It was their one relief, the only thing which could distracttheir minds from sordid surroundings, and give them an interest beyondthe blackened circle which enclosed them. Literature, art, science, allthese things were beyond their horizon; but the race, the footballmatch, the cricket, the fight, these were things which they couldunderstand, which they could speculate upon in advance and comment uponafterwards. Sometimes brutal, sometimes grotesque, the love of sport isstill one of the great agencies which make for the happiness of ourpeople. It lies very deeply in the springs of our nature, and when ithas been educated out, a higher, more refined nature may be left, but itwill not be of that robust British type which has left its mark sodeeply on the world. Every one of these raddled workers, slouching withhis dog at his heels to see something of the fight, was a true unit ofhis race. 

It was a squally May day, with bright sunbursts and driving showers. Montgomery worked all morning in the surgery getting his medicine madeup. 

"The weather seems so very unsettled, Mr. Montgomery, " remarked thedoctor, "that I am inclined to think that you had better postpone yourlittle country excursion until a later date. "

"I am afraid that I must go to-day, sir. "

"I have just had an intimation that Mrs. Potter, at the other side ofAngleton, wishes to see me. It is probable that I shall be there allday. It will be extremely inconvenient to leave the house empty solong. "

"I am very sorry, sir, but I must go, " said the assistant, doggedly. 

The doctor saw that it would be useless to argue, and departed in theworst of bad tempers upon mission. Montgomery felt easier now that hewas gone. He went up to his room, and packed his running-shoes, hisfighting-drawers, and his cricket sash into a hand-bag. When he camedown, Mr. Wilson was waiting for him in the surgery. "I hear the doctorhas gone. "

"Yes; he is likely to be away all day. "

"I don't see that it matters much. It's bound to come to his ears byto-night. "

"Yes; it's serious with me, Mr. Wilson. If I win, it's all right. I don't mind telling you that the hundred pounds will make all thedifference to me. But if I lose, I shall lose my situation, for, as yousay, I can't keep it secret. "

"Never mind. We'll see you through among us. I only wonder the doctorhas not heard, for it's all over the country that you are to fight theCroxley Champion. We've had Armitage up about it already. He's theMaster's backer, you know. He wasn't sure that you were eligible. The Master said he wanted you whether you were eligible or not. Armitage has money on, and would have made trouble if he could. But Ishowed him that you came within the conditions of the challenge, and heagreed that it was all right. They think they have a soft thing on. "

"Well, I can only do my best, " said Montgomery. 

They lunched together; a silent and rather nervous repast, forMontgomery's mind was full of what was before him, and Wilson hadhimself more money at stake than he cared to lose. 

Wilson's carriage and pair were at the door, the horses with blue andwhite rosettes at their ears, which were the colours of the WilsonCoal-pits, well known, on many a football field. At the avenue gate acrowd of some hundred pit-men and their wives gave a cheer as thecarriage passed. To the assistant it all seemed dream-like andextraordinary--the strangest experience of his life, but with a thrillof human action and interest in it which made it passionately absorbing. He lay back in the open carriage and saw the fluttering handkerchiefsfrom the doors and windows of the miners' cottages. Wilson had pinned ablue and white rosette upon his coat, and everybody knew him as theirchampion. "Good luck, sir! good luck to thee!" they shouted from theroadside. He felt that it was like some unromantic knight riding downto sordid lists, but there was something of chivalry in it all the same. He fought for others as well as for himself. He might fail from want ofskill or strength, but deep in his sombre soul he vowed that it shouldnever be for want of heart. 

Mr. Fawcett was just mounting into his high-wheeled, spidery dogcart, with his little bit of blood between the shafts. He waved his whip andfell in behind the carriage. They overtook Purvis, the tomato-facedpublican, upon the road, with his wife in her Sunday bonnet. They alsodropped into the procession, and then, as they traversed the seven milesof the high road to Croxley, their two-horsed, rosetted carriage becamegradually the nucleus of a comet with a loosely radiating tail. From every side-road came the miners' carts, the humble, ramshackletraps, black and bulging, with their loads of noisy, foul-tongued, open-hearted partisans. They trailed for a long quarter of a milebehind them--cracking, whipping, shouting, galloping, swearing. Horsemen and runners were mixed with the vehicles. And then suddenly asquad of the Sheffield Yeomanry, who were having their annual trainingin those parts, clattered and jingled out of a field, and rode as anescort to the carriage. Through the dust-clouds round him Montgomerysaw the gleaming brass helmets, the bright coats, and the tossing headsof the chargers, the delighted brown faces of the troopers. It was moredream-like than ever. 

And then, as they approached the monstrous, uncouth line ofbottle-shaped buildings which marked the smelting-works of Croxley, their long, writhing snake of dust was headed off by another but longerone which wound across their path. The main road into which their ownopened was filled by the rushing current of traps. The Wilsoncontingent halted until the others should get past. The iron-mencheered and groaned, according to their humour, as they whirled pasttheir antagonist. Rough chaff flew back and forwards like iron nuts andsplinters of coal. "Brought him up, then!" "Got t' hearse for to fetchhim back?" "Where's t' owd K-legs?" "Mon, mon, have thy photographtook--'twill mind thee of what thou used to look!" "He fight?--he'snowt but a half-baked doctor!" "Happen he'll doctor thy CroxleyChampion afore he's through wi't. "

So they flashed at each other as the one side waited and the otherpassed. Then there came a rolling murmur swelling into a shout, and agreat brake with four horses came clattering along, all streaming withsalmon-pink ribbons. The driver wore a white hat with pink rosette, andbeside him, on the high seat, were a man and a woman-she with her armround his waist. Montgomery had one glimpse of them as they flashedpast; he with a furry cap drawn low over his brow, a great frieze coatand a pink comforter round his throat; she brazen, red-headed, bright-coloured, laughing excitedly. The Master, for it was he, turnedas he passed, gazed hard at Montgomery, and gave him a menacing, gap-toothed grin. It was a hard, wicked face, blue-jowled and craggy, with long, obstinate cheeks and inexorable eyes. The brake behind wasfull of patrons of the sport-flushed iron-foremen, heads of departments, managers. One was drinking from a metal flask, and raised it toMontgomery as he passed; and then the crowd thinned, and the Wilsoncortege with their dragoons swept in at the rear of the others. 

The road led away from Croxley, between curving green hills, gashed andpolluted by the searchers for coal and iron. The whole country had beengutted, and vast piles of refuse and mountains of slag suggested themighty chambers which the labour of man had burrowed beneath. On theleft the road curved up to where a huge building, roofless anddismantled, stood crumbling and forlorn, with the light shining throughthe windowless squares. 

"That's the old Arrowsmith's factory. That's where the fight is to be, "said Wilson. "How are you feeling now?"

"Thank you, I was never better in my life, " Montgomery answered. 

"By Gad, I like your nerve!" said Wilson, who was himself flushed anduneasy. "You'll give us a fight for our money, come what may. That place on the right is the office, and that has been set aside asthe dressing and weighing room. "

The carriage drove up to it amidst the shouts of the folk upon thehillside. Lines of empty carriages and traps curved down upon thewinding road, and a black crowd surged round the door of the ruinedfactory. The seats, as a huge placard announced, were five shillings, three shillings, and a shilling, with half-price for dogs. The takings, deducting expenses, were to go to the winner, and it was already evidentthat a larger stake than a hundred pounds was in question. A babel ofvoices rose from the door, The workers wished to bring their dogs infree. The men scuffled. The dogs barked. The crowd was a whirling, eddying pool surging with a roar up to the narrow cleft which was itsonly outlet. 

The brake, with its salmon-coloured streamers and four reeking horses, stood empty before the door of the office; Wilson, Purvis, Fawcett andMontgomery passed in. 

There was a large, bare room inside with square, clean patches upon thegrimy walls, where pictures and almanacs had once hung. Worn linoleumcovered the floor, but there was no furniture save some benches and adeal table with an ewer and a basin upon it. Two of the corners werecurtained off. In the middle of the room was a weighing-chair. A hugely fat man, with a salmon tie and a blue waistcoat with birds'-eyespots, came bustling up to them. It was Armitage, the butcher andgrazier, well known for miles round as a warm man, and the most liberalpatron of sport in the Riding. "Well, well, " he grunted, in a thick, fussy, wheezy voice, "you have come, then. Got your man? Got your man?

"Here he is, fit and well. Mr. Montgomery, let me present you to Mr. Armitage. "

"Glad to meet you, sir. Happy to make your acquaintance. I make boldto say, sir, that we of Croxley admire your courage, Mr. Montgomery, andthat our only hope is a fair fight and no favour, and the best man win. That's our sentiments at Croxley. "

"And it is my sentiment, also, " said the assistant. 

"Well, you can't say fairer than that, Mr. Montgomery. You've taken alarge contrac' in hand, but a large contrac' may be carried through, sir, as anyone that knows my dealings could testify. The Master isready to weigh in!"

"So am I. "

"You must weigh in the buff. " Montgomery looked askance at the tall, red-headed woman who was standing gazing out of the window. 

"That's all right, " said Wilson. "Get behind the curtain and put onyour fighting kit. "

He did so, and came out the picture of an athlete, in white, loosedrawers, canvas shoes, and the sash of a well-known cricket club roundhis waist. He was trained to a hair, his skin gleaming like silk, andevery muscle rippling down his broad shoulders and along his beautifularms as he moved them. They bunched into ivory knobs, or slid intolong, sinuous curves, as he raised or lowered his hands. 

"What thinkest thou o' that?" asked Ted Barton, his second, of the womanin the window. 

She glanced contemptuously at the young athlete. "It's but a poorkindness thou dost him to put a thread-paper yoong gentleman like yonagainst a mon as is a mon. Why, my Jock would throttle him wi' one bondlashed behind him. "

"Happen he may--happen not, " said Barton. "I have but twa pund in theworld, but it's on him, every penny, and no hedgin'. But here's t'Maister, and rarely fine he do look. "

The prize-fighter had come out from his curtain, a squat, formidablefigure, monstrous in chest and arms, limping slightly on his distortedleg. His skin bad none of the freshness and clearness of Montgomery's, but was dusky and mottled, with one huge mole amid the mat of tangledblack hair which thatched his mighty breast. His weight bore norelation to his strength, for those huge shoulders and great arms, withbrown, sledge-hammer fists, would have fitted the heaviest man that everthrew his cap into a ring. But his loins and legs were slight inproportion. Montgomery, on the other hand, was as symmetrical as aGreek statue. It would be an encounter between a man who was speciallyfitted for one sport, and one who was equally capable of any. The twolooked curiously at each other: a bull-dog, and a high-bred clean-limbedterrier, each full of spirit. 

"How do you do?"

"How do?" The Master grinned again, and his three jagged front teethgleamed for an instant. The rest had been beaten out of him in twentyyears of battle. He spat upon the floor. "We have a rare fine dayfor't. "

"Capital, " said Montgomery. 

"That's the good feelin' I like, " wheezed the fat butcher. "Good lads, both of them!--prime lads!--hard meat an' good bone. There's noill-feelin'. "

"If he downs me, Gawd bless him!" said the Master, "An' if we down him, Gawd help him!" interrupted the woman. 

"Haud thy tongue, wench!" said the Master, impatiently. "Who art thouto put in thy word? Happen I might draw my hand across thy face. "

The woman did not take the threat amiss. "Wilt have enough for thy handto do, Jock, " said she. "Get quit o' this gradely man afore thou turnon me. "

The lovers' quarrel was interrupted by the entrance of a newcomer, agentleman with a fur-collared overcoat and a very shiny top-hat--a top-hat of a degree of glossiness which is seldom seen five miles fromHyde Park. This hat he wore at the extreme back of his head, so thatthe lower surface of the brim made a kind of frame for his high, baldforehead, his, keen eyes, his rugged and yet kindly face. He bustled inwith the quiet air of possession with which the ring master enters thecircus. 

"It's Mr. Stapleton, the referee from London, " said Wilson. 

"How do you do, Mr. Stapleton? I was introduced to you at the big fightat the Corinthian Club in Piccadilly. "

"Ah! I dare say, " said the other, shaking hands. "Fact is, I'mintroduced to so many that I can't undertake to carry their names. Wilson, is it? Well, Mr. Wilson, glad to see you. Couldn't get a flyat the station, and that's why I'm late. "

"I'm sure, sir, " said Armitage, "we should be proud that anyone so wellknown in the boxing world should come down to our little exhibition. "

"Not at all. Not at all. Anything in the interests of boxin'. Allready? Men weighed?"

"Weighing now, sir. "

"Ah! Just as well that I should see it done. Seen you before, Craggs. Saw you fight your second battle against Willox. You had beaten himonce, but he came back on you. What does the indicator say--163lbs. --two off for the kit--161lbs. Now, my lad, you jump. My goodness, whatcolours are you wearing?"

"The Anonymi Cricket Club. "

"What right have you to wear them? I belong to the club myself. "

"So do I. "

"You an amateur?"

"Yes, sir. "

"And you are fighting for a money prize?"

"Yes. "

"I suppose you know what you are doing? You realise that you're aprofessional pug from this onwards, and that if ever you fight again--"

"I'll never fight again. "

"Happen you won't, " said the woman, and the Master turned a terrible eyeupon her. 

"Well, I suppose you know your own business best. Up you jump. Onehundred and fifty-one, minus two, 149--12lbs. Difference, but youth andcondition on the other scale. Well, the sooner we get to work thebetter, for I wish to catch the seven o'clock express at Hellifield. Twenty three-minute rounds, with one-minute intervals, and Queensberryrules. Those are the conditions, are they not?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Very good, then--we may go across. "

The two combatants had overcoats thrown over their shoulders, and thewhole party, backers, fighters, seconds, and the referee filed out ofthe room. A police inspector was waiting for them in the road. He hada note-book in his hand--that terrible weapon which awes even theLondon cabman. 

"I must take your names, gentlemen, in case it should be necessary toproceed for breach of peace. "

"You don't mean to stop the fight?" cried Armitage, in a passion ofindignation. "I'm Mr. Armitage, of Croxley, and this is Mr. Wilson, andwe'll be responsible that all is fair and as it should be. "

"I'll take the names in case it should be necessary to proceed, " saidthe inspector, impassively. 

"But you know me well. "

"If you was a dook or even a judge it would be all' the same, " said theinspector. "It's the law, and there's an end. I'll not take uponmyself to stop the fight, seeing that gloves are to be used, but I'lltake the names of all concerned. Silas Craggs, Robert Montgomery, Edward Barton, James Stapleton, of London. Who seconds Silas Craggs?"

"I do, " said the woman. "Yes, you can stare, but it's my job, and noone else's. Anastasia's the name--four a's. "

"Craggs?"

"Johnson--Anastasia Johnson. If you jug him you can jug me. "

"Who talked of juggin', ye fool?" growled the Master. "Coom on, Mr. Armitage, for I'm fair sick o' this loiterin'. "

The inspector fell in with the procession, and proceeded, as they walkedup the hill, to bargain in his official capacity for a front seat, wherehe could safeguard the interests of the law, and in his privatecapacity to lay out thirty shillings at seven to one with Mr. Armitage. Through the door they passed, down a narrow lane walled with a densebank of humanity, up a wooden ladder to a platform, over a rope whichwas slung waist-high from four corner-stakes, and then Montgomeryrealised that he was in that ring in which his immediate destiny was tobe worked out. On the stake at one corner there hung a blue-and-whitestreamer. Barton led him across, the overcoat dangling loosely from hisshoulders, and he sat down on a wooden stool. Barton and another man, both wearing white sweaters, stood beside him. The so-called ring was asquare, twenty feet each way. At the opposite angle was the sinisterfigure of the Master, with his red-headed woman and a rough-faced friendto look after him. At each corner were metal basins, pitchers of water, and sponges. 

During the hubbub and uproar of the entrance Montgomery was toobewildered to take things in. But now there was a few minutes' delay, for the referee had lingered behind, and so he looked quietly about him. It was a sight to haunt him for a lifetime. Wooden seats had been builtin, sloping upwards to the tops of the walls. Above, instead of aceiling, a great flight of crows passed slowly across a square of greycloud. Right up to the topmost benches the folk were banked--broadclothin front, corduroys and fustian behind; faces turned everywhere uponhim. The grey reek of the pipes filled the building, and the air waspungent with the acrid smell of cheap, strong tobacco. Everywhere amongthe human faces were to be seen the heads of the dogs. They growled andyapped from the back benches. In that dense mass of humanity, one couldhardly pick out individuals, but Montgomery's eyes caught the brazengleam of the helmets held upon the knees of the ten yeomen of hisescort. At the very edge of the platform sat the reporters, five ofthem--three locals and two all the way from London. But where was theall-important referee? There was no sign of him, unless he were in thecentre of that angry swirl of men near the door. 

Mr. Stapleton had stopped to examine the gloves which wore to be used, and entered the building after the combatants. He had started to comedown that narrow lane with the human walls which led to the ring. But already it had gone abroad that the Wilson champion was a gentleman, and that another gentleman had been appointed as referee. A wave ofsuspicion passed through the Croxley folk. They would have one of theirown people for a referee. They would not have a stranger. His path wasstopped as he made for the ring. Excited men flung themselves in frontof him; they waved their fists in his face and cursed him. A womanhowled vile names in his ear. Somebody struck at him with an umbrella. "Go thou back to Lunnon. We want noan o' thee. Go thou back!" theyyelled. 

Stapleton, with his shiny hat cocked backwards, and his large, bulgingforehead swelling from under it, looked round him from beneath his bushybrows. He was in the centre of a savage and dangerous mob. Then hedrew his watch from his pocket and held it dial upwards in his palm. 

"In three minutes, " said he, "I will declare the fight off. "

They raged round him. His cool face and that aggressive top-hatirritated them. Grimy hands were raised. But it was difficult, somehow, to strike a man who was so absolutely indifferent. 

"In two minutes I declare the fight off. "

They exploded into blasphemy. The breath of angry men smoked into hisplacid face. A gnarled, grimy fist vibrated at the end of his nose. "We tell thee we want noan o' thee. Get thou back where thou com'stfrom. "

"In one minute I declare the fight off. "

Then the calm persistence of the man conquered the swaying, mutable, passionate crowd. 

"Let him through, mon. Happen there'll be no fight after a'. "

"Let him through. "

"Bill, thou loomp, let him pass. Dost want the fight declared off?"

"Make room for the referee!--room for the Lunnon referee!"

And half pushed, half carried, he was swept up to the ring. There weretwo chairs by the side of it, one for him and one for the timekeeper. He sat down, his hands on his knees, his hat at a more wonderful anglethan ever, impassive but solemn, with the aspect of one who appreciateshis responsibilities. 

Mr. Armitage, the portly butcher, made his way into the ring and held uptwo fat hands, sparkling with rings, as a signal for silence. 

"Gentlemen!" he yelled. And then in a crescendo shriek, "Gentlemen!"

"And ladies!" cried somebody, for, indeed, there was a fair sprinklingof women among the crowd. "Speak up, owd man!" shouted another. "Whatprice pork chops?" cried somebody at the back. Everybody laughed, andthe dogs began to bark. Armitage waved his hands amidst the uproar asif he were conducting an orchestra. At last the babel thinned intosilence. 

"Gentlemen, " he yelled, "the match is between Silas Craggs, whom wecall the Master of Croxley, and Robert Montgomery, of the WilsonCoal-pits. The match was to be under eleven-eight. When they wereweighed just now, Craggs weighed eleven-seven, and Montgomery ten-nine. The conditions of the contest are--the best of twenty three-minuterounds with two-ounce gloves. Should the fight run to its full length, it will, of course, be decided upon points. Mr. Stapleton, thewell-known London referee, has kindly consented to see fair play. I wish to say that Mr. Wilson and I, the chief backers of the two men, have every confidence in Mr. Stapleton, and that we beg that you willaccept his rulings without dispute. "

He then turned from one combatant to the other, with a wave of his hand. 

 III

"Montgomery--Craggs!" said he. 

A great hush fell over the huge assembly. Even the dogs stoppedyapping; one might have thought that the monstrous room was empty. The two men had stood up, the small white gloves over their handsThey advanced from their corners and shook hands, Montgomery gravely, Craggs with a smile. Then they fell into position. The crowd gave along sigh--the intake of a thousand excited breaths. The referee tiltedhis chair on to its back legs, and looked moodily critical from the oneto the other. 

It was strength against activity--that was evident from the first. The Master stood stolidly upon his K leg. It gave him a tremendouspedestal; one could hardly imagine his being knocked down. And he couldpivot round upon it with extraordinary quickness; but his advance orretreat was ungainly. His frame, however, was so much larger andbroader than that of the student, and his brown, massive face looked soresolute and menacing that the hearts of the Wilson party sank withinthem. There was one heart, however, which had not done so. It was thatof Robert Montgomery. 

Any nervousness which he may have had completely passed away now that hehad his work before him. Here was something definite--this hard-faced, deformed Hercules to beat, with a career as the price of beating him. He glowed with the joy of action; it thrilled through his nerves. He faced his man with little in-and-out steps, breaking to the left, breaking to the right, feeling his way, while Craggs, with a dull, malignant eye, pivoted slowly upon his weak leg, his left arm halfextended, his right sunk low across the mark. Montgomery led with hisleft, and then led again, getting lightly home each time. He triedagain, but the Master had his counter ready, and Montgomery reeled backfrom a harder blow than he had given. Anastasia, the woman, gave ashrill cry of encouragement, and her man let fly his right. Montgomeryducked under it, and in an instant the two were in each other's arms. 

"Break away! Break away!" said the referee. 

The Master struck upwards on the break, and shook Montgomery with theblow. Then it was "time. " It had been a spirited opening round. The people buzzed into comment and applause. Montgomery was quitefresh, but the hairy chest of the Master was rising and falling. The man passed a sponge over his head while Anastasia flapped the towelbefore him. "Good lass! good lass!" cried the crowd, and cheered her. 

The men were up again, the Master grimly watchful, Montgomery as alertas a kitten. The Master tried a sudden rush, squattering along with hisawkward gait, but coming faster than one would think. The studentslipped aside and avoided him. The Master stopped, grinned, and shookhis head. Then he motioned with his hand as an invitation toMontgomery to come to him. The student did so and led with his left, but got a swinging right counter in the ribs in exchange. The heavyblow staggered him, and the Master came scrambling in to complete hisadvantage; but Montgomery, with his greater activity, kept out of dangeruntil the call of "time. " A tame round, and the advantage with theMaster. 

"T' Maister's too strong for him, " said a smelter to his neighbour. 

"Ay; but t'other's a likely lad. Happen we'll see some sport yet. He can joomp rarely. "

"But t' Maister can stop and hit rarely. Happen he'll mak' him joompwhen he gets his nief upon him. "

They were up again, the water glistening upon their faces. Montgomeryled instantly, and got his right home with a sounding smack upon themaster's forehead. There was a shout from the colliers, and "Silence!Order!" from the referee. Montgomery avoided the counter, and scoredwith his left. Fresh applause, and the referee upon his feet inindignation. . 

"No comments, gentlemen, if _you_ please, during the rounds. "

"Just bide a bit!" growled the Master. 

"Don't talk--fight!" said the referee, angrily. 

Montgomery rubbed in the point by a flush hit upon the mouth, and theMaster shambled back to his corner like an angry bear, having had allthe worst of the round. 

"Where's thot seven to one?" shouted Purvis, the publican. "I'll takesix to one!"

There were no answers. 

"Five to one!"

There were givers at that. Purvis booked them in a tattered notebook. 

Montgomery began to feel happy. He lay back with his legs outstretched, his back against the corner-post, and one gloved hand upon each rope. What a delicious minute it was between each round. If he could onlykeep out of harm's way, he must surely wear this man out before the endof twenty rounds. He was so slow that all his strength went fornothing. 

"You're fightin' a winnin' fight--a winnin' fight, " Ted Barton whisperedin his ear. "Go canny; tak' no chances; you have him proper. "

But the Master was crafty. He had fought so many battles with hismaimed limb that he knew how to make the best of it. Warily and slowlyhe manoeuvred round Montgomery, stepping forward and yet again forwarduntil he had imperceptibly backed him into his corner. The studentsuddenly saw a flash of triumph upon the grim face, and a gleam in thedull, malignant eyes. The Master was upon him. He sprang aside and wason the ropes. The Master smashed in one of his terrible upper-cuts, andMontgomery half broke it with his guard. The student sprang the otherway and was against the other converging rope. He was trapped in theangle. The Master sent in another with a hoggish grunt which spoke ofthe energy behind it. Montgomery ducked, but got a jab from the leftupon the mark. He closed with his man. 

"Break away! Break away!" cried the referee. Montgomery disengaged, and got a swinging blow on the ear as he did so. It had been a damaginground for him, and the Croxley people were shouting their delight. "Gentlemen, I will _not_ have this noise!" Stapleton roared. "I havebeen accustomed to preside at a well-conducted club, and not at abear-garden. " This little man, with the tilted hat and the bulgingforehead, dominated the whole assembly. He was like a head-master amonghis boys. He glared round him, and nobody cared to meet his eye. Anastasia had kissed the Master when he resumed his seat. 

"Good lass. Do't again!" cried the laughing crowd, and the angry Mastershook his glove at her, as she flapped her towel in front of him. Montgomery was weary and a little sore, but not depressed. He hadlearned something. He would not again be tempted into danger. 

For three rounds the honours were fairly equal. The student's hittingwas the quicker, the Master's the harder. Profiting by his lesson, Montgomery kept himself in the open, and refused to be herded into acorner. Sometimes the Master succeeded in rushing him to theside-ropes, but the younger man slipped away, or closed and thendisengaged. The monotonous "Break away! Break away!" of the refereebroke in upon the quick, low patter of rubber-soled shoes, the dull thudof the blows, and the sharp, hissing breath of two tired men. 

The ninth round found both of them in fairly good condition. Montgomery's head was still singing from the blow that he had in thecorner, and one of his thumbs pained him acutely and seemed to bedislocated. The Master showed no sign of a touch, but his breathing wasthe more laboured, and a long line of ticks upon the referee's papershowed that the student had a good show of points. But one of thisiron-man's blows was worth three of his, and he knew that without thegloves he could not have stood for three rounds against him. All theamateur work that he had done was the merest tapping and flapping whencompared to those frightful blows, from arms toughened by the shovel andthe crowbar. 

It was the tenth round, and the fight was half over. The betting nowwas only three to one, for the Wilson champion had held his own muchbetter than had been expected. But those who knew the ring-craft aswell as the staying power of the old prize-fighter knew that the oddswere still a long way in his favour. 

"Have a care of him!" whispered Barton, as he sent his man up to thescratch. "Have a care! He'll play thee a trick, if he can. "

But Montgomery saw, or imagined he saw, that his antagonist was tiring. He looked jaded and listless, and his hands drooped a little from theirposition. His own youth and condition were beginning to tell. He sprang in and brought off a fine left-handed lead. The Master'sreturn lacked his usual fire. Again Montgomery led, and again he gothome. Then he tried his right upon the mark, and the Master guarded itdownwards. 

"Too low! Too low! A foul! A foul!" yelled a thousand voices. 

The referee rolled his sardonic eyes slowly round. "Seems to me thisbuildin' is chock-full of referees, " said he. The people laughed andapplauded, but their favour was as immaterial to him as their anger. "No applause, please! This is not a theatre!" he yelled. 

Montgomery was very pleased with himself. His adversary was evidentlyin a bad way. He was piling on his points and establishing a lead. He might as well make hay while the sun shone. The Master was lookingall abroad. Montgomery popped one upon his blue jowl and got awaywithout a return. And then the Master suddenly dropped both his handsand began rubbing his thigh. Ah! that was it, was it? He had muscularcramp. 

"Go in! Go in!" cried Teddy Barton. 

Montgomery sprang wildly forward, and the next instant was lying halfsenseless, with his neck nearly broken, in the middle of the ring. 

The whole round had been a long conspiracy to tempt him within reach ofone of those terrible right-hand upper-cuts for which the Master wasfamous. For this the listless, weary bearing, for this the cramp in thethigh. When Montgomery had sprung in so hotly he had exposed himself tosuch a blow as neither flesh nor blood could stand. Whizzing up frombelow with a rigid arm, which put the Master's eleven stone into itsforce, it struck him under the jaw; he whirled half round, and fell ahelpless and half-paralysed mass. A vague groan and murmur, inarticulate, too excited for words, rose from the great audience. With open mouths and staring eyes they gazed at the twitching andquivering figure. 

"Stand back! Stand right back!" shrieked the referee, for the Masterwas standing over his man ready to give him the _coup-de-grace_ as herose. 

"Stand back, Craggs, this instant!" Stapleton repeated. 

The Master sank his hands sulkily and walked backwards to the rope withhis ferocious eyes fixed upon his fallen antagonist. The timekeepercalled the seconds. If ten of them passed before Montgomery rose to hisfeet, the fight was ended. Ted Barton wrung his hands and danced aboutin an agony in his corner. 

As if in a dream--a terrible nightmare--the student could hear the voiceof the timekeeper--three--four--five--he got up on his hand--six--seven--he was on his knee, sick, swimming, faint, but resolute to rise. Eight--he was up, and the Master was on him like a tiger, lashingsavagely at him with both hands. Folk held their breath as they watchedthose terrible blows, and anticipated the pitiful end--so much morepitiful where a game but helpless man refuses to accept defeat. 

Strangely automatic is the human brain. Without volition, withouteffort, there shot into the memory of this bewildered, staggering, half-stupefied man the one thing which could have saved him--that blindeye of which the Master's son had spoken. It was the same as the otherto look at, but Montgomery remembered that he had said that it was theleft. He reeled to the left side, half felled by a drive which lit uponhis shoulder. The Master pivoted round upon his leg and was at him inan instant. 

"Yark him, lad! Yark him!" screamed the woman. 

"Hold your tongue!" said the referee. 

Montgomery slipped to the left again and yet again, but the Master wastoo quick and clever for him. He struck round and got him full on theface as he tried once more to break away. Montgomery's knees weakenedunder him, and he fell with a groan on the floor. This time he knewthat he was done. With bitter agony he realised, as he groped blindlywith his hands, that he could not possibly raise himself. Far away andmuffled he heard, amid the murmurs of the multitude, the fateful voiceof the timekeeper counting off the seconds. 

"One--two--three--four--five--six--"

"Time!" said the referee. 

Then the pent-up passion of the great assembly broke loose. Croxleygave a deep groan of disappointment. The Wilsons were on their feet, yelling with delight. There was still a chance for them. In four moreseconds their man would have been solemnly counted out. But now he hada minute in which to recover. The referee looked round with relaxedfeatures and laughing eyes. He loved this rough game, this school forhumble heroes, and it was pleasant to him to intervene as a _Deus exmachina_ at so dramatic a moment. His chair and his hat were bothtilted at an extreme angle; he and the timekeeper smiled at each other. Ted Barton and the other second had rushed out and thrust an arm eachunder Montgomery's knee, the other behind his loins, and so carried himback to his stool. His head lolled upon his shoulder, but a douche ofcold water sent a shiver through him, and he started and looked roundhim. 

"He's a' right!" cried the people round. "He's a rare brave lad. Good lad! Good lad!" Barton poured some brandy into his mouth. The mists cleared a little, and he realised where he was and what he hadto do. But he was still very weak, and he hardly dared to hope that hecould survive another round. 

"Seconds out of the ring!" cried the referee. "Time!"

The Croxley Master sprang eagerly off his stool. 

"Keep clear of him! Go easy for a bit, " said Barton, and Montgomerywalked out to meet his man once more. 

He had had two lessons--the one when the Master got him into his corner, the other when he had been lured into mixing it up with so powerful anantagonist. Now he would be wary. Another blow would finish him; hecould afford to run no risks. The Master was determined to follow uphis advantage, and rushed at him, slogging furiously right and left. But Montgomery was too young and active to be caught. He was strongupon his legs once more, and his wits had all come back to him. It wasa gallant sight--the line-of-battleship trying to pour its overwhelmingbroadside into the frigate, and the frigate manoeuvring always so as toavoid it. The Master tried all his ring-craft. He coaxed the studentup by pretended inactivity; he rushed at him with furious rushestowards the ropes. For three rounds he exhausted every wile in tryingto get at him. Montgomery during all this time was conscious that hisstrength was minute by minute coming back to him. The spinal jar froman upper-cut is overwhelming, but evanescent. He was losing all senseof it beyond a great stiffness of the neck. For the first round afterhis downfall he had been content to be entirely on the defensive, onlytoo happy if he could stall off the furious attacks of the Master. In the second he occasionally ventured upon a light counter. In thethird he was smacking back merrily where he saw an opening. His peopleyelled their approval of him at the end of every round. Even theiron-workers cheered him with that fine unselfishness which true sportengenders. To most of them, unspiritual and unimaginative, the sight ofthis clean-limbed young Apollo, rising above disaster and holding onwhile consciousness was in him to his appointed task, was the greatestthing their experience had ever known. 

But the Master's naturally morose temper became more and more murderousat this postponement of his hopes. Three rounds ago the battle had beenin his hands; now it was all to do over again. Round by round his manwas recovering his strength. By the fifteenth he was strong again inwind and limb. But the vigilant Anastasia saw something whichencouraged her. 

"That bash in t' ribs is telling on him, Jock, " she whispered. "Why else should he be gulping t' brandy? Go in, lad, and thou hast himyet. "

Montgomery had suddenly taken the flask from Barton's hand, and had adeep pull at the contents. Then, with his face a little flushed, andwith a curious look of purpose, which made the referee stare hard athim, in his eyes, he rose for the sixteenth round. 

"Game as a pairtridge!" cried the publican, as he looked at the hard-setface. 

"Mix it oop, lad! Mix it oop!" cried the iron-men to their Master. And then a hum of exultation ran through their ranks as they realisedthat their tougher, harder, stronger man held the vantage, after all. Neither of the men showed much sign of punishment. Small gloves crushand numb, but they do not cut. One of the Master's eyes was even moreflush with his cheek than Nature had made it. Montgomery had two orthree livid marks upon his body, and his face was haggard, save for thatpink spot which the brandy had brought into either cheek. He rocked alittle as he stood opposite his man, and his hands drooped as if he feltthe gloves to be an unutterable weight. It was evident that he wasspent and desperately weary. If he received one other blow it mustsurely be fatal to him. If he brought one home, what power could therebe behind it, and what chance was there of its harming the colossus infront of him? It was the crisis of the fight. This round must decideit. "Mix it oop, lad! Mix it oop!" the iron-men whooped. Even thesavage eyes of the referee were unable to restrain the excited crowd. 

Now, at last, the chance had come for Montgomery. He had learned alesson from his more experienced rival. Why should he not play his owngame upon him? He was spent, but not nearly so spent as he pretended. That brandy was to call up his reserves, to let him have strength totake full advantage of the opening when it came. It was thrilling andtingling through his veins at the very moment when he was lurching androcking like a beaten man. He acted his part admirably. The Masterfelt that there was an easy task before him, and rushed in with ungainlyactivity to finish it once for all. He slap-banged away left and right, boring Montgomery up against the ropes, swinging in his ferocious blowswith those animal grunts which told of the vicious energy behind them. 

But Montgomery was too cool to fall a victim to any of those murderousupper-cuts. He kept out of harm's way with a rigid guard, an activefoot, and a head which was swift to duck. And yet he contrived topresent the same appearance of a man who is hopelessly done. TheMaster, weary from his own shower of blows, and fearing nothing from soweak a man, dropped his hand for an instant, and at that instantMontgomery's right came home. 

It was a magnificent blow, straight, clean, crisp, with the force of theloins and the back behind it. And it landed where he had meant it to--upon the exact point of that blue-grained chin. Flesh and blood couldnot stand such a blow in such a place. Neither valour nor hardihood cansave the man to whom it comes. The Master fell backwards, flat, prostrate, striking the ground with so simultaneous a clap that it waslike a shutter falling from a wall. A yell, which no referee couldcontrol, broke from the crowded benches as the giant went down. He layupon his back, his knees a little drawn up, his huge chest panting. He twitched and shook, but could not move. His feet pawed convulsivelyonce or twice. It was no use. He was done. "Eight--nine--ten!" saidthe time-keeper, and the roar of a thousand voices, with a deafeningclap like the broad-side of a ship, told that the Master of Croxley wasthe Master no more. 

Montgomery stood half dazed, looking down at the huge, prostrate figure. He could hardly realise that it was indeed all over. He saw the refereemotion towards him with his hand. He heard his name bellowed in triumphfrom every side. And then he was aware of someone rushing towards him;he caught a glimpse of a flushed face and an aureole of flying red hair, a gloveless fist struck him between the eyes, and he was on his back inthe ring beside his antagonist, while a dozen of his supporters wereendeavouring to secure the frantic Anastasia. He heard the angryshouting of the referee, the screaming of the furious woman, and thecries of the mob. Then something seemed to break like an over-stretchedbanjo string, and he sank into the deep, deep, mist-girt abyss ofunconsciousness. 

The dressing was like a thing in a dream, and so was a vision of theMaster with the grin of a bulldog upon his face, and his three teethamiably protruded. He shook Montgomery heartily by the hand. 

"I would have been rare pleased to shake thee by the throttle, lad, ashort while syne, " said he. "But I bear no ill-feeling again' thee. It was a rare poonch that brought me down--I have not had a bettersince my second fight wi' Billy Edwards in '89. Happen thou might thinko' goin' further wi' this business. If thou dost, and want a trainer, there's not much inside t' ropes as I don't know. Or happen thou mightlike to try it wi' me old style and bare knuckles. Thou hast but towrite to t' ironworks to find me. "

But Montgomery disclaimed any such ambition. A canvas bag with hisshare--190 sovereigns--was handed to him, of which he gave ten to theMaster, who also received some share of the gate-money. Then, withyoung Wilson escorting him on one side, Purvis on the other, and Fawcettcarrying his bag behind, he went in triumph to his carriage, and droveamid a long roar, which lined the highway like a hedge for the sevenmiles, back to his starting-point. 

"It's the greatest thing I ever saw in my life. By George, it'sripping!" cried Wilson, who had been left in a kind of ecstasy by theevents of the day. "There's a chap over Barnsley way who fancieshimself a bit. Let us spring you on him, and let him see what he canmake of you. We'll put up a purse--won't we, Purvis? You shall neverwant a backer. "

"At his weight, " said the publican, "I'm behind him, I am, for twentyrounds, and no age, country, or colour barred. "

"So am I, " cried Fawcett; "middle-weight champion of the world, that'swhat he is--here, in the same carriage with us. "

But Montgomery was not to be beguiled. 

"No; I have my own work to do now. "

"And what may that be?"

"I'll use this money to get my medical degree. "

"Well, we've plenty of doctors, but you're the only man in the Ridingthat could smack the Croxley Master off his legs. However, I supposeyou know your own business best. When you're a doctor, you'd best comedown into these parts, and you'll always find a job waiting for you atthe Wilson Coal-pits. "

Montgomery had returned by devious ways to the surgery. The horses weresmoking at the door, and the doctor was just back from his long journey. Several patients had called in his absence, and he was in the worst oftempers. 

"I suppose I should be glad that you have come back at all, Mr. Montgomery!" he snarled. "When next you elect to take a holiday, Itrust it will not be at so busy a time. "

"I am sorry, sir, that you should have been inconvenienced. "

"Yes, sir, I have been exceedingly inconvenienced. " Here, for the firsttime, he looked hard at the assistant. "Good Heavens, Mr. Montgomery, what have you been doing with your left eye?"

It was where Anastasia had lodged her protest. Montgomery laughed. 

"It is nothing, sir, " said he. 

"And you have a livid mark under your jaw. It is, indeed, terrible thatmy representative should be going about in so disreputable a condition. How did you receive these injuries?"

"Well, sir, as you know, there was a little glove-fight to-day over atCroxley. "

"And you got mixed up with that brutal crowd?"

"I _was_ rather mixed up with them. "

"And who assaulted you?"

"One of the fighters. "

"Which of them?"

"The Master of Croxley. "

"Good Heavens! Perhaps you interfered with him?"

"Well, to tell the truth, I did a little. "

"Mr. Montgomery, in such a practice as mine, intimately associated as itis with the highest and most progressive elements of our smallcommunity, it is impossible--"

But just then the tentative bray of a cornet-player searching for hiskey-note jarred upon their ears, and an instant later the WilsonColliery brass band was in full cry with, "See the Conquering HeroComes, " outside the surgery window. There was a banner waving, and ashouting crowd of miners. 

"What is it? What does it mean?" cried the angry doctor. 

"It means, sir, that I have, in the only way which was open to me, earned the money which is necessary for my education. It is my duty, Dr. Oldacre, to warn you that I am about to return to the University, and that you should lose no time in appointing my successor. "

THE LORD OF CHATEAU NOIR

It was in the days when the German armies had broken their way acrossFrance, and when the shattered forces of the young Republic had beenswept away to the north of the Aisne and to the south of the Loire. Three broad streams of armed men had rolled slowly but irresistibly fromthe Rhine, now meandering to the north, now to the south, dividing, coalescing, but all uniting to form one great lake round Paris. Andfrom this lake there welled out smaller streams--one to the north, onesouthward, to Orleans, and a third westward to Normandy. Many a Germantrooper saw the sea for the first time when he rode his horse girth-deepinto the waves at Dieppe. 

Black and bitter were the thoughts of Frenchmen when they saw this wealof dishonour slashed across the fair face of their country. They hadfought and they had been overborne. That swarming cavalry, thosecountless footmen, the masterful guns--they had tried and tried to makehead against them. In battalions their invaders were not to be beaten, but man to man, or ten to ten, they were their equals. A braveFrenchman might still make a single German rue the day that he had lefthis own bank of the Rhine. Thus, unchronicled amid the battles and thesieges, there broke out another war, a war of individuals, with foulmurder upon the one side and brutal reprisal on the other. 

Colonel von Gramm, of the 24th Posen Infantry, had suffered severelyduring this new development. He commanded in the little Norman town ofLes Andelys, and his outposts stretched amid the hamlets and farmhousesof the district round. No French force was within fifty miles of him, and yet morning after morning he had to listen to a black report ofsentries found dead at their posts, or of foraging parties which hadnever returned. Then the colonel would go forth in his wrath, andfarmsteadings would blaze and villages tremble; but next morning therewas still that same dismal tale to be told. Do what he might, he couldnot shake off his invisible enemies. And yet it should not have been sohard, for, from certain signs in common, in the plan and in the deed, itwas certain that all these outrages came from a single source. 

Colonel von Gramm had tried violence, and it had failed. Gold might bemore successful. He published it abroad over the countryside that500frs. Would be paid for information. There was no response. Then800frs. The peasants were incorruptible. Then, goaded on by a murderedcorporal, he rose to a thousand, and so bought the soul of FrancoisRejane, farm labourer, whose Norman avarice was a stronger passion thanhis French hatred. 

"You say that you know who did these crimes?" asked the Prussiancolonel, eyeing with loathing the blue-bloused, rat-faced creaturebefore him. 

"Yes, colonel. "

"And it was--?"

"Those thousand francs, colonel--"

"Not a sou until your story has been tested. Come! Who is it who hasmurdered my men?"

"It is Count Eustace of Chateau Noir. "

"You lie!" cried the colonel, angrily. "A gentleman and a noblemancould not have done such crimes. "

The peasant shrugged his shoulders. "It is evident to me that you donot know the count. It is this way, colonel. What I tell you is thetruth, and I am not afraid that you should test it. The Count ofChateau Noir is a hard man, even at the best time he was a hard man. But of late he has been terrible. It was his son's death, you know. His son was under Douay, and he was taken, and then in escaping fromGermany he met his death. It was the count's only child, and indeed weall think that it has driven him mad. With his peasants he follows theGerman armies. I do not know how many he has killed, but it is he whocut the cross upon the foreheads, for it is the badge of his house. "

It was true. The murdered sentries had each had a saltire cross slashedacross their brows, as by a hunting-knife. The colonel bent his stiffback and ran his forefinger over the map which lay upon the table. 

"The Chateau Noir is not more than four leagues, " he said. 

"Three and a kilometre, colonel. "

"You know the place?"

"I used to work there. "

Colonel von Gramm rang the bell. 

"Give this man food and detain him, " said he to the sergeant. 

"Why detain me, colonel? I can tell you no more. "

"We shall need you as guide. "

"As guide? But the count? If I were to fall into his hands?Ah, colonel--"

The Prussian commander waved him away. "Send Captain Baumgarten to meat once, " said he. 

The officer who answered the summons was a man of middle-age, heavy-jawed, blue-eyed, with a curving yellow moustache, and a brick-redface which turned to an ivory white where his helmet had sheltered it. He was bald, with a shining, tightly stretched scalp, at the back ofwhich, as in a mirror, it was a favourite mess-joke of the subalterns totrim their moustaches. As a soldier he was slow, but reliable andbrave. The colonel could trust him where a more dashing officer mightbe in danger. 

"You will proceed to Chateau Noir to-night, captain, " said he. "A guidehas been provided. You will arrest the count and bring him back. If there is an attempt at rescue, shoot him at once. "

"How many men shall I take, colonel?"

"Well, we are surrounded by spies, and our only chance is to pounce uponhim before he knows that we are on the way. A large force will attractattention. On the other hand, you must not risk being cut off. "

"I might march north, colonel, as if to join General Goeben. Then Icould turn down this road which I see upon your map, and get to ChateauNoir before they could hear of us. In that case, with twenty men--"

"Very good, captain. I hope to see you with your prisoner to-morrowmorning. "

It was a cold December night when Captain Baumgarten marched out of LesAndelys with his twenty Poseners, and took the main road to the northwest. Two miles out he turned suddenly down a narrow, deeply ruttedtrack, and made swiftly for his man. A thin, cold rain was falling, swishing among the tall poplar trees and rustling in the fields oneither side. The captain walked first with Moser, a veteran sergeant, beside him. The sergeant's wrist was fastened to that of the Frenchpeasant, and it had been whispered in his ear that in case of anambush the first bullet fired would be through his head. Behind themthe twenty infantrymen plodded along through the darkness with theirfaces sunk to the rain, and their boots squeaking in the soft, wet clay. They knew where they were going, and why, and the thought upheld them, for they were bitter at the loss of their comrades. It was a cavalryjob, they knew, but the cavalry were all on with the advance, and, besides, it was more fitting that the regiment should avenge its owndead men. 

It was nearly eight when they left Les Andelys. At half-past eleventheir guide stopped at a place where two high pillars, crowned with someheraldic stonework, flanked a huge iron gate. The wall in which it hadbeen the opening had crumbled away, but the great gate still toweredabove the brambles and weeds which had overgrown its base. ThePrussians made their way round it and advanced stealthily, under theshadow of a tunnel of oak branches, up the long avenue, which was stillcumbered by the leaves of last autumn. At the top they halted andreconnoitred. 

The black chateau lay in front of them. The moon had shone out betweentwo rain-clouds, and threw the old house into silver and shadow. It wasshaped like an L, with a low arched door in front, and lines of smallwindows like the open ports of a man-of-war. Above was a dark roof, breaking at the corners into little round overhanging turrets, the wholelying silent in the moonshine, with a drift of ragged clouds blackeningthe heavens behind it. A single light gleamed in one of the lowerwindows. 

The captain whispered his orders to his men. Some were to creep to thefront door, some to the back. Some were to watch the east, and some thewest. He and the sergeant stole on tiptoe to the lighted window. 

It was a small room into which they looked, very meanly furnished. An elderly man, in the dress of a menial, was reading a tattered paperby the light of a guttering candle. He leaned back in his wooden chairwith his feet upon a box, while a bottle of white wine stood with ahalf-filled tumbler upon a stool beside him. The sergeant thrust hisneedle-gun through the glass, and the man sprang to his feet with ashriek. 

"Silence, for your life! The house is surrounded, and you cannotescape. Come round and open the door, or we will show you no mercy whenwe come in. "

"For God's sake, don't shoot! I will open it! I will open it!"He rushed from the room with his paper still crumpled up in his hand. An instant later, with a groaning of old locks and a rasping of bars, the low door swung open, and the Prussians poured into the stone-flaggedpassage. 

"Where is Count Eustace de Chateau Noir?"

"My master! He is out, sir. "

"Out at this time of night? Your life for a lie!"

"It is true, sir. He is out!"

"Where?"

"I do not know. "

"Doing what?"

"I cannot tell. No, it is no use your cocking your pistol, sir. Youmay kill me, but you cannot make me tell you that which I do not know. "

"Is he often out at this hour?"

"Frequently. "

"And when does he come home?"

"Before daybreak. "

Captain Baumgarten rasped out a German oath. He had had his journey fornothing, then. The man's answers were only too likely to be true. Itwas what he might have expected. But at least he would search the houseand make sure. Leaving a picket at the front door and another at theback, the sergeant and he drove the trembling butler in front of them--his shaking candle sending strange, flickering shadows over the oldtapestries and the low, oak-raftered ceilings. They searched the wholehouse, from the huge stone-flagged kitchen below to the dining-hall onthe second floor, with its gallery for musicians, and its panellingblack with age, but nowhere was there a living creature. Up above, inan attic, they found Marie, the elderly wife of the butler; but theowner kept no other servants, and of his own presence there was notrace. 

It was long, however, before Captain Baumgarten had satisfied himselfupon the point. It was a difficult house to search. Thin stairs, whichonly one man could ascend at a time, connected lines of tortuouscorridors. The walls were so thick that each room was cut off from itsneighbour. Huge fireplaces yawned in each, while the windows were 6ft. Deep in the wall. Captain Baumgarten stamped with his feet, tore downcurtains, and struck with the pommel of his sword. If there were secrethiding-places, he was not fortunate enough to find them. 

"I have an idea, " said he, at last, speaking in German to the sergeant. "You will place a guard over this fellow, and make sure that hecommunicates with no one. "

"Yes, captain. "

"And you will place four men in ambush at the front and at the back. Itis likely enough that about daybreak our bird may return to the nest. "

"And the others, captain?"

"Let them have their suppers in the kitchen. The fellow will serve youwith meat and wine. It is a wild night, and we shall be better herethan on the country road. "

"And yourself, captain?"

"I will take my supper up here in the dining-hall. The logs are laidand we can light the fire. You will call me if there is any alarm. What can you give me for supper--you?"

"Alas, monsieur, there was a time when I might have answered, 'What youwish!' but now it is all that we can do to find a bottle of new claretand a cold pullet. "

"That will do very well. Let a guard go about with him, sergeant, andlet him feel the end of a bayonet if he plays us any tricks. "

Captain Baumgarten was an old campaigner. In the Eastern provinces, andbefore that in Bohemia, he had learned the art of quartering himselfupon the enemy. While the butler brought his supper he occupied himselfin making his preparations for a comfortable night. He lit thecandelabrum of ten candles upon the centre table. The fire was alreadyburning up, crackling merrily, and sending spurts of blue, pungent smokeinto the room. The captain walked to the window and looked out. The moon had gone in again, and it was raining heavily. He could hearthe deep sough of the wind, and see the dark loom of the trees, allswaying in the one direction. It was a sight which gave a zest to hiscomfortable quarters, and to the cold fowl and the bottle of wine whichthe butler had brought up for him. He was tired and hungry after hislong tramp, so he threw his sword, his helmet, and his revolver-beltdown upon a chair, and fell to eagerly upon his supper. Then, with hisglass of wine before him and his cigar between his lips, he tilted hischair back and looked about him. 

He sat within a small circle of brilliant light which gleamed upon hissilver shoulder-straps, and threw out his terra-cotta face, his heavyeyebrows, and his yellow moustache. But outside that circle things werevague and shadowy in the old dining-hall. Two sides were oak-panelledand two were hung with faded tapestry, across which huntsmen and dogsand stags were still dimly streaming. Above the fireplace were rows ofheraldic shields with the blazonings of the family and of its alliances, the fatal saltire cross breaking out on each of them. 

Four paintings of old seigneurs of Chateau Noir faced the fireplace, allmen with hawk noses and bold, high features, so like each other thatonly the dress could distinguish the Crusader from the Cavalier of theFronde. Captain Baumgarten, heavy with his repast, lay back in hischair looking up at them through the clouds of his tobacco smoke, andpondering over the strange chance which had sent him, a man from theBaltic coast, to eat his supper in the ancestral hall of these proudNorman chieftains. But the fire was hot, and the captain's eyes wereheavy. His chin sank slowly upon his chest, and the ten candles gleamedupon the broad, white scalp. 

Suddenly a slight noise brought him to his feet. For an instant itseemed to his dazed senses that one of the pictures opposite had walkedfrom its frame. There, beside the table, and almost within arm's lengthof him, was standing a huge man, silent, motionless, with no sign oflife save his fierce-glinting eyes. He was black-haired, olive-skinned, with a pointed tuft of black beard, and a great, fierce nose, towardswhich all his features seemed to run. His cheeks were wrinkled like alast year's apple, but his sweep of shoulder, and bony, corded hands, told of a strength which was unsapped by age. His arms were foldedacross his arching chest, and his mouth was set in a fixed smile. 

"Pray do not trouble yourself to look for your weapons, " he said, as thePrussian cast a swift glance at the empty chair in which they had beenlaid. "You have been, if you will allow me to say so, a littleindiscreet to make yourself so much at home in a house every wall ofwhich is honeycombed with secret passages. You will be amused to hearthat forty men were watching you at your supper. Ah! what then?"

Captain Baumgarten had taken a step forward with clenched fists. The Frenchman held up tho revolver which he grasped in his right hand, while with the left he hurled the German back into his chair. 

"Pray keep your seat, " said he. "You have no cause to trouble aboutyour men. They have already been provided for. It is astonishing withthese stone floors how little one can hear what goes on beneath. You have been relieved of your command, and have now only to think ofyourself. May I ask what your name is?"

"I am Captain Baumgarten of, the 24th Posen Regiment. "

"Your French is excellent, though you incline, like most of yourcountrymen, to turn the 'p' into a 'b. ' I have been amused to hear themcry '_Avez bitie sur moi!_' You know, doubtless, who it is who addressesyou. "

"The Count of Chateau Noir. "

"Precisely. It would have been a misfortune if you had visited mychateau and I had been unable to have a word with you. I have had to dowith many German soldiers, but never with an officer before. I havemuch to talk to you about. "

Captain Baumgarten sat still in his chair. Brave as he was, there wassomething in this man's manner which made his skin creep withapprehension. His eyes glanced to right and to left, but his weaponswere gone, and in a struggle he saw that he was but a child to thisgigantic adversary. The count had picked up the claret bottle and heldit to the light. 

"Tut! tut!" said he. "And was this the best that Pierre could do foryou? I am ashamed to look you in the face, Captain Baumgarten. We mustimprove upon this. "

He blew a call upon a whistle which hung from his shooting-jacket. The old manservant was in the room in an instant. 

"Chambertin from bin 15!" he cried, and a minute later a grey bottle, streaked with cobwebs, was carried in as a nurse bears an infant. The count filled two glasses to the brim. 

"Drink!" said he. "It is the very best in my cellars, and not to bematched between Rouen and Paris. Drink, sir, and be happy! There arecold joints below. There are two lobsters, fresh from Honfleur. Willyou not venture upon a second and more savoury supper?"

The German officer shook his head. He drained the glass, however, andhis host filled it once more, pressing him to give an order for this orthat dainty. 

"There is nothing in my house which is not at your disposal. You havebut to say the word. Well, then, you will allow me to tell you a storywhile you drink your wine. I have so longed to tell it to someGerman officer. It is about my son, my only child, Eustace, who wastaken and died in escaping. It is a curious little story, and I thinkthat I can promise you that you will never forget it. 

"You must know, then, that my boy was in the artillery--a fine youngfellow, Captain Baumgarten, and the pride of his mother. She diedwithin a week of the news of his death reaching us. It was brought by abrother officer who was at his side throughout, and who escaped while mylad died. I want to tell you all that he told me. 

"Eustace was taken at Weissenburg on the 4th of August. The prisonerswere broken up into parties, and sent back into Germany by differentroutes. Eustace was taken upon the 5th to a village called Lauterburg, where he met with kindness from the German officer in command. This good colonel had the hungry lad to supper, offered him the best hehad, opened a bottle of good wine, as I have tried to do for you, andgave him a cigar from his own case. Might I entreat you to take onefrom mine?"

The German again shook his head. His horror of his companion hadincreased as he sat watching the lips that smiled and the eyes thatglared. 

"The colonel, as I say, was good to my boy. But, unluckily, theprisoners were moved next day across the Rhine into Ettlingen. They were not equally fortunate there. The officer who guarded them wasa ruffian and a villain, Captain Baumgarten. He took a pleasure inhumiliating and ill-treating the brave men who had fallen into hispower. That night upon my son answering fiercely back to some taunt ofhis, he struck him in the eye, like this!"

The crash of the blow rang through the hall. The German's face fellforward, his hand up, and blood oozing through his fingers. The countsettled down in his chair once more. 

"My boy was disfigured by the blow, and this villain made his appearancethe object of his jeers. By the way, you look a little comical yourselfat the present moment, captain, and your colonel would certainly saythat you had been getting into mischief. To continue, however, my boy'syouth and his destitution--for his pockets were empty--moved the pity ofa kind-hearted major, and he advanced him ten Napoleons from his ownpocket without security of any kind. Into your hands, CaptainBaumgarten, I return these ten gold pieces, since I cannot learn thename of the lender. I am grateful from my heart for this kindness shownto my boy. 

"The vile tyrant who commanded the escort accompanied the prisoners toDurlack, and from there to Carlsruhe. He heaped every outrage upon mylad, because the spirit of the Chateau Noirs would not stoop to turnaway his wrath by a feigned submission. Ay, this cowardly villain, whose heart's blood shall yet clot upon this hand, dared to strike myson with his open hand, to kick him, to tear hairs from his moustache--to use him thus--and thus--and thus!"

The German writhed and struggled. He was helpless in the hands of thishuge giant whose blows were raining upon him. When at last, blinded andhalf-senseless, he staggered to his feet, it was only to be hurled backagain into the great oaken chair. He sobbed in his impotent anger andshame. 

"My boy was frequently moved to tears by the humiliation of hisposition, " continued the count. "You will understand me when I say thatit is a bitter thing to be helpless in the hands of an insolent andremorseless enemy. On arriving at Carlsruhe, however, his face, whichhad been wounded by the brutality of his guard, was bound up by a youngBavarian subaltern who was touched by his appearance. I regret to seethat your eye is bleeding so. Will you permit me to bind it with mysilk handkerchief?"

He leaned forward, but the German dashed his hand aside. 

"I am in your power, you monster!" he cried; "I can endure yourbrutalities, but not your hypocrisy. "

The count shrugged his shoulders. 

"I am taking things in their order, just as they occurred, " said he. "I was under vow to tell it to the first German officer with whom Icould talk _tete-a-tete_. Let me see, I had got as far as the youngBavarian at Carlsruhe. I regret extremely that you will not permit meto use such slight skill in surgery as I possess. At Carlsruhe, my ladwas shut up in the old caserne, where he remained for a fortnight. The worst pang of his captivity was that some unmannerly curs in thegarrison would taunt him with his position as he sat by his window inthe evening. That reminds me, captain, that you are not quite situatedupon a bed of roses yourself, are you now? You came to trap a wolf, myman, and now the beast has you down with his fangs in your throat. A family man, too, I should judge, by that well-filled tunic. Well, awidow the more will make little matter, and they do not usually remainwidows long. Get back into the chair, you dog!

"Well, to continue my story--at the end of a fortnight my son and hisfriend escaped. I need not trouble you with the dangers which they ran, or with the privations which they endured. Suffice it that to disguisethemselves they had to take the clothes of two peasants, whom theywaylaid in a wood. Hiding by day and travelling by night, they had gotas far into France as Remilly, and were within a mile--a single mile, captain--of crossing the German lines when a patrol of Uhlans came rightupon them. Ah! it was hard, was it not, when they had come so far andwere so near to safety?" The count blew a double call upon his whistle, and three hard-faced peasants entered the room. 

"These must represent my Uhlans, " said he. "Well, then, the captain incommand, finding that these men were French soldiers in civilian dresswithin the German lines, proceeded to hang them without trial orceremony. I think, Jean, that the centre beam is the strongest. "

The unfortunate soldier was dragged from his chair to where a noosedrope had been flung over one of the huge oaken rafters which spanned theroom. The cord was slipped over his head, and he felt its harsh gripround his throat. The three peasants seized the other end, and lookedto the count for his orders. The officer, pale, but firm, folded hisarms and stared defiantly at the man who tortured him. 

"You are now face to face with death, and I perceive from your lips thatyou are praying. My son was also face to face with death, and heprayed, also. It happened that a general officer came up, and he heardthe lad praying for his mother, and it moved him so--he being himself afather--that he ordered his Uhlans away, and he remained with hisaide-de-camp only, beside the condemned men. And when he heard all thelad had to tell--that he was the only child of an old family, and thathis mother was in failing health--he threw off the rope as I throw offthis, and he kissed him on either cheek, as I kiss you, and he bade him go, as I bid you go, and may every kind wish of thatnoble general, though it could not stave off the fever which slew myson, descend now upon your head. "

And so it was that Captain Baumgarten, disfigured, blinded, andbleeding, staggered out into the wind and the rain of that wild Decemberdawn. 

THE STRIPED CHEST

"What do you make of her, Allardyce?" I asked. 

My second mate was standing beside me upon the poop, with his short, thick legs astretch, for the gale had left a considerable swell behindit, and our two quarter-boats nearly touched the water with every roll. He steadied his glass against the mizzen-shrouds, and he looked long andhard at this disconsolate stranger every time she came reeling up on tothe crest of a roller and hung balanced for a few seconds beforeswooping down upon the other side. She lay so low in the water that Icould only catch an occasional glimpse of a pea-green line of bulwark. She was a brig, but her mainmast had been snapped short off some 10ft. Above the deck, and no effort seemed to have been made to cut away thewreckage, which floated, sails and yards, like the broken wing of awounded gull upon the water beside her. The foremast was stillstanding, but the foretopsail was flying loose, and the headsails werestreaming out in long, white pennons in front of her. Never have I seena vessel which appeared to have gone through rougher handling. But wecould not be surprised at that, for there had been times during the lastthree days when it was a question whether our own barque would ever seeland again. For thirty-six hours we had kept her nose to it, and if the_Mary Sinclair_ had not been as good a seaboat as ever left the Clyde, we could not have gone through. And yet here we were at the end of itwith the loss only of our gig and of part of the starboard bulwark. It did not astonish us, however, when the smother had cleared away, tofind that others had been less lucky, and that this mutilated brigstaggering about upon a blue sea and under a cloudless sky, had beenleft, like a blinded man after a lightning flash, to tell of the terrorwhich is past. Allardyce, who was a slow and methodical Scotchman, stared long and hard at the little craft, while our seamen lined thebulwark or clustered upon the fore shrouds to have a view of thestranger. In latitude 20 degrees and longitude 10 degrees, which wereabout our bearings, one becomes a little curious as to whom one meets, for one has left the main lines of Atlantic commerce to the north. For ten days we had been sailing over a solitary sea. 

"She's derelict, I'm thinking, " said the second mate. 

I had come to the same conclusion, for I could see no signs of lifeupon her deck, and there was no answer to the friendly wavings from ourseamen. The crew had probably deserted her under the impression thatshe was about to founder. 

"She can't last long, " continued Allardyce, in his measured way. "She may put her nose down and her tail up any minute. The water'slipping up to the edge of her rail. "

"What's her flag?" I asked. 

"I'm trying to make out. It's got all twisted and tangled with thehalyards. Yes, I've got it now, clear enough. It's the Brazilian flag, but it's wrong side up. "

She had hoisted a signal of distress, then, before her people hadabandoned her. Perhaps they had only just gone. I took the mate'sglass and looked round over the tumultuous face of the deep blueAtlantic, still veined and starred with white lines and spoutings offoam. But nowhere could I see anything human beyond ourselves. 

"There may be living men aboard, " said I. 

"There may be salvage, " muttered the second mate. 

"Then we will run down upon her lee side, and lie to. " We were not morethan a hundred yards from her when we swung our foreyard aback, andthere we were, the barque and the brig, ducking and bowing like twoclowns in a dance. 

"Drop one of the quarter-boats, " said I. "Take four men, Mr. Allardyce, and see what you can learn of her. "

But just at that moment my first officer, Mr. Armstrong, came on deck, for seven bells had struck, and it was but a few minutes off his watch. It would interest me to go myself to this abandoned vessel and to seewhat there might be aboard of her. So, with a word to Armstrong, Iswung myself over the side, slipped down the falls, and took my place inthe sheets of the boat. 

It was but a little distance, but it took some time to traverse, and soheavy was the roll that often when we were in the trough of the sea, wecould not see either the barque which we had left or the brig which wewere approaching. The sinking sun did not penetrate down there, and itwas cold and dark in the hollows of the waves, but each passing billowheaved us up into the warmth and the sunshine once more. At each ofthese moments, as we hung upon a white-capped ridge between the two darkvalleys, I caught a glimpse of the long, pea-green line, and the noddingforemast of the brig, and I steered so as to come round by her stern, sothat we might determine which was the best way of boarding her. As wepassed her we saw the name _Nossa Sehnora da Vittoria_ painted acrossher dripping counter. 

"The weather side, sir, " said the second mate. "Stand by with theboat-hook, carpenter!" An instant later we had jumped over thebulwarks, which were hardly higher than our boat, and found ourselvesupon the deck of the abandoned vessel. Our first thought was to providefor our own safety in case--as seemed very probable--the vessel shouldsettle down beneath our feet. With this object two of our men held onto the painter of the boat, and fended her off from the vessel's side, so that she might be ready in case we had to make a hurried retreat. The carpenter was sent to find out how much water there was, and whetherit was still gaming, while the other seaman, Allardyce and myself, madea rapid inspection of the vessel and her cargo. 

The deck was littered with wreckage and with hen-coops, in which thedead birds were washing about. The boats were gone, with the exceptionof one, the bottom of which had been stove, and it was certain that thecrew had abandoned the vessel. The cabin was in a deck-house, one sideof which had been beaten in by a heavy sea. Allardyce and I entered it, and found the captain's table as he had left it, his books and papers--all Spanish or Portuguese--scattered over it, with piles of cigaretteash everywhere. I looked about for the log, but could not find it. 

"As likely as not he never kept one, " said Allardyce. "Things arepretty slack aboard a South American trader, and they don't do more thanthey can help. If there was one it must have been taken away with himin the boat. "

"I should like to take all these books and papers, " said I. "Ask thecarpenter how much time we have. "

His report was reassuring. The vessel was full of water, but some ofthe cargo was buoyant, and there was no immediate danger of her sinking. Probably she would never sink, but would drift about as one of thoseterrible unmarked reefs which have sent so many stout vessels to thebottom. 

"In that case there is no danger in your going below, Mr. Allardyce, "said I. "See what you can make of her and find out how much of hercargo may be saved. I'll look through these papers while you are gone. "

The bills of lading, and some notes and letters which lay upon the desk, sufficed to inform me that the Brazilian brig _Nossa Sehnora daVittoria_ had cleared from Bahia a month before. The name of thecaptain was Texeira, but there was no record as to the number of thecrew. She was bound for London, and a glance at the bills of lading wassufficient to show me that we were not likely to profit much in the wayof salvage. Her cargo consisted of nuts, ginger, and wood, the latterin the shape of great logs of valuable tropical growths. It was these, no doubt, which had prevented the ill-fated vessel from going to thebottom, but they were of such a size as to make it impossible for us toextract them. Besides these, there were a few fancy goods, such as anumber of ornamental birds for millinery purposes, and a hundred casesof preserved fruits. And then, as I turned over the papers, I came upona short note in English, which arrested my attention. 

 It is requested (said the note) that the various old Spanish and Indian curiosities, which came out of the Santarem collection, and which are consigned to Prontfoot & Neuman of Oxford Street, London, should be put in some place where there may be no danger of these very valuable and unique articles being injured or tampered with. This applies most particularly to the treasure-chest of Don Ramirez di Leyra, which must on no account be placed where anyone can get at it. 

The treasure-chest of Don Ramirez! Unique and valuable articles!Here was a chance of salvage after all. I had risen to my feet with thepaper in my hand when my Scotch mate appeared in the doorway. 

"I'm thinking all isn't quite as it should be aboard of this ship, sir, " said he. He was a hard-faced man, and yet I could see that he hadbeen startled. 

"What's the matter?"

"Murder's the matter, sir. There's a man here with his brains beatenout. "

"Killed in the storm?" said I. 

"May be so, sir, but I'll be surprised if you think so after you haveseen him. "

"Where is he, then?"

"This way, sir; here in the maindeck house. "

There appeared to have been no accommodation below in the brig, forthere was the after-house for the captain, another by the main hatchway, with the cook's galley attached to it, and a third in the forecastle forthe men. It was to this middle one that the mate led me. As youentered, the galley, with its litter of tumbled pots and dishes, wasupon the right, and upon the left was a small room with two bunks forthe officers. Then beyond there was a place about 12ft. Square, whichwas littered with flags and spare canvas. All round the walls were anumber of packets done up in coarse cloth and carefully lashed to thewoodwork. At the other end was a great box, striped red and white, though the red was so faded and the white so dirty that it was onlywhere the light fell directly upon it that one could see the colouring. The box was, by subsequent measurement, 4ft. 3ins. In length, 3ft. 2ins. In height, and 3ft. Across--considerably larger than a seaman's chest. But it was not to the box that my eyes or my thoughts were turned as Ientered the store-room. On the floor, lying across the litter ofbunting, there was stretched a small, dark man with a short, curlingbeard. He lay as far as it was possible from the box, with his feettowards it and his head away. A crimson patch was printed upon thewhite canvas on which his head was resting, and little red ribbonswreathed themselves round his swarthy neck and trailed away on to thefloor, but there was no sign of a wound that I could see, and his facewas as placid as that of a sleeping child. It was only when I stoopedthat I could perceive his injury, and then I turned away with anexclamation of horror. He had been pole-axed; apparently by some personstanding behind him. A frightful blow had smashed in the top of hishead and penetrated deeply into his brains. His face might well beplacid, for death must have been absolutely instantaneous, and theposition of the wound showed that he could never have seen the personwho had inflicted it. 

"Is that foul play or accident, Captain Barclay?" asked my second mate, demurely. 

"You are quite right, Mr. Allardyce. The man has been murdered--struckdown from above by a sharp and heavy weapon. But who was he, and whydid they murder him?"

"He was a common seaman, sir, " said the mate. "You can see that if youlook at his fingers. " He turned out his pockets as he spoke and broughtto light a pack of cards, some tarred string, and a bundle of Braziliantobacco. 

"Hello, look at this!" said he. 

It was a large, open knife with a stiff spring blade which he had pickedup from the floor. The steel was shining and bright, so that we couldnot associate it with the crime, and yet the dead man had apparentlyheld it in his hand when he was struck down, for it still lay within hisgrasp. 

"It looks to me, sir, as if he knew he was in danger and kept his knifehandy, " said the mate. "However, we can't help the poor beggar now. I can't make out these things that are lashed to the wall. They seemto be idols and weapons and curios of all sorts done up in old sacking. "

"That's right, " said I. "They are the only things of value that we arelikely to get from the cargo. Hail the barque and tell them to send theother quarter-boat to help us to get the stuff aboard. "

While he was away I examined this curious plunder which had come intoour possession. The curiosities were so wrapped up that I could onlyform a general idea as to their nature, but the striped box stood in agood light where I could thoroughly examine it. On the lid, which wasclamped and cornered with metal-work, there was engraved a complex coatof arms, and beneath it was a line of Spanish which I was able todecipher as meaning, "The treasure-chest of Don Ramirez di Leyra, Knightof the Order of Saint James, Governor and Captain-General of Terra Firmaand of the Province of Veraquas. " In one corner was the date, 1606, andon the other a large white label, upon which was written in English, "You are earnestly requested, upon no account, to open this box. "The same warning was repeated underneath in Spanish. As to the lock, itwas a very complex and heavy one of engraved steel, with a Latin motto, which was above a seaman's comprehension. By the time I had finishedthis examination of the peculiar box, the other quarter-boat with Mr. Armstrong, the first officer, had come alongside, and we began to carryout and place in her the various curiosities which appeared to be theonly objects worth moving from the derelict ship. When she was full Isent her back to the barque, and then Allardyce and I, with thecarpenter and one seaman, shifted the striped box, which was the onlything left, to our boat, and lowered it over, balancing it upon the twomiddle thwarts, for it was so heavy that it would have given the boat adangerous tilt had we placed it at either end. As to the dead man, weleft him where we had found him. The mate had a theory that, at themoment of the desertion of the ship, this fellow had startedplundering, and that the captain, in an attempt to preserve discipline, had struck him down with a hatchet or some other heavy weapon. It seemed more probable than any other explanation, and yet it did notentirely satisfy me either. But the ocean is full of mysteries, and wewere content to leave the fate of the dead seaman of the Brazilian brigto be added to that long list which every sailor can recall. 

The heavy box was slung up by ropes on to the deck of the _MarySinclair_, and was carried by four seamen into the cabin, where, betweenthe table and the after-lockers, there was just space for it to stand. There it remained during supper, and after that meal the mates remainedwith me, and discussed over a glass of grog the event of the day. Mr. Armstrong was a long, thin, vulture-like man, an excellent seaman, but famous for his nearness and cupidity. Our treasure-trove hadexcited him greatly, and already he had begun with glistening eyes toreckon up how much it might be worth to each of us when the shares ofthe salvage came to be divided. 

"If the paper said that they were unique, Mr. Barclay, then they may beworth anything that you like to name. You wouldn't believe the sumsthat the rich collectors give. A thousand pounds is nothing to them. We'll have something to show for our voyage, or I am mistaken. "

"I don't think that, " said I. "As far as I can see, they are not verydifferent from any other South American curios. "

"Well, sir, I've traded there for fourteen voyages, and I have neverseen anything like that chest before. That's worth a pile of money, just as it stands. But it's so heavy that surely there must besomething valuable inside it. Don't you think that we ought to open itand see?"

"If you break it open you will spoil it, as likely as not, " said thesecond mate. 

Armstrong squatted down in front of it, with his head on one side, andhis long, thin nose within a few inches of the lock. 

"The wood is oak, " said he, "and it has shrunk a little with age. If Ihad a chisel or a strong-bladed knife I could force the lock backwithout doing any damage at all. "

The mention of a strong-bladed knife made me think of the dead seamanupon the brig. 

"I wonder if he could have been on the job when someone came tointerfere with him, " said I. 

"I don't know about that, sir, but I am perfectly certain that I couldopen the box. There's a screwdriver here in the locker. Just hold thelamp, Allardyce, and I'll have it done in a brace of shakes. "

"Wait a bit, " said I, for already, with eyes which gleamed withcuriosity and with avarice, he was stooping over the lid. "I don't seethat there is any hurry over this matter. You've read that card whichwarns us not to open it. It may mean anything or it may mean nothing, but somehow I feel inclined to obey it. After all, whatever is in itwill keep, and if it is valuable it will be worth as much if it isopened in the owner's offices as in the cabin of the _Mary Sinclair_. "

The first officer seemed bitterly disappointed at my decision. 

"Surely, sir, you are not superstitious about it, " said he, with aslight sneer upon his thin lips. "If it gets out of our own hands, andwe don't see for ourselves what is inside it, we may be done out of ourrights; besides--"

"That's enough, Mr. Armstrong, " said I, abruptly. "You may have everyconfidence that you will get your rights, but I will not have that boxopened to-night. "

"Why, the label itself shows that the box has been examined byEuropeans, " Allardyce added. "Because a box is a treasure-box is noreason that it has treasures inside it now. A good many folk have had apeep into it since the days of the old Governor of Terra Firma. "

Armstrong threw the screwdriver down upon the table and shrugged hisshoulders. 

"Just as you like, " said he; but for the rest of the evening, althoughwe spoke upon many subjects, I noticed that his eyes were continuallycoming round, with the same expression of curiosity and greed, to theold striped box. 

And now I come to that portion of my story which fills me even now witha shuddering horror when I think of it. The main cabin had the rooms ofthe officers round it, but mine was the farthest away from it at the endof the little passage which led to the companion. No regular watch waskept by me, except in cases of emergency, and the three mates dividedthe watches among them. Armstrong had the middle watch, which ends atfour in the morning, and he was relieved by Allardyce. For my part Ihave always been one of the soundest of sleepers, and it is rare foranything less than a hand upon my shoulder to arouse me. 

And yet I was aroused that night, or rather in the early grey of themorning. It was just half-past four by my chronometer when somethingcaused me to sit up in my berth wide awake and with every nervetingling. It was a sound of some sort, a crash with a human cry at theend of it, which still jarred on my ears. I sat listening, but all wasnow silent. And yet it could not have been imagination, that hideouscry, for the echo of it still rang in my head, and it seemed to havecome from some place quite close to me. I sprang from my bunk, and, pulling on some clothes, I made my way into the cabin. At first I sawnothing unusual there. In the cold, grey light I made out thered-clothed table, the six rotating chairs, the walnut lockers, theswinging barometer, and there, at the end, the big striped chest. I wasturning away, with the intention of going upon deck and asking thesecond mate if he had heard anything, when my eyes fell suddenly uponsomething which projected from under the table. It was the leg of aman--a leg with a long sea-boot upon it. I stooped, and there was afigure sprawling upon his face, his arms thrown forward and his bodytwisted. One glance told me that it was Armstrong, the first officer, and a second that he was a dead man. For a few moments I stood gasping. Then I rushed on to the deck, called Allardyce to my assistance, andcame back with him into the cabin. 

Together we pulled the unfortunate fellow from under the table, and aswe looked at his dripping head we exchanged glances, and I do not knowwhich was the paler of the two. 

"The same as the Spanish sailor, " said I. 

"The very same. God preserve us! It's that infernal chest! Look atArmstrong's hand!"

He held up the mate's right hand, and there was the screwdriver which hehad wished to use the night before. 

"He's been at the chest, sir. He knew that I was on deck and you wereasleep. He knelt down in front of it, and he pushed the lock back withthat tool. Then something happened to him, and he cried out so that youheard him. "

"Allardyce, " I whispered, "what _could_ have happened to him?"

The second mate put his hand upon my sleeve and drew me into his cabin. 

"We can talk here, sir, and we don't know who may be listening to us inthere. What do you suppose is in that box, Captain Barclay?"

"I give you my word, Allardyce, that I have no idea. "

"Well, I can only find one theory which will fit all the facts. Look atthe size of the box. Look at all the carving and metal-work which mayconceal any number of holes. Look at the weight of it; it took four mento carry it. On top of that, remember that two men have tried to openit, and both have come to their end through it. Now, sir, what can itmean except one thing?"

"You mean there is a man in it?"

"Of course there is a man in it. You know how it is in these SouthAmerican States, sir. A man may be president one week and hunted like adog the next--they are for ever flying for their lives. My idea is thatthere is some fellow in hiding there, who is armed and desperate, andwho will fight to the death before he is taken. "

"But his food and drink?"

"It's a roomy chest, sir, and he may have some provisions stowed away. As to his drink, he had a friend among the crew upon the brig who sawthat he had what he needed. "

"You think, then, that the label asking people not to open the box wassimply written in his interest?"

"Yes, sir, that is my idea. Have you any other way of explaining thefacts?"

I had to confess that I had not. 

"The question is what we are to do?" I asked. 

"The man's a dangerous ruffian, who sticks at nothing. I'm thinking itwouldn't be a bad thing to put a rope round the chest and tow italongside for half an hour; then we could open it at our ease. Or if wejust tied the box up and kept him from getting any water maybe thatwould do as well. Or the carpenter could put a coat of varnish over itand stop all the blow-holes. "

"Come, Allardyce, " said I, angrily. "You don't seriously mean to saythat a whole ship's company are going to be terrorised by a single manin a box. If he's there, I'll engage to fetch him out!" I went to myroom and came back with my revolver in my hand. "Now, Allardyce, " saidI, "do you open the lock, and I'll stand on guard. "

"For God's sake, think what you are doing, sir!" cried the mate. "Twomen have lost their lives over it, and the blood of one not yet dry uponthe carpet. "

"The more reason why we should revenge him. "

"Well, sir, at least let me call the carpenter. Three are better thantwo, and he is a good stout man. "

He went off in search of him, and I was left alone with the stripedchest in the cabin. I don't think that I'm a nervous man, but I keptthe table between me and this solid old relic of the Spanish Main. In the growing light of morning the red and white striping was beginningto appear, and the curious scrolls and wreaths of metal and carvingwhich showed the loving pains which cunning craftsmen had expended uponit. Presently the carpenter and the mate came back together, the formerwith a hammer in his hand. 

"It's a bad business, this, sir, " said he, shaking his head, as helooked at the body of the mate. "And you think there's someone hidingin the box?"

"There's no doubt about it, " said Allardyce, picking up the screwdriverand setting his jaw like a man who needs to brace his courage. "I'll drive the lock back if you will both stand by. If he rises lethim have it on the head with your hammer, carpenter. Shoot at once, sir, if he raises his hand. Now!"

He had knelt down in front of the striped chest, and passed the blade ofthe tool under the lid. With a sharp snick the lock flew back. "Standby!" yelled the mate, and with a heave he threw open the massive top ofthe box. As it swung up we all three sprang back, I with my pistollevelled, and the carpenter with the hammer above his head. Then, asnothing happened, we each took a step forward and peeped in. The boxwas empty. 

Not quite empty either, for in one corner was lying an old yellowcandle-stick, elaborately engraved, which appeared to be as old as thebox itself. Its rich yellow tone and artistic shape suggested that itwas an object of value. For the rest there was nothing more weighty orvaluable than dust in the old striped treasure-chest. 

"Well, I'm blessed!" cried Allardyce, staring blankly into it. "Where does the weight come in, then?"

"Look at the thickness of the sides, and look at the lid. Why, it'sfive inches through. And see that great metal spring across it. "

"That's for holding the lid up, " said the mate. "You see, it won't leanback. What's that German printing on the inside?"

"It means that it was made by Johann Rothstein of Augsburg, in 1606. "

"And a solid bit of work, too. But it doesn't throw much light on whathas passed, does it, Captain Barclay? That candlestick looks like gold. We shall have something for our trouble after all. "

He leant forward to grasp it, and from that moment I have never doubtedas to the reality of inspiration, for on the instant I caught him by thecollar and pulled him straight again. It may have been some story ofthe Middle Ages which had come back to my mind, or it may have been thatmy eye had caught some red which was not that of rust upon the upperpart of the lock, but to him and to me it will always seem aninspiration, so prompt and sudden was my action. 

"There's devilry here, " said I. "Give me the crooked stick from thecorner. "

It was an ordinary walking-cane with a hooked top. I passed it over thecandlestick and gave it a pull. With a flash a row of polished steelfangs shot out from below the upper lip, and the great striped chestsnapped at us like a wild animal. Clang came the huge lid into itsplace, and the glasses on the swinging rack sang and tinkled with theshock. The mate sat down on the edge of the table and shivered like afrightened horse. 

"You've saved my life, Captain Barclay!" said he. 

So this was the secret of the striped treasure-chest of old Don Ramirezdi Leyra, and this was how he preserved his ill-gotten gains from theTerra Firma and the Province of Veraquas. Be the thief ever so cunninghe could not tell that golden candlestick from the other articles ofvalue, and the instant that he laid hand upon it the terrible spring wasunloosed and the murderous steel pikes were driven into his brain, whilethe shock of the blow sent the victim backward and enabled the chest toautomatically close itself. How many, I wondered, had fallen victims tothe ingenuity of the mechanic of Ausgburg? And as I thought of thepossible history of that grim striped chest my resolution was veryquickly taken. 

"Carpenter, bring three men, and carry this on deck. "

"Going to throw it overboard, sir?"

"Yes, Mr. Allardyce. I'm not superstitious as a rule, but there aresome things which are more than a sailor can be called upon to stand. "

"No wonder that brig made heavy weather, Captain Barclay, with such athing on board. The glass is dropping fast, sir, and we are only justin time. "

So we did not even wait for the three sailors, but we carried it out, the mate, the carpenter, and I, and we pushed it with our own hands overthe bulwarks. There was a white spout of water, and it was gone. Thereit lies, the striped chest, a thousand fathoms deep, and if, as theysay, the sea will some day be dry land, I grieve for the man who findsthat old box and tries to penetrate into its secret. 

A SHADOW BEFORE

The 15th of July, 1870, found John Worlington Dodds a ruined gamester ofthe Stock Exchange. Upon the 17th he was a very opulent man. And yethe had effected the change without leaving the penurious little Irishtownlet of Dunsloe, which could have been bought outright for a quarterof the sum which he had earned during the single day that he waswithin its walls. There is a romance of finance yet to be written, astory of huge forces which are for ever waxing and waning, of boldoperations, of breathless suspense, of agonised failure, of deepcombinations which are baffled by others still more subtle. The mightydebts of each great European Power stand like so many columns ofmercury, for ever rising and falling to indicate the pressure upon each. He who can see far enough into the future to tell how that ever-varyingcolumn will stand to-morrow is the man who has fortune within his grasp. 

John Worlington Dodds had many of the gifts which lead a speculator tosuccess. He was quick in observing, just in estimating, prompt andfearless in acting. But in finance there is always the element of luck, which, however one may eliminate it, still remains, like the blank atroulette, a constantly present handicap upon the operator. And so itwas that Worlington Dodds had come to grief. On the best advices he haddabbled in the funds of a South American Republic in the days beforeSouth American Republics had been found out. The Republic defaulted, and Dodds lost his money. He had bulled the shares of a Scotch railway, and a four months' strike had hit him hard. He had helped to underwritea coffee company in the hope that the public would come along upon thefeed and gradually nibble away some of his holding, but the politicalsky had been clouded and the public had refused to invest. Everythingwhich he had touched had gone wrong, and now, on the eve of hismarriage, young, clear-headed, and energetic, he was actually a bankrupthad his creditors chosen to make him one. But the Stock Exchange is anindulgent body. What is the case of one to-day may be that of anotherto-morrow, and everyone is interested in seeing that the stricken man isgiven time to rise again. So the burden of Worlington Dodds waslightened for him; many shoulders helped to bear it, and he was able togo for a little summer tour into Ireland, for the doctors had orderedhim rest and change of air to restore his shaken nervous system. Thusit was that upon the 15th of July, 1870, he found himself at hisbreakfast in the fly-blown coffee-room of the "George Hotel" in themarket square of Dunsloe. It is a dull and depressing coffee-room, andone which is usually empty, but on this particular day it was as crowdedand noisy as that of any London hotel. Every table was occupied, and athick smell of fried bacon and of fish hung in the air. Heavily bootedmen clattered in and out, spurs jingled, riding-crops were stacked incorners, and there was a general atmosphere of horse. The conversation, too, was of nothing else. From every side Worlington Dodds heard ofyearlings, of windgalls, of roarers, of spavins, of cribsuckers, of ahundred other terms which were as unintelligible to him as his ownStock Exchange jargon would have been to the company. He asked thewaiter for the reason of it all, and the waiter was an astonished manthat there should be any man in this world who did not know it. 

"Shure it's the Dunsloe horse fair, your honour--the greatesthorse-fair in all Oireland. It lasts for a wake, and the folk come fromfar an' near--from England an' Scotland an' iverywhere. If you look outof the winder, your honour, you'll see the horses, and it's asy yourhonour's conscience must be, or you wouldn't slape so sound that thecreatures didn't rouse you with their clatter. "

Dodds had a recollection that he had heard a confused murmur, which hadinterwoven itself with his dreams--a sort of steady rhythmic beating andclanking--and now, when he looked through the window, he saw the causeof it. The square was packed with horses from end to end--greys, bays, browns, blacks, chestnuts--young ones and old, fine ones and coarse, horses of every conceivable sort and size. It seemed a huge functionfor so small a town, and he remarked as much to the waiter. 

"Well, you see, your honour, the horses don't live in the town, an' theydon't vex their heads how small it is. But it's in the very centre ofthe horse-bradin' districts of Oireland, so where should they come to besould if it wasn't to Dunsloe?" The waiter had a telegram in his hand, and he turned the address to Worlington Dodds. "Shure I niver heardsuch a name, sorr. Maybe you could tell me who owns it?"

Dodds looked at the envelope. Strellenhaus was the name. "No, I don'tknow, " said he. "I never heard it before. It's a foreign name. Perhaps if you were--"

But at that moment a little round-faced, ruddy-cheeked gentleman, whowas breakfasting at the next table, leaned forward and interrupted him. 

"Did you say a foreign name, sir?" said he. 

"Strellenhaus is the name. "

"I am Mr. Strellenhaus--Mr. Julius Strellenhaus, of Liverpool. I wasexpecting a telegram. Thank you very much. "

He sat so near that Dodds, without any wish to play the spy, could nothelp to some extent overlooking him as he opened the envelope. The message was a very long one. Quite a wad of melon-tinted paper cameout from the tawny envelope. Mr. Strellenhaus arranged the sheetsmethodically upon the table-cloth in front of him, so that no eye buthis own could see them. Then he took out a note-book, and, with ananxious face, he began to make entries in it, glancing first at thetelegram and then at the book, and writing apparently one letter orfigure at a time. Dodds was interested, for he knew exactly what theman was doing. He was working out a cipher. Dodds had often done ithimself. And then suddenly the little man turned very pale, as if thefull purport of the message had been a shock to him. Dodds had donethat also, and his sympathies were all with his neighbours. Then thestranger rose, and, leaving his breakfast untasted, he walked out of theroom. 

"I'm thinkin' that the gintleman has had bad news, sorr, " said theconfidential waiter. 

"Looks like it, " Dodds answered; and at that moment his thoughts weresuddenly drawn off into another direction. 

The boots had entered the room with a telegram in his hand. "Where'sMr. Mancune?" said he to the waiter. 

"Well, there are some quare names about. What was it you said?"

"Mr. Mancune, " said the boots, glancing round him. "Ah, there he is!"and he handed the telegram to a gentleman who was sitting reading thepaper in a corner. 

Dodds's eyes had already fallen upon this man, and he had wonderedvaguely what he was doing in such company. He was a tall, white-haired, eagle-nosed gentleman, with a waxed moustache and a carefully pointedbeard--an aristocratic type which seemed out of its element among therough, hearty, noisy dealers who surrounded him. This, then, was Mr. Mancune, for whom the second telegram was intended. 

As he opened it, tearing it open with a feverish haste, Dodds couldperceive that it was as bulky as the first one. He observed also, fromthe delay in reading it, that it was also in some sort of cipher. The gentleman did not write down any translation of it, but he sat forsome time with his nervous, thin fingers twitching amongst the hairs ofhis white beard, and his shaggy brows bent in the deepest and mostabsorbed attention whilst he mastered the meaning of it. Then he sprangsuddenly to his feet, his eyes flashed, his cheeks flushed, and in hisexcitement he crumpled the message up in his hand. With an effort hemastered his emotion, put the paper into his pocket, and walked out ofthe room. 

This was enough to excite a less astute and imaginative man thanWorlington Dodds. Was there any connection between these two messages, or was it merely a coincidence? Two men with strange names receive twotelegrams within a few minutes of each other, each of considerablelength, each in cipher, and each causing keen emotion to the man whoreceived it. One turned pale. The other sprang excitedly to his feet. It might be a coincidence, but it was a very curious one. If it was nota coincidence, then what could it mean? Were they confederates whopretended to work apart, but who each received identical orders fromsome person at a distance? That was possible, and yet there weredifficulties in the way. He puzzled and puzzled, but could find nosatisfactory solution to the problem. All breakfast he was turning itover in his mind. 

When breakfast was over he sauntered out into the market square, wherethe horse sale was already in progress. The yearlings were being soldfirst--tall, long-legged, skittish, wild-eyed creatures, who had runfree upon the upland pastures, with ragged hair and towsie manes, buthardy, inured to all weathers, and with the makings of splendid huntersand steeplechasers when corn and time had brought them to maturity. They were largely of thoroughbred blood, and were being bought byEnglish dealers, who would invest a few pounds now on what they mightsell for fifty guineas in a year, if all went well. It was legitimatespeculation, for the horse is a delicate creature, he is afflicted withmany ailments, the least accident may destroy his value, he is a certainexpense and an uncertain profit, and for one who comes safely tomaturity several may bring no return at all. So the Englishhorse-dealers took their risks as they bought up the shaggy Irishyearlings. One man with a ruddy face and a yellow overcoat took them bythe dozen, with as much _sang froid_ as if they had been oranges, entering each bargain in a bloated note-book. He bought forty or fiftyduring the time that Dodds was watching him. 

"Who is that?" he asked his neighbour, whose spurs and gaiters showedthat he was likely to know. 

The man stared in astonishment at the stranger's ignorance. "Why, that's Jim Holloway, the great Jim Holloway, " said he; then, seeing by the blank look upon Dodds's face that even this informationhad not helped him much, he went into details. "Sure he's the head ofHolloway & Morland, of London, " said he. "He's the buying partner, andhe buys cheap; and the other stays at home and sells, and he sells dear. He owns more horses than any man in the world, and asks the best moneyfor them. I dare say you'll find that half of what are sold at theDunsloe fair this day will go to him, and he's got such a purse thatthere's not a man who can bid against him. "

Worlington Dodds watched the doings of the great dealer with interest. He had passed on now to the two-year-olds and three-year-olds, full-grown horses, but still a little loose in the limb and weak in thebone. The London buyer was choosing his animals carefully, but havingchosen them, the vigour of his competition drove all other bidders outof it. With a careless nod he would run the figure up five pounds at atime, until he was left in possession of the field. At the same time hewas a shrewd observer, and when, as happened more than once, he believedthat someone was bidding against him simply in order to run him up, thehead would cease suddenly to nod, the note-book would be closed with asnap, and the intruder would be left with a purchase which he did notdesire upon his hands. All Dodds's business instincts were aroused bythe tactics of this great operator, and he stood in the crowd watchingwith the utmost interest all that occurred. 

It is not to buy young horses, however, that the great dealers come toIreland, and the real business of the fair commenced when the four andfive-year-olds were reached; the full-grown, perfect horses, at theirprime, and ready for any work or any fatigue. Seventy magnificentcreatures had been brought down by a single breeder, a comfortable-looking, keen-eyed, ruddy-cheeked gentleman who stood beside thesales-man and whispered cautions and precepts into his ear. 

"That's Flynn of Kildare, " said Dodds's informant. "Jack Flynn hasbrought down that string of horses, and the other large string overyonder belongs to Tom Flynn, his brother. The two of them together arethe two first breeders in Ireland. " A crowd had gathered in front of thehorses. By common consent a place had been made for Mr. Holloway, andDodds could catch a glimpse of his florid face and yellow covert-coat inthe front rank. He had opened his note-book, and was tapping his teethreflectively with his pencil as he eyed the horses. 

"You'll see a fight now between the first seller and the first buyer inthe country, " said Dodds's acquaintance. "They are a beautiful string, anyhow. I shouldn't be surprised if he didn't average five-and-thirtypound apiece for the lot as they stand. "

The salesman had mounted upon a chair, and his keen, clean-shaven faceoverlooked the crowd. Mr. Jack Flynn's grey whiskers were at his elbow, and Mr. Holloway immediately in front. 

"You've seen these horses, gentlemen, " said the salesman, with abackward sweep of his hand towards the line of tossing heads andstreaming manes. "When you know that they are bred by Mr. Jack Flynn, at his place in Kildare, you will have a guarantee of their quality. They are the best that Ireland can produce, and in this class of horsethe best that Ireland can produce are the best in the world, as everyriding man knows well. Hunters or carriage horses, all warranted sound, and bred from the best stock. There are seventy in Mr. Jack Flynn'sstring, and he bids me say that if any wholesale dealer would make onebid for the whole lot, to save time, he would have the preference overany purchaser. "

There was a pause and a whisper from the crowd in front, with someexpressions of discontent. By a single sweep all the small dealers hadbeen put out of it. It was only a long purse which could buy on such ascale as that. The salesman looked round him inquiringly. 

"Come, Mr. Holloway, " said he, at last. "You didn't come over here forthe sake of the scenery. You may travel the country and not see suchanother string of horses. Give us a starting bid. "

The great dealer was still rattling his pencil upon his front teeth. "Well, " said he, at last, "they _are_ a fine lot of horses, and I won'tdeny it. They do you credit, Mr. Flynn, I am sure. All the same Ididn't mean to fill a ship at a single bid in this fashion. I like topick and choose my horses. "

"In that case Mr. Flynn is quite prepared to sell them in smaller lots, "said the salesman. "It was rather for the convenience of a wholesalecustomer that he was prepared to put them all up together. But if nogentleman wishes to bid--"

"Wait a minute, " said a voice. "They are very fine horses, these, and Iwill give you a bid to start you. I will give you twenty pounds eachfor the string of seventy. "

There was a rustle as the crowd all swayed their heads to catch aglimpse of the speaker. The salesman leaned forward. "May I ask yourname, sir?"

"Strellenhaus--Mr. Strellenhaus of Liverpool. "

"It's a new firm, " said Dodds's neighbour. "I thought I knew them all, but I never heard of him before. "

The salesman's head had disappeared, for he was whispering with thebreeder. Now he suddenly straightened himself again. "Thank you forgiving us a lead, sir, " said he. "Now, gentlemen, you have heard theoffer of Mr. Strellenhaus of Liverpool. It will give us a base to startfrom. Mr. Strellenhaus has offered twenty pounds a head. "

"Guineas, " said Holloway. 

"Bravo, Mr. Holloway! I knew that you would take a hand. You are notthe man to let such a string of horses pass away from you. The bid istwenty guineas a head. "

"Twenty-five pounds, " said Mr. Strellenhaus. 

"Twenty-six. "

"Thirty. "

It was London against Liverpool, and it was the head of the tradeagainst an outsider. Still, the one man had increased his bids by fivesand the other only by ones. Those fives meant determination and alsowealth. Holloway had ruled the market so long that the crowd wasdelighted at finding someone who would stand up to him. 

"The bid now stands at thirty pounds a head, " said the salesman. "The word lies with you, Mr. Holloway. "

The London dealer was glancing keenly at his unknown opponent, and hewas asking himself whether this was a genuine rival, or whether it was adevice of some sort--an agent of Flynn's perhaps--for running up theprice. Little Mr. Strellenhaus, the same apple-faced gentleman whomDodds had noticed in the coffee-room, stood looking at the horses withthe sharp, quick glances of a man who knows what he is looking for. 

"Thirty-one, " said Holloway, with the air of a man who has gone to hisextreme limit. 

"Thirty-two, " said Strellenhaus, promptly. 

Holloway grew angry at this persistent opposition. His red face flushedredder still. 

"Thirty-three!" he shouted. 

"Thirty-four, " said Strellenhaus. 

Holloway became thoughtful, and entered a few figures in his note-book. There were seventy horses. He knew that Flynn's stock was always of thehighest quality. With the hunting season coming on he might rely uponselling them at an average of from forty-five to fifty. Some of themmight carry a heavy weight, and would run to three figures. On theother hand, there was the feed and keep of them for three months, thedanger of the voyage, the chance of influenza or some of those othercomplaints which run through an entire stable as measles go through anursery. Deducting all this, it was a question whether at the presentprice any profit would be left upon the transaction. Every pound thathe bid meant seventy out of his pocket. And yet he could not submit tobe beaten by this stranger without a struggle. As a business matter itwas important to him to be recognised as the head of his profession. He would make one more effort, if he sacrificed his profit by doing so. 

"At the end of your rope, Mr. Holloway?" asked the salesman, with thesuspicion of a sneer. 

"Thirty-five, " cried Holloway gruffly. 

"Thirty-six, " said Strellenhaus. 

"Then I wish you joy of your bargain, " said Holloway. "I don't buy atthat price, but I should be glad to sell you some. "

Mr. Strellenhaus took no notice of the irony. He was still lookingcritically at the horses. The salesman glanced round him in aperfunctory way. 

"Thirty-six pounds bid, " said he. "Mr. Jack Flynn's lot is going to Mr. Strellenhaus of Liverpool, at thirty-six pounds a head. Going--going--"

"Forty!" cried a high, thin, clear voice. 

A buzz rose from the crowd, and they were all on tiptoe again, trying tocatch a glimpse of this reckless buyer. Being a tall man, Dodds couldsee over the others, and there, at the side of Holloway, he saw themasterful nose and aristocratic beard of the second stranger in thecoffee-room. A sudden personal interest added itself to the scene. He felt that he was on the verge of something--something dimly seen--which he could himself turn to account. The two men with strange names, the telegrams, the horses--what was underlying it all? The salesman wasall animation again, and Mr. Jack Flynn was sitting up with his whitewhiskers bristling and his eyes twinkling. It was the best deal whichhe had ever made in his fifty years of experience. 

"What name, sir?" asked the salesman. 

"Mr. Mancune. "

"Address?"

"Mr. Mancune of Glasgow. "

"Thank you for your bid, sir. Forty pounds a head has been bid by Mr. Mancune of Glasgow. Any advance upon forty?"

"Forty-one, " said Strellenhaus. 

"Forty-five, " said Mancune. 

The tactics had changed, and it was the turn of Strellenhaus now toadvance by ones, while his rival sprang up by fives. But the former wasas dogged as ever. 

"Forty-six, " said he. 

"Fifty!" cried Mancune. 

It was unheard of. The most that the horses could possibly average at aretail price was as much as these men were willing to pay wholesale. 

"Two lunatics from Bedlam, " whispered the angry Holloway. "If I wasFlynn I would see the colour of their money before I went any further. "

The same thought had occurred to the salesman. "As a mere matter ofbusiness, gentlemen, " said he, "it is usual in such cases to put down asmall deposit as a guarantee of _bona fides_. You will understand how Iam placed, and that I have not had the pleasure of doing business witheither of you before. "

"How much?" asked Strellenhaus, briefly. 

"Should we say five hundred?"

"Here is a note for a thousand pounds. "

"And here is another, " said Mancune. 

"Nothing could be more handsome, gentlemen, " said the salesman. "It's atreat to see such a spirited competition. The last bid was fifty poundsa head from Mancune. The word lies with you, Mr. Strellenhaus. "

Mr. Jack Flynn whispered something to the salesman. "Quite so! Mr. Flynn suggests, gentlemen, that as you are both large buyers, it would, perhaps, be a convenience to you if he was to add the string of Mr. TomFlynn, which consists of seventy animals of precisely the same quality, making one hundred and forty in all. Have you any objection, Mr. Mancune?"

"No, sir. "

"And you, Mr. Strellenhaus?"

"I should prefer it. "

"Very handsome! Very handsome indeed!" murmured the salesman. "Then Iunderstand, Mr. Mancune, that your offer of fifty pounds a head extendsto the whole of these horses?"

"Yes, sir. "

A long breath went up from the crowd. Seven thousand pounds at onedeal. It was a record for Dunsloe. 

"Any advance, Mr. Strellenhaus?"

"Fifty-one. "

"Fifty-five. "

"Fifty-six. "

"Sixty. "

They could hardly believe their ears. Holloway stood with his mouthopen, staring blankly in front of him. The salesman tried hard to lookas if such bidding and such prices were nothing unusual. Jack Flynn ofKildare smiled benignly and rubbed his hands together. The crowdlistened in dead silence. 

"Sixty-one, " said Strellenhaus. From the beginning he had stood withouta trace of emotion upon his round face, like a little automatic figurewhich bid by clockwork. His rival was of a more excitable nature. Hiseyes were shining, and he was for ever twitching at his beard. 

"Sixty-five, " he cried. 

"Sixty-six. "

"Seventy. "

But the clockwork had run down. No answering bid came from Mr. Strellenhaus. 

"Seventy bid, sir. "

Mr. Strellenhaus shrugged his shoulders. 

"I am buying for another, and I have reached his limit, " said he. "If you will permit me to send for instructions--"

"I am afraid, sir, that the sale must proceed. "

"Then the horses belong to this gentleman. " For the first time heturned towards his rival, and their glances crossed like sword-blades. "It is possible that I may see the horses again. "

"I hope so, " said Mr. Mancune; and his white, waxed moustache gave afeline upward bristle. 

So, with a bow, they separated. Mr. Strellenhaus walked, down to thetelegraph-office, where his message was delayed because Mr. WorlingtonDodds was already at the end of the wires, for, after dim guesses andvague conjecture, he had suddenly caught a clear view of this comingevent which had cast so curious a shadow before it in this little Irishtown. Political rumours, names, appearances, telegrams, seasoned horsesat any price, there could only be one meaning to it. He held a secret, and he meant to use it. 

Mr. Warner, who was the partner of Mr. Worlington Dodds, and who wassuffering from the same eclipse, had gone down to the Stock Exchange, but had found little consolation there, for the European system was in aferment, and rumours of peace and of war were succeeding each other withsuch rapidity and assurance that it was impossible to know which totrust. It was obvious that a fortune lay either way, for every rumourset the funds fluctuating; but without special information it wasimpossible to act, and no one dared to plunge heavily upon the strengthof newspaper surmise and the gossip of the street. Warner knew that anhour's work might resuscitate the fallen fortunes of himself and hispartner, and yet he could not afford to make a mistake. He returned tohis office in the afternoon, half inclined to back the chances of peace, for of all war scares not one in ten comes to pass. As he entered theoffice a telegram lay upon the table. It was from Dunsloe, a place ofwhich he had never heard, and was signed by his absent partner. The message was in cipher, but he soon translated it, for it was shortand crisp. 

"I am a bear of everything German and French. Sell, sell, sell, keep onselling. "

For a moment Warner hesitated. What could Worlington Dodds know atDunsloe which was not known in Throgmorton Street? But he rememberedthe quickness and decision of his partner. He would not have sent sucha message without very good grounds. If he was to act at all he mustact at once, so, hardening his heart, he went down to the house, and, dealing upon that curious system by which a man can sell what he has notgot, and what he could not pay for if he had it, he disposed of heavyparcels of French and German securities. He had caught the market inone of its little spasms of hope, and there was no lack of buying untilhis own persistent selling caused others to follow his lead, and sobrought about a reaction. When Warner returned to his offices it tookhim some hours to work out his accounts, and he emerged into the streetsin the evening with the absolute certainty that the next settling-daywould leave him either hopelessly bankrupt or exceedingly prosperous. 

It all depended upon Worlington Dodds's information. What could hepossibly have found out at Dunsloe?

And then suddenly he saw a newspaper boy fasten a poster upon alamp-post, and a little crowd had gathered round it in an instantOne of them waved his hat in the air; another shouted to a friend acrossthe street. Warner hurried up and caught a glimpse of the posterbetween two craning heads--

 "FRANCE DECLARES WAR ON GERMANY. "

"By Jove!" cried Warner. "Old Dodds was right, after all. "

THE KING OF THE FOXES

It was after a hunting dinner, and there were as many scarlet coats asblack ones round the table. The conversation over the cigars hadturned, therefore, in the direction of horses and horsemen, withreminiscences of phenomenal runs where foxes had led the pack from endto end of a county, and been overtaken at last by two or three limpinghounds and a huntsman on foot, while every rider in the field had beenpounded. As the port circulated the runs became longer and moreapocryphal, until we had the whips inquiring their way and failing tounderstand the dialect of the people who answered them. The foxes, too, became mere eccentric, and we had foxes up pollard willows, foxes whichwere dragged by the tail out of horses' mangers, and foxes which hadraced through an open front door and gone to ground in a lady'sbonnet-box. The master had told one or two tall reminiscences, and whenhe cleared his throat for another we were all curious, for he was a bitof an artist in his way, and produced his effects in a _crescendo_fashion. His face wore the earnest, practical, severely accurateexpression which heralded some of his finest efforts. 

"It was before I was master, " said he. "Sir Charles Adair had thehounds at that time, and then afterwards they passed to old Lathom, andthen to me. It may possibly have been just after Lathom took them over, but my strong impression is that it was in Adair's time. That would beearly in the seventies--about seventy-two, I should say. 

"The man I mean has moved to another part of the country, but I daresaythat some of you can remember him. Danbury was the name--WalterDanbury, or Wat Danbury, as the people used to call him. He was the sonof old Joe Danbury, of High Ascombe, and when his father died he cameinto a very good thing, for his only brother was drowned when the _MagnaCharta_ foundered, so he inherited the whole estate. It was but a fewhundred acres, but it was good arable land, and those were the greatdays of farming. Besides, it was freehold, and a yeoman farmer withouta mortgage was a warmish man before the great fall in wheat came. Foreign wheat and barbed wire--those are the two curses of this country, for the one spoils the farmer's work and the other spoils his play. 

"This young Wat Danbury was a very fine fellow, a keen rider, and athorough sportsman, but his head was a little turned at having come, when so young, into a comfortable fortune, and he went the pace for ayear or two. The lad had no vice in him, but there was a hard-drinkingset in the neighbourhood at that time, and Danbury got drawn in amongthem; and, being an amiable fellow who liked to do what his friends weredoing, he very soon took to drinking a great deal more than was good forhim. As a rule, a man who takes his exercise may drink as much as helikes in the evening, and do himself no very great harm, if he willleave it alone during the day. Danbury had too many friends for that, however, and it really looked as if the poor chap was going to the bad, when a very curious thing happened which pulled him up with such asudden jerk that he never put his hand upon the neck of a whisky bottleagain. 

"He had a peculiarity which I have noticed in a good many other men, that though he was always playing tricks with his own health, he wasnone the less very anxious about it, and was extremely fidgety if everhe had any trivial symptom. Being a tough, open-air fellow, who wasalways as hard as a nail, it was seldom that there was anything amisswith him; but at last the drink began to tell, and he woke one morningwith his hands shaking and all his nerves tingling like over-stretchedfiddle-strings. He had been dining at some very wet house the nightbefore, and the wine had, perhaps, been more plentiful than choice; atany rate, there he was, with a tongue like a bath towel and a head thatticked like an eight-day clock. He was very alarmed at his owncondition, and he sent for Doctor Middleton, of Ascombe, the father ofthe man who practises there now. 

"Middleton had been a great friend of old Danbury's, and he was verysorry to see his son going to the devil; so he improved the occasion bytaking his case very seriously, and lecturing him upon the danger of hisways. He shook his head and talked about the possibility of _deliriumtremens_, or even of mania, if he continued to lead such a life. Wat Danbury was horribly frightened. 

"'Do you think I am going to get anything of the sort?' he wailed. 

"'Well, really, I don't know, ' said the doctor gravely. 'I cannotundertake to say that you are out of danger. Your system is very muchout of order. At any time during the day you might have those gravesymptoms of which I warn you. '

"'You think I shall be safe by evening?'

"'If you drink nothing during the day, and have no nervous symptomsbefore evening, I think you may consider yourself safe, " the doctoranswered. A little fright would, he thought, do his patient good, so hemade the most of the matter. 

"'What symptoms may I expect?' asked Danebury. 

"'It generally takes the form of optical delusions. '

"'I see specks floating all about. '

"'That is mere biliousness, ' said the doctor soothingly, for he saw thatthe lad was highly strung, and he did not wish to overdo it. 'I daresay that you will have no symptoms of the kind, but when they docome they usually take the shape of insects, or reptiles, or curiousanimals. '

"'And if I see anything of the kind?'

"'If you do, you will at once send for me;' and so, with a promise ofmedicine, the doctor departed. 

"Young Wat Danbury rose and dressed and moped about the room feelingvery miserable and unstrung, with a vision of the County Asylum for everin his mind. He had the doctor's word for it that if he could getthrough to evening in safety he would be all right; but it is not veryexhilarating to be waiting for symptoms, and to keep on glancing at yourbootjack to see whether it is still a bootjack or whether it has begunto develop antennae and legs. At last he could stand it no longer, andan overpowering longing for the fresh air and the green grass came overhim. Why should he stay indoors when the Ascombe Hunt was meetingwithin half a mile of him? If he was going to have these delusionswhich the doctor talked of, he would not have them the sooner nor theworse because he was on horseback in the open. He was sure, too, itwould ease his aching head. And so it came about that in ten minutes hewas in his hunting-kit, and in ten more he was riding out of hisstable-yard with his roan mare 'Matilda' between his knees. He was alittle unsteady in his saddle just at first, but the farther he went thebetter he felt, until by the time he reached the meet his head wasalmost clear, and there was nothing troubling him except those hauntingwords of the doctor's about the possibility of delusions any time beforenightfall. 

"But soon he forgot that also, for as he came up the hounds were thrownoff, and they drew the Gravel Hanger, and afterwards the Hickory Copse. It was just the morning for a scent--no wind to blow it away, no waterto wash it out, and just damp enough to make it cling. There was afield of forty, all keen men and good riders, so when they came to theBlack Hanger they knew that there would be some sport, for that's acover which never draws blank. The woods were thicker in those daysthan now, and the foxes were thicker also, and that great darkoak-grove was swarming with them. The only difficulty was to make thembreak, for it is, as you know, a very close country, and you must coaxthem out into the open before you can hope for a run. 

"When they came to the Black Hanger the field took their positions alongthe cover-side wherever they thought that they were most likely to get agood start. Some went in with the hounds, some clustered at the ends ofthe drives, and some kept outside in the hope of the fox breaking inthat direction. Young Wat Danbury knew the country like the palm of hishand, so he made for a place where several drives intersected, and therehe waited. He had a feeling that the faster and the farther he gallopedthe better he should be, and so he was chafing to be off. His mare, too, was in the height of fettle and one of the fastest goers in thecounty. Wat was a splendid lightweight rider--under ten stone with hissaddle--and the mare was a powerful creature, all quarters andshoulders, fit to carry a lifeguardsman; and so it was no wonder thatthere was hardly a man in the field who could hope to stay with him. There he waited and listened to the shouting of the huntsman and thewhips, catching a glimpse now and then in the darkness of the wood of awhisking tail, or the gleam of a white-and-tan side amongst theunderwood. It was a well-trained pack, and there was not so much as awhine to tell you that forty hounds were working all round you. 

"And then suddenly there came one long-drawn yell from one of them, andit was taken up by another, and another, until within a few seconds thewhole pack was giving tongue together and running on a hot scent. Danbury saw them stream across one of the drives and disappear upon theother side, and an instant later the three red coats of the huntservants flashed after them upon the same line. He might have made ashorter cut down one of the other drives, but he was afraid of headingthe fox, so he followed the lead of the huntsman. Right through thewood they went in a bee-line, galloping with their faces brushed bytheir horses' manes as they stooped under the branches. 

"It's ugly going, as you know, with the roots all wriggling about in thedarkness, but you can take a risk when you catch an occasional glimpseof the pack running with a breast-high scent; so in and out they dodgeduntil the wood began to thin at the edges, and they found themselves inthe long bottom where the river runs. It is clear going there upongrassland, and the hounds were running very strong about two hundredyards ahead, keeping parallel with the stream. The field, who had comeround the wood instead of going through, were coming hard over thefields upon the left; but Danbury, with the hunt servants, had a clearlead, and they never lost it. 

"Two of the field got on terms with them--Parson Geddes on a bigseventeen-hand bay which he used to ride in those days, and SquireFoley, who rode as a feather-weight, and made his hunters out of castthoroughbreds from the Newmarket sales; but the others never had alook-in from start to finish, for there was no check and no pulling, andit was clear cross-country racing from start to finish. If you haddrawn a line right across the map with a pencil you couldn't gostraighter than that fox ran, heading for the South Downs and the sea, and the hounds ran as surely as if they were running to view, and yetfrom the beginning no one ever saw the fox, and there was never a halloforrard to tell them that he had been spied. This, however, is not sosurprising, for if you've been over that line of country you will knowthat there are not very many people about. 

"There were six of them then in the front row--Parson Geddes, SquireFoley, the huntsman, two whips, and Wat Danbury, who had forgotten allabout his head and the doctor by this time, and had not a thought foranything but the run. All six were galloping just as hard as they couldlay hoofs to the ground. One of the whips dropped back, however, assome of the hounds were tailing off, and that brought them down to five. Then Foley's thoroughbred strained herself, as these slim-legged, dainty-fetlocked thoroughbreds will do when the going is rough, and hehad to take a back seat. But the other four were still going strong, and they did four or five miles down the river flat at a rasping pace. It had been a wet winter, and the waters had been out a little timebefore, so there was a deal of sliding and splashing; but by the timethey came to the bridge the whole field was out of sight, and these fourhad the hunt to themselves. 

"The fox had crossed the bridge--for foxes do not care to swim a chillyriver any more than humans do--and from that point he had streaked awaysouthward as hard as he could tear. It is broken country, rollingheaths, down one slope and up another, and it's hard to say whether theup or the down is the more trying for the horses. This sort ofswitchback work is all right for a cobby, short-backed, short-leggedlittle horse, but it is killing work for a big, long-striding huntersuch as one wants in the Midlands. Anyhow, it was too much for ParsonGeddes' seventeen-hand bay, and though he tried the Irish trick--for hewas a rare keen sportsman--of running up the hills by his horse's head, it was all to no use, and he had to give it up. So then there were onlythe huntsman, the whip, and Wat Danbury--all going strong. 

"But the country got worse and worse and the hills were steeper and morethickly covered in heather and bracken. The horses were over theirhocks all the time, and the place was pitted with rabbit-holes; but thehounds were still streaming along, and the riders could not afford topick their steps. As they raced down one slope, the hounds were alwaysflowing up the opposite one, until it looked like that game where theone figure in falling makes the other one rise. 

"But never a glimpse did they get of the fox, although they knew verywell that he must be only a very short way ahead for the scent to be sostrong. And then Wat Danbury heard a crash and a thud at his elbow, andlooking round he saw a pair of white cords and top-boots kicking out ofa tussock of brambles. The whip's horse had stumbled, and the whip wasout of the running. Danbury and the huntsman eased down for an instant;and then, seeing the man staggering to his feet all right, they turnedand settled into their saddles once more. 

"Joe Clarke, the huntsman, was a famous old rider, known for fivecounties round; but he reckoned upon his second horse, and the secondhorses had all been left many miles behind. However, the one he wasriding was good enough for anything with such a horseman upon his back, and he was going as well as when he started. As to Wat Danbury, he wasgoing better. With every stride his own feelings improved, and the mindof the rider had its influence upon the mind of the horse. The stoutlittle roan was gathering its muscular limbs under it, and stretching tothe gallop as if it were steel and whale-bone instead of flesh andblood. Wat had never come to the end of its powers yet, and to-day hehad such a chance of testing them as he had never had before. 

"There was a pasture country beyond the heather slopes, and for severalmiles the two riders were either losing ground as they fumbled withtheir crop-handles at the bars of gates, or gaining it again as theygalloped over the fields. Those were the days before this accursed wirecame into the country, and you could generally break a hedge where youcould not fly it, so they did not trouble the gates more than they couldhelp. Then they were down in a hard lane, where they had to slackentheir pace, and through a farm where a man came shouting excitedly afterthem; but they had no time to stop and listen to him, for the houndswere on some ploughland, only two fields ahead. It was sloping upwards, that ploughland, and the horses were over their fetlocks in the red, soft soil. 

"When they reached the top they were blowing badly, but a grand valleysloped before them, leading up to the open country of the South Downs. Between, there lay a belt of pine-woods, into which the hounds werestreaming, running now in a long, straggling line, and shedding one hereand one there as they ran. You could see the white-and-tan dots hereand there where the limpers were tailing away. But half the pack werestill going well, though the pace and distance had both beentremendous--two clear hours now without a check. 

"There was a drive through the pine-wood--one of those green, slightlyrutted drives where a horse can get the last yard out of itself, for theground is hard enough to give him clean going and yet springy enough tohelp him. Wat Danbury got alongside of the huntsman and they gallopedtogether with their stirrup-irons touching, and the hounds within ahundred yards of them. 

"'We have it all to ourselves, ' said he. 

"'Yes, sir, we've shook on the lot of 'em this time, ' said old JoeClarke. 'If we get this fox it's worth while 'aving 'im skinned an'stuffed, for 'e's a curiosity 'e is. '

"'It's the fastest run I ever had in my life!' cried Danbury. 

"'And the fastest that ever I 'ad, an' that means more, ' said the oldhuntsman. 'But what licks me is that we've never 'ad a look at thebeast. 'E must leave an amazin' scent be'ind 'im when these 'ounds canfollow 'im like this, and yet none of us have seen 'im when we've 'ad aclear 'alf mile view in front of us. '

"'I expect we'll have a view of him presently, ' said Danbury; and in hismind he added, 'at least, I shall, ' for the huntsman's horse was gaspingas it ran, and the white foam was pouring down it like the side of awashing-tub. 

"They had followed the hounds on to one of the side tracks which led outof the main drive, and that divided into a smaller track still, wherethe branches switched across their faces as they went, and there wasbarely room for one horse at a time. Wat Danbury took the lead, and heheard the huntsman's horse clumping along heavily behind him, while hisown mare was going with less spring than when she had started. Sheanswered to a touch of his crop or spur, however, and he felt that therewas something still left to draw upon. And then he looked up, and therewas a heavy wooden stile at the end of the narrow track, with a lane ofstiff young saplings leading down to it, which was far too thick tobreak through. The hounds were running clear upon the grassland on theother side, and you were bound either to get over that stile or losesight of them, for the pace was too hot to let you go round. 

"Well, Wat Danbury was not the lad to flinch, and at it he went fullsplit, like a man who means what he is doing. She rose gallantly to it, rapped it hard with her front hoof, shook him on to her withers, recovered herself, and was over. Wat had hardly got back into hissaddle when there was a clatter behind him like the fall of a woodstack, and there was the top bar in splinters, the horse on its belly, and thehuntsman on hands and knees half a dozen yards in front of him. Wat pulled up for an instant, for the fall was a smasher; but he saw oldJoe spring to his feet and get to his horse's bridle. The horsestaggered up, but the moment it put one foot in front of the other, Watsaw that it was hopelessly lame--a slipped shoulder and a six weeks'job. There was nothing he could do, and Joe was shouting to him not tolose the hounds, so off he went again, the one solitary survivor of thewhole hunt. When a man finds himself there, he can retire fromfox-hunting, for he has tasted the highest which it has to offer. I remember once when I was out with the Royal Surrey--but I'll tell youthat story afterwards. 

"The pack, or what was left of them, had got a bit ahead during thistime; but he had a clear view of them on the downland, and the mareseemed full of pride at being the only one left, for she was steppingout rarely and tossing her head as she went. They were two miles overthe green shoulder of a hill, a rattle down a stony, deep-rutted countrylane, where the mare stumbled and nearly came down, a jump over a 5ft. Brook, a cut through a hazel copse, another dose of heavy ploughland, acouple of gates to open, and then the green, unbroken Downs beyond. 

"'Well, ' said Wat Danbury to himself, 'I'll see this fox run into or Ishall see it drowned, for it's all clear going now between this and thechalk cliffs which line the sea. ' But he was wrong in that, as hespeedily discovered. In all the little hollows of the downs at thatpart there are plantations of fir-woods, some of which have grown to agood size. You do not see them until you come upon the edge of thevalleys in which they lie. Danbury was galloping hard over the short, springy turf when he came over the lip of one of these depressions, andthere was the dark clump of wood lying in front of and beneath him. There were only a dozen hounds still running, and they were justdisappearing among the trees. The sunlight was shining straight uponthe long olive-green slopes which curved down towards this wood, andDanbury, who had the eyes of a hawk, swept them over this great expanse;but there was nothing moving upon it. A few sheep were grazing far upon the right, but there was no other sight of any living creature. He was certain then that he was very near to the end, for either the foxmust have gone to ground in the wood or the hounds' noses must be at hisvery brush. The mare seemed to know also what that great empty sweep ofcountryside meant, for she quickened her stride, and a few minutesafterwards Danbury was galloping into the fir-wood. 

"He had come from bright sunshine, but the wood was very closelyplanted, and so dim that he could hardly see to right or to left out ofthe narrow path down which he was riding. You know what a solemn, churchyardy sort of place a fir-wood is. I suppose it is the absence ofany undergrowth, and the fact that the trees never move at all. At anyrate a kind of chill suddenly struck Wat Danbury, and it flashed throughhis mind that there had been some very singular points about this run--its length and its straightness, and the fact that from the first findno one had ever caught a glimpse of the creature. Some silly talk whichhad been going round the country about the king of the foxes--a sort ofdemon fox, so fast that it could outrun any pack, and so fierce thatthey could do nothing with it if they overtook it--suddenly came backinto his mind, and it did not seem so laughable now in the dim fir-woodas it had done when the story had been told over the wine and cigars. The nervousness which had been on him in the morning, and which he hadhoped that he had shaken off, swept over him again in an overpoweringwave. He had been so proud of being alone, and yet he would have given10 pounds now to have had Joe Clarke's homely face beside him. Andthen, just at that moment, there broke out from the thickest part of thewood the most frantic hullabaloo that ever he had heard in his life. The hounds had run into their fox. 

"Well, you know, or you ought to know, what your duty is in such a case. You have to be whip, huntsman, and everything else if you are the firstman up. You get in among the hounds, lash them off, and keep the brushand pads from being destroyed. Of course, Wat Danbury knew all aboutthat, and he tried to force his mare through the trees to the placewhere all this hideous screaming and howling came from, but the wood wasso thick that it was impossible to ride it. He sprang off, therefore, left the mare standing, and broke his way through as best he could withhis hunting-lash ready over his shoulder. 

"But as he ran forward he felt his flesh go cold and creepy all over. He had heard hounds run into foxes many times before, but he had neverheard such sounds as these. They were not the cries of triumph, but offear. Every now and then came a shrill yelp of mortal agony. Holdinghis breath, he ran on until he broke through the interlacing branches, and found himself in a little, clearing with the hounds all crowdinground a patch of tangled bramble at the further end. 

"When he first caught sight of them the hounds were standing in ahalf-circle round this bramble patch, with their backs bristling andtheir jaws gaping. In front of the brambles lay one of them with histhroat torn out, all crimson and white-and-tan. Wat came running outinto the clearing, and at the sight of him the hounds took heart again, and one of them sprang with a growl into the bushes. At the sameinstant, a creature the size of a donkey jumped on to its feet, a hugegrey head, with monstrous glistening fangs and tapering fox jaws, shotout from among the branches, and the hound was thrown several feet intothe air, and fell howling among the cover. Then there was a clashingsnap, like a rat-trap closing, and the howls sharpened into a scream andthen were still. 

"Danbury had been on the look-out for symptoms all day, and now he hadfound them. He looked once more at the thicket, saw a pair of savagered eyes fixed upon him, and fairly took to his heels. It might only bea passing delusion, or it might be the permanent mania of which thedoctor had spoken, but anyhow, the thing to do was to get back to bedand to quiet, and to hope for the best. 

"He forgot the hounds, the hunt, and everything else in his desperatefears for his own reason. He sprang upon his mare, galloped her madlyover the downs, and only stopped when he found himself at a countrystation. There he left his mare at the inn, and made back for home asquickly as steam would take him. It was evening before he got there, shivering with apprehension, and seeing those red eyes and savage teethat every turn. He went straight to bed and sent for Dr. Middleton. 

"'I've got 'em, doctor, ' said he. 'It came about exactly as you said--strange creatures, optical delusions, and everything. All I ask you nowis to save my reason. ' The doctor listened to his story, and wasshocked as he heard it. 

"'It appears to be a very clear case, ' said he. 'This must be a lessonto you for life. '

"'Never a drop again if I only come safely through this, ' cried WatDanbury. 

"'Well, my dear boy, if you will stick to that it may prove a blessingin disguise. But the difficulty in this case is to know where fact endsand fancy begins. You see, it is not as if there was only one delusion. There have been several. The dead dogs, for example, must have been oneas well as the creature in the bush. '

"'I saw it all as clearly as I see you. '

"'One of the characteristics of this form of delirium is that what yousee is even clearer than reality. I was wondering whether the whole runwas not a delusion also. '

"Wat Danbury pointed to his hunting boots still lying upon the floor, necked with the splashings of two counties. 

"'Hum! that looks very real, certainly. No doubt, in your weak state, you over-exerted yourself and so brought this attack upon yourself. Well, whatever the cause, our treatment is clear. You will take thesoothing mixture which I will send to you, and we shall put two leechesupon your temples to-night to relieve any congestion of the brain. '

"So Wat Danbury spent the night in tossing about and reflecting what asensitive thing this machinery of ours is, and how very foolish it is toplay tricks with what is so easily put out of gear and so difficult tomend. And so he repeated and repeated his oath that this first lessonshould be his last, and that from that time forward he would be a sober, hard-working yeoman as his father had been before him. So he lay, tossing and still repentant, when his door flew open in the morning andin rushed the doctor with a newspaper crumpled up in his hand. 

"'My dear boy, ' he cried, 'I owe you a thousand apologies. You're themost ill-used lad and I the greatest numskull in the county. Listen tothis!' And he sat down upon the side of the bed, flattened out hispaper upon his knee, and began to read. 

"The paragraph was headed, 'Disaster to the Ascombe Hounds, ' and it wenton to say that four of the hounds, shockingly torn and mangled, had beenfound in Winton Fir Wood upon the South Downs. The run had been sosevere that half the pack were lamed; but the four found in the woodwere actually dead, although the cause of their extraordinary injurieswas still unknown. 

"'So, you see, ' said the doctor, looking up, 'that I was wrong when Iput the dead hounds among the delusions. '

"'But the cause?' cried Wat. 

"'Well, I think we may guess the cause from an item which has beeninserted just as the paper went to press:--

 "Late last night, Mr. Brown, of Smither's Farm, to the east of Hastings, perceived what he imagined to be an enormous dog worrying one of his sheep. He shot the creature, which proves to be a grey Siberian wolf of the variety known as _Lupus Giganticus_. It is supposed to have escaped from some travelling menagerie. 

"That's the story, gentlemen, and Wat Danbury stuck to his goodresolutions, for the fright which he had cured him of all wish to runsuch a risk again; and he never touches anything stronger thanlime-juice--at least, he hadn't before he left this part of the country, five years ago next Lady Day. "

THE THREE CORRESPONDENTS

There was only the one little feathery clump of dom palms in all thatgreat wilderness of black rocks and orange sand. It stood high on thebank, and below it the brown Nile swirled swiftly towards the AmbigoleCataract, fitting a little frill of foam round each of the boulderswhich studded its surface. Above, out of a naked blue sky, the sun wasbeating down upon the sand, and up again from the sand under the brimsof the pith-hats of the horsemen with the scorching glare of ablast-furnace. It had risen so high that the shadows of the horses wereno larger than themselves. 

"Whew!" cried Mortimer, mopping his forehead, "you'd pay five shillingsfor this at the hummums. "

"Precisely, " said Scott. "But you are not asked to ride twenty miles ina Turkish bath with a field-glass and a revolver, and a water-bottle anda whole Christmas-treeful of things dangling from you. The hot-house atKew is excellent as a conservatory, but not adapted for exhibitions uponthe horizontal bar. I vote for a camp in the palm-grove and a haltuntil evening. "

Mortimer rose on his stirrups and looked hard to the southward. Everywhere were the same black burned rocks and deep orange sand. At one spot only an intermittent line appeared to have been cut throughthe rugged spurs which ran down to the river. It was the bed of the oldrailway, long destroyed by the Arabs, but now in process ofreconstruction by the advancing Egyptians. There was no other sign ofman's handiwork in all that desolate scene. 

"It's palm trees or nothing, " said Scott. 

"Well, I suppose we must; and yet I grudge every hour until we catch theforce up. What _would_ our editors say if we were late for the action?"

"My dear chap, an old bird like you doesn't need to be told that no sanemodern general would ever attack until the Press is up. "

"You don't mean that?" said young Anerley. "I thought we were lookedupon as an unmitigated nuisance. "

"'Newspaper correspondents and travelling gentlemen, and all that tribeof useless drones'--being an extract from Lord Wolseley's 'Soldier'sPocket-Book, '" cried Scott. "We know all about _that_, Anerley;" and hewinked behind his blue spectacles. "If there was going to be a battlewe should very soon have an escort of cavalry to hurry us up. I've beenin fifteen, and I never saw one where they had not arranged for areporter's table. "

"That's very well; but the enemy may be less considerate, " saidMortimer. 

"They are not strong enough to force a battle. "

"A skirmish, then?"

"Much more likely to be a raid upon the rear. In that case we are justwhere we should be. "

"So we are! What a score over Reuter's man up with the advance!Well, we'll outspan and have our tiffin under the palms. "

There were three of them, and they stood for three great London dailies. Reuter's was thirty miles ahead; two evening pennies upon camels weretwenty miles behind. And among them they represented the eyes and earsof the public--the great silent millions and millions who had paid foreverything, and who waited so patiently to know the result of theiroutlay. 

They were remarkable men these body-servants of the Press; two of themalready veterans in camps, the other setting out upon his firstcampaign, and full of deference for his famous comrades. 

This first one, who had just dismounted from his bay polo-pony, wasMortimer, of the _Intelligence_--tall, straight, and hawk-faced, withkhaki tunic and riding-breeches, drab putties, a scarlet cummerbund, anda skin tanned to the red of a Scotch fir by sun and wind, and mottled bythe mosquito and the sand-fly. The other--small, quick, mercurial, withblue-black, curling beard and hair, a fly-switch for ever flicking inhis left hand--was Scott, of the _Courier_, who had come through moredangers and brought off more brilliant _coups_ than any man in theprofession, save the eminent Chandler, now no longer in a condition totake the field. They were a singular contrast, Mortimer and Scott, andit was in their differences that the secret of their close friendshiplay. Each dovetailed into the other. The strength of each was in theother's weakness. Together they formed a perfect unit. Mortimer wasSaxon--slow, conscientious, and deliberate; Scott was Celtic--quick, happy-go-lucky, and brilliant. Mortimer was the more solid, Scott themore attractive. Mortimer was the deeper thinker, Scott the brightertalker. By a curious coincidence, though each had seen much of warfare, their campaigns had never coincided. Together they covered all recentmilitary history. Scott had done Plevna, the Shipka, the Zulus, Egypt, Suakim; Mortimer had seen the Boer War, the Chilian, the Bulgaria andServian, the Gordon relief, the Indian frontier, Brazilian rebellion, and Madagascar. This intimate personal knowledge gave a peculiarflavour to their talk. There was none of the second-hand surmise andconjecture which form so much of our conversation; it was all concreteand final. The speaker had been there, had seen it, and there was anend of it. 

In spite of their friendship there was the keenest professional rivalrybetween the two men. Either would have sacrificed himself to help hiscompanion, but either would also have sacrificed his companion to helphis paper. Never did a jockey yearn for a winning mount as keenly aseach of them longed to have a full column in a morning edition whilstevery other daily was blank. They were perfectly frank about thematter. Each professed himself ready to steal a march on his neighbour, and each recognised that the other's duty to his employer was far higherthan any personal consideration. 

The third man was Anerley, of the _Gazette_--young, inexperienced, andrather simple-looking. He had a droop of the lip, which some of hismore intimate friends regarded as a libel upon his character, and hiseyes were so slow and so sleepy that they suggested an affectation. A leaning towards soldiering had sent him twice to autumn manoeuvres, and a touch of colour in his descriptions had induced the proprietors ofthe _Gazette_ to give him a trial as a war-special. There was apleasing diffidence about his bearing which recommended him to hisexperienced companions, and if they had a smile sometimes at hisguileless ways, it was soothing to them to have a comrade from whomnothing was to be feared. From the day that they left thetelegraph-wire behind them at Sarras, the man who was mounted upon a15-guinea 13-4 Syrian was delivered over into the hands of the owners ofthe two fastest polo-ponies that ever shot down the Ghezireh ground. The three had dismounted and led their beasts under the welcome shade. In the brassy, yellow glare every branch above threw so black and solida shadow that the men involuntarily raised their feet to step overthem. 

"The palm makes an excellent hat-rack, " said Scott, slinging hisrevolver and his water-bottle over the little upward-pointing pegs whichbristle from the trunk. "As a shade tree, however, it isn't anunqualified success. Curious that in the universal adaptation of meansto ends something a little less flimsy could not have been devised forthe tropics. "

"Like the banyan in India. "

"Or the fine hardwood trees in Ashantee, where a whole regiment couldpicnic under the shade. "

"The teak tree isn't bad in Burmah, either. By Jove, the baccy has allcome loose in the saddle-bag! That long-cut mixture smokes rather hotfor this climate. How about the baggles, Anerley?"

"They'll be here in five minutes. "

Down the winding path which curved among the rocks the little train ofbaggage-camels was daintily picking its way. They came mincing andundulating along, turning their heads slowly from side to side with theair of a self-conscious woman. In front rode the three Berbereebody-servants upon donkeys, and behind walked the Arab camel-boys. They had been travelling for nine long hours, ever since the firstrising of the moon, at the weary camel-drag of two and a half miles anhour, but now they brightened, both beasts and men, at the sight of thegrove and the riderless horses. In a few minutes the loads wereunstrapped, the animals tethered, a fire lighted, fresh water carried upfrom the river, and each camel-boy provided with his own little heap oftibbin laid in the centre of the table-cloth, without which no well-bredArabian will condescend to feed. The dazzling light without, thesubdued half-tones within, the green palm-fronds outlined against thedeep blue sky, the flitting, silent-footed Arab servants, the cracklingof sticks, the reek of a lighting fire, the placid supercilious heads ofthe camels, they all come back in their dreams to those who have knownthem. 

Scott was breaking eggs into a pan and rolling out a love-song in hisrich, deep voice. Anerley, with his head and arms buried in a dealpacking-case, was working his way through strata of tinned soups, bullybeef, potted chicken, and sardines to reach the jams which lay beneath. The conscientious Mortimer, with his notebook upon his knee, was jottingdown what the railway engineer had told him at the line-end the daybefore. Suddenly he raised his eyes and saw the man himself on hischestnut pony, dipping and rising over the broken ground. 

"Hullo! Here's Merryweather!"

"A pretty lather his pony is in! He's had her at that hand-gallop forhours, by the look of her. Hullo, Merryweather, hullo!"

The engineer, a small, compact man with a pointed red beard, had made asthough he would ride past their camp without word or halt. Now heswerved, and easing his pony down to a canter, he headed her to-wardsthem. 

"For God's sake, a drink!" he croaked. "My tongue is stuck to the roofof my mouth. "

Mortimer ran with the water-bottle, Scott with the whisky-flask, andAnerley with the tin pannikin. The engineer drank until his breathfailed him. 

"Well, I must be off, " said he, striking the drops from his redmoustache. 

"Any news?"

"A hitch in the railway construction. I must see the general. It's the devil not having a telegraph. "

"Anything we can report?" Out came three notebooks. 

"I'll tell you after I've seen the general. "

"Any dervishes?"

"The usual shaves. Hud-up, Jinny! Good-bye!"

With a soft thudding upon the sand, and a clatter among the stones theweary pony was off upon her journey once more. 

"Nothing serious, I suppose?" said Mortimer, staring after him. 

"Deuced serious, " cried Scott. "The ham and eggs are burned! No--it'sall right--saved, and done to a turn! Pull the box up, Anerley. Come on, Mortimer, stow that notebook! The fork is mightier than thepen just at present. What's the matter with you, Anerley?"

"I was wondering whether what we have just seen was worth a telegram. "

"Well, it's for the proprietors to say if it's worth it. Sordid moneyconsiderations are not for us. We must wire about something just tojustify our khaki coats and our putties. "

"But what is there to say?"

Mortimer's long, austere face broke into a smile over the youngster'sinnocence. "It's not quite usual in our profession to give each othertips, " said he. "However, as my telegram is written, I've no objectionto your reading it. You may be sure that I would not show it to you ifit were of the slightest importance. "

Anerley took up the slip of paper and read:--

 Merryweather obstacles stop journey confer general stop nature difficulties later stop rumours dervishes. 

"This is very condensed, " said Anerley, with wrinkled brows. 

"Condensed!" cried Scott. "Why, it's sinfully garrulous. If my old mangot a wire like that his language would crack the lamp-shades. I'd cutout half this; for example, I'd have out 'journey, ' and 'nature, ' and'rumours. ' But my old man would make a ten-line paragraph of it for allthat. "

"How?"

"Well, I'll do it myself just to show you. Lend me that stylo. " Hescribbled for a minute in his notebook. "It works out somewhat on theselines":--

 Mr. Charles H. Merryweather, the eminent railway engineer, who is at present engaged in superintending the construction of the line from Sarras to the front, has met with considerable obstacles to the rapid completion of his important task--

"Of course the old man knows who Merryweather is, and what he is about, so the word 'obstacles' would suggest all that to him. "

 He has to-day been compelled to make a journey of forty miles to the front, in order to confer with the general upon the steps which are necessary in order to facilitate the work. Further particulars of the exact nature of the difficulties met with will be made public at a later date. All is quiet upon the line of communications, though the usual persistent rumours of the presence of dervishes in the Eastern desert continue to circulate. --_Our own correspondent_. 

"How's that?" cried Scott, triumphantly, and his white teeth gleamedsuddenly through his black beard. "That's the sort of flapdoodle forthe dear old public. "

"Will it interest them?"

"Oh, everything interests them. They want to know all about it; andthey like to think that there is a man who is getting a hundred a monthsimply in order to tell it to them. "

"It's very kind of you to teach me all this. "

"Well, it is a little unconventional, for, after all, we are here toscore over each other if we can. There are no more eggs, and you musttake it out in jam. Of course, as Mortimer says, such a telegram asthis is of no importance one way or another, except to prove to theoffice that we _are_ in the Soudan, and not at Monte Carlo. But when itcomes to serious work it must be every man for himself. "

"Is that quite necessary?"

"Why, of course it is. "

"I should have thought if three men were to combine and to share theirnews, they would do better than if they were each to act for himself, and they would have a much pleasanter time of it. "

The two older men sat with their bread-and-jam in their hands, and anexpression of genuine disgust upon their faces. 

"We are not here to have a pleasant time, " said Mortimer, with a flashthrough his glasses. "We are here to do our best for our papers. How can they score over each other if we do not do the same? If we allcombine we might as well amalgamate with Reuter at once. "

"Why, it would take away the whole glory of the profession!" criedScott. "At present the smartest man gets his stuff first on the wires. What inducement is there to be smart if we all share and share alike?"

"And at present the man with the best equipment has the best chance, "remarked Mortimer, glancing across at the shot-silk polo ponies and thecheap little Syrian grey. "That is the fair reward of foresight andenterprise. Every man for himself, and let the best man win. "

"That's the way to find who the best man is. Look at Chandler. He would never have got his chance if he had not played always off hisown bat. You've heard how he pretended to break his leg, sent hisfellow-correspondent off for the doctor, and so got a fair start for thetelegraph-office. "

"Do you mean to say that was legitimate?"

"Everything is legitimate. It's your wits against my wits. "

"I should call it dishonourable. "

"You may call it what you like. Chandler's paper got the battle and theother's didn't. It made Chandler's name. "

"Or take Westlake, " said Mortimer, cramming the tobacco into his pipe. "Hi, Abdul, you may have the dishes! Westlake brought his stuff down bypretending to be the Government courier, and using the relays ofGovernment horses. Westlake's paper sold half a million. "

"Is that legitimate also?" asked Anerley, thoughtfully. 

"Why not?"

"Well, it looks a little like horse-stealing and lying. "

"Well, _I_ think I should do a little horse-stealing and lying if Icould have a column to myself in a London daily. What do you say, Scott?"

"Anything short of manslaughter. "

"And I'm not sure that I'd trust you there. "

"Well, I don't think I should be guilty of newspaper-man-slaughter. That I regard as a distinct breach of professional etiquette. But ifany outsider comes between a highly charged correspondent and anelectric wire, he does it at his peril. My dear Anerley, I tell youfrankly that if you are going to handicap yourself with scruple you mayjust as well be in Fleet Street as in the Soudan. Our life isirregular. Our work has never been systematised. No doubt it will besome day, but the time is not yet. Do what you can and how you can, andbe first on the wires; that's my advice to you; and also, that when nextyou come upon a campaign you bring with you the best horse that moneycan buy. Mortimer may beat me or I may beat Mortimer, but at least weknow that between us we have the fastest ponies in the country. We haveneglected no chance. "

"I am not so certain of that, " said Mortimer, slowly. "You are aware, of course, that though a horse beats a camel on twenty miles, a camelbeats a horse on thirty. "

"What, one of those camels?" cried Anerley in astonishment. The twoseniors burst out laughing. 

"No, no, the real high-bred trotter--the kind of beast the dervishesride when they make their lightning raids. "

"Faster than a galloping horse?" "Well, it tires a horse down. It goesthe same gait all the way, and it wants neither halt nor drink, and ittakes rough ground much better than a horse. They used to have longdistance races at Haifa, and the camel always won at thirty. "

"Still, we need not reproach ourselves, Scott, for we are not verylikely to have to carry a thirty-mile message, they will have the fieldtelegraph next week. "

"Quite so. But at the present moment--"

"I know, my dear chap; but there is no motion of urgency before thehouse. Load baggles at five o'clock; so you have Just three hoursclear. Any sign of the evening pennies?"

Mortimer swept the northern horizon with his binoculars. "Not in sightyet. "

"They are quite capable of travelling during the heat of the day. Just the sort of thing evening pennies _would_ do. Take care of yourmatch, Anerley. These palm groves go up like a powder magazine if youset them alight. Bye-bye. " The two men crawled under theirmosquito-nets and sank instantly into the easy sleep of those whoselives are spent in the open. 

Young Anerley stood with his back against a palm tree and his briarbetween his lips, thinking over the advice which he had received. After all, they were the heads of the profession, these men, and it wasnot for him, the newcomer, to reform their methods. If they servedtheir papers in this fashion, then he must do the same. They had atleast been frank and generous in teaching him the rules of the game. If it was good enough for them it was good enough for him. 

It was a broiling afternoon, and those thin frills of foam round theblack, glistening necks of the Nile boulders looked delightfully cooland alluring. But it would not be safe to bathe for some hours to come. The air shimmered and vibrated over the baking stretch of sand and rock. There was not a breath of wind, and the droning and piping of theinsects inclined one for sleep. Somewhere above a hoopoe was calling. Anerley knocked out his ashes, and was turning towards his couch, whenhis eye caught something moving in the desert to the south. It was ahorseman riding towards them as swiftly as the broken ground wouldpermit. A messenger from the army, thought Anerley; and then, as hewatched, the sun suddenly struck the man on the side of the head, andhis chin flamed into gold. There could not be two horsemen with beardsof such a colour. It was Merryweather, the engineer, and he wasreturning. What on earth was he returning for? He had been so keen tosee the general, and yet he was coming back with his missionunaccomplished. Was it that his pony was hopelessly foundered?It seemed to be moving well. Anerley picked up Mortimer's binoculars, and a foam-bespattered horse and a weary koorbash-cracking man camecantering up the centre of the field. But there was nothing in hisappearance to explain the mystery of his return. Then as he watchedthem they dipped into a hollow and disappeared. He could see that itwas one of those narrow khors which led to the river, and he waited, glass in hand, for their immediate reappearance. But minute passedafter minute and there was no sign of them. That narrow gully appearedto have swallowed them up. And then with a curious gulp and start hesaw a little grey cloud wreathe itself slowly from among the rocks anddrift in a long, hazy shred over the desert. In an instant he had tornScott and Mortimer from their slumbers. 

"Get up, you chaps!" he cried. "I believe Merryweather has been shot bydervishes. "

"And Reuter not here!" cried the two veterans, exultantly clutching attheir notebooks. "Merryweather shot! Where? When? How?"

In a few words Anerley explained what he had seen. 

"You heard nothing?"

"Nothing. "

"Well, a shot loses itself very easily among rocks. By George, look atthe buzzards!"

Two large brown birds were soaring in the deep blue heaven. As Scottspoke they circled down and dropped into the little khor. 

"That's good enough, " said Mortimer, with his nose between the leaves ofhis book. "'Merryweather headed dervishes stop return stop shotmutilated stop raid communications. ' How's that?"

"You think he was headed off?"

"Why else should he return?"

"In that case, if they were out in front of him and others cut him off, there must be several small raiding parties. "

"I should judge so. "

"How about the 'mutilated'?"

"I've fought against Arabs before. "

"Where are you off to?"

"Sarras. "

"I think I'll race you in, " said Scott. 

Anerley stared in astonishment at the absolutely impersonal way in whichthese men regarded the situation. In their zeal for news it hadapparently never struck them that they, their camp, and their servantswere all in the lion's mouth. But even as they talked there came theharsh, importunate rat-tat-tat of an irregular volley from among therocks, and the high, keening whistle of bullets over their heads. A palm spray fluttered down amongst them. At the same instant the sixfrightened servants came running wildly in for protection. 

It was the cool-headed Mortimer who organised the defence, for Scott'sCeltic soul was so aflame at all this "copy" in hand and more to comethat he was too exuberantly boisterous for a commander. The other, withhis spectacles and his stern face, soon had the servants in hand. "_Tali henna! Egri!_ What the deuce are you frightened about? Put thecamels between the palm trunks. That's right. Now get the knee-tetherson them. _Quies_! Did you never hear bullets before? Now put thedonkeys here. Not much--you don't get my polo-pony to make a zarebawith. Picket the ponies between the grove and the river out of danger'sway. These fellows seem to fire even higher than they did in '85. "

"That's got home, anyhow, " said Scott, as they heard a soft, splashingthud like a stone in a mud-bank. 

"Who's hit, then?"

"The brown camel that's chewing the cud. " As he spoke the creature, itsjaw still working, laid its long neck along the ground and closed itslarge dark eyes. 

"That shot cost me 15 pounds, " said Mortimer, ruefully. "How many ofthem do you make?"

"Four, I think. "

"Only four Bezingers, at any rate; there may be some spearmen. "

"I think not; it is a little raiding-party of rifle-men. By the way, Anerley, you've never been under fire before, have you?"

"Never, " said the young pressman, who was conscious of a curious feelingof nervous elation. 

"Love and poverty and war, they are all experiences necessary to make acomplete life. Pass over those cartridges. This is a very mild baptismthat you are undergoing, for behind these camels you are as safe as ifyou were sitting in the back room of the Authors' Club. "

"As safe, but hardly as comfortable, " said Scott. "A long glass of hockand seltzer would be exceedingly acceptable. But oh, Mortimer, what achance! Think of the general's feelings when he hears that the firstaction of the war has been fought by the Press column. Think of Reuter, who has been stewing at the front for a week! Think of the eveningpennies just too late for the fun. By George, that slug brushed amosquito off me!"

"And one of the donkeys is hit. "

"This is sinful. It will end in our having to carry our own kits toKhartoum. "

"Never mind, my boy, it all goes to make copy. I can see theheadlines--'Raid on Communications'; 'Murder of British Engineer':'Press Column Attacked. ' Won't it be ripping?"

"I wonder what the next line will be, " said Anerley. 

"'Our Special Wounded'!" cried Scott, rolling over on to his back. "No harm done, " he added, gathering himself up again; "only a chip offmy knee. This is getting sultry. I confess that the idea of that backroom at the Authors' Club begins to grow upon me. "

"I have some diachylon. "

"Afterwards will do. We're having a 'appy day with Fuzzy on the rush. I wish he _would_ rush. "

"They're coming nearer. "

"This is an excellent revolver of mine if it didn't throw so devilishhigh. I always aim at a man's toes if I want to stimulate hisdigestion. O Lord, there's our kettle gone!" With a boom like adinner-gong a Remington bullet had passed through the kettle, and acloud of steam hissed up from the fire. A wild shout came from therocks above. 

"The idiots think that they have blown us up. They'll rush us now, assure as fate; then it will be our turn to lead. Got your revolver, Anerley?"

"I have this double-barrelled fowling-piece. "

"Sensible man! It's the best weapon in the world at this sort ofrough-and-tumble work. What cartridges?"

"Swan-shot. "

"That will do all right. I carry this big bore double-barrelled pistolloaded with slugs. You might as well try to stop one of these fellowswith a pea-shooter as with a service revolver. "

"There are ways and means, " said Scott. "The Geneva Convention does nothold south of the first cataract. It's easy to make a bullet mushroomby a little manipulation of the tip of it. When I was in the brokensquare at Tamai--"

"Wait a bit, " cried Mortimer, adjusting his glasses. "I think they arecoming now. "

"The time, " said Scott, snapping up his watch, "being exactly seventeenminutes past four. "

Anerley had been lying behind a camel staring with an interest whichbordered upon fascination at the rocks opposite. Here was a littlewoolly puff of smoke, and there was another one, but never once had theycaught a glimpse of the attackers. To him there was something weird andawesome in these unseen, persistent men who, minute by minute, weredrawing closer to them. He had heard them cry out when the kettle wasbroken, and once, immediately afterwards, an enormously strong voice hadroared something which had set Scott shrugging his shoulders. 

"They've got to take us first, " said he, and Anerley thought his nervemight be better if he did not ask for a translation. 

The firing had begun at a distance of some 100 yards, which put it outof the question for them, with their lighter weapons, to make any replyto it. Had their antagonists continued to keep that range the defendersmust either have made a hopeless sally or tried to shelter themselvesbehind their zareba as best they might on the chance that the soundmight bring up help. But, luckily for them, the African has never takenkindly to the rifle, and his primitive instinct to close with his enemyis always too strong for his sense of strategy. They were drawing in, therefore, and now, for the first time, Anerley caught sight of a facelooking at them from over a rock. It was a huge, virile, strong-jawedhead of a pure negro type, with silver trinkets gleaming in the ears. The man raised a great arm from behind the rock, and shook his Remingtonat them. 

"Shall I fire?" asked Anerley. 

"No, no; it is too far. Your shot would scatter all over the place. "

"It's a picturesque ruffian, " said Scott. "Couldn't you kodak him, Mortimer? There's another!" A fine-featured brown Arab, with a black, pointed beard, was peeping from behind another boulder. He wore thegreen turban which proclaimed him hadji, and his face showed the keen, nervous exultation of the religious fanatic. 

"They seem a piebald crowd, " said Scott. 

"That last is one of the real fighting Baggara, " remarked Mortimer. "He's a dangerous man. "

"He looks pretty vicious. There's another negro!"

"Two more! Dingas, by the look of them. Just the same chaps we get ourown black battalions from. As long as they get a fight they don't mindwho it's for; but if the idiots had only sense enough to understand, they would know that the Arab is their hereditary enemy, and we theirhereditary friends. Look at the silly juggins, gnashing his teeth atthe very men who put down the slave trade!"

"Couldn't you explain?"

"I'll explain with this pistol when he comes a little nearer. Now sittight, Anerley. They're off!"

They were indeed. It was the brown man with the green turban who headedthe rush. Close at his heels was the negro with the silver ear-rings--a giant of a man, and the other two were only a little behind. As theysprang over the rocks one after the other, it took Anerley back to theschool sports when he held the tape for the hurdle-race. It wasmagnificent, the wild spirit and abandon of it, the flutter of thechequered galabeeahs, the gleam of steel, the wave of black arms, thefrenzied faces, the quick pitter-patter of the rushing feet. Thelaw-abiding Briton is so imbued with the idea of the sanctity of humanlife that it was hard for the young pressman to realise that these menhad every intention of killing him, and that he was at perfect libertyto do as much for them. He lay staring as if this were a show and he aspectator. 

"Now, Anerley, now! Take the Arab!" cried somebody. 

He put up the gun and saw the brown fierce face at the other end of thebarrel. He tugged at the trigger, but the face grew larger and fiercerwith every stride. Again and again he tugged. A revolver-shot rang outat his elbow, then another one, and he saw a red spot spring out on theArab's brown breast. But he was still coming on. 

"Shoot, you ass, shoot!" screamed Scott. 

Again he strained unavailingly at the trigger. There were two morepistol-shots, and the big negro had fallen and risen and fallen again. 

"Cock it, you fool!" shouted a furious voice; and at the same instant, with a rush and flutter, the Arab bounded over the prostrate camel andcame down with his bare feet upon Anerley's chest. In a dream he seemedto be struggling frantically with someone upon the ground, then he wasconscious of a tremendous explosion in his very face, and so ended forhim the first action of the war. 

"Good-bye, old chap. You'll be all right. Give yourself time. " It wasMortimer's voice, and he became dimly conscious of a long, spectacledface, and of a heavy hand upon his shoulder. 

"Sorry to leave you. We'll be lucky now if we are in time for themorning editions. " Scott was tightening his girth as he spoke. 

"We'll put in our wire that you have been hurt, so your people will knowwhy they don't hear from you. If Reuter or the evening pennies come up, don't give the thing away. Abbas will look after you, and we'll be backto-morrow afternoon. Bye-bye!"

Anerley heard it all, though he did not feel energy enough to answer. Then, as he watched two sleek, brown ponies with their yellow-cladriders dwindling among the rocks, his memory cleared suddenly, and herealised that the first great journalistic chance of his life wasslipping away from him. It was a small fight, but it was the first ofthe war, and the great public at home were all athirst for news. They would have it in the _Courier_; they would have it in the_Intelligence_, and not a word in the _Gazette_. The thought broughthim to his feet, though he had to throw his arm round the stem of thepalm tree to steady his swimming head. There was a big black man lyingwhere he had fallen, his huge chest pocked with bullet-marks, everywound rosetted with its circle of flies. The Arab was stretched outwithin a few yards of him, with two hands clasped over the dreadfulthing which had been his head. Across him was lying Anerley'sfowling-piece, one barrel discharged, the other at half cock. 

"Scott effendi shoot him your gun, " said a voice. It was Abbas, hisEnglish-speaking body-servant. 

Anerley groaned at the disgrace of it. He had lost his head socompletely that he had forgotten to cock his gun; and yet he knew thatit was not fear but interest which had so absorbed him. He put his handup to his head and felt that a wet handkerchief was bound round hisforehead. 

"Where are the two other dervishes?"

"They ran away. One got shot in arm. "

"What's happened to me?"

"Effendi got cut on head. Effendi catch bad man by arms, and Scotteffendi shot him. Face burn very bad. "

Anerley became conscious suddenly that there was a pringling about hisskin and an overpowering smell of burned hair under his nostrils. Heput his hand to his moustache. It was gone. His eyebrows too?He could not find them. His head, no doubt, was very near to thedervish's when they were rolling upon the ground together, and this wasthe effect of the explosion of his own gun. Well, he would have time togrow some more hair before he saw Fleet Street again. But the cut, perhaps, was a more serious matter. Was it enough to prevent himgetting to the telegraph-office at Sarras? The only way was to try andsee. But there was only that poor little Syrian grey of his. There itstood in the evening sunshine, with a sunk head and a bent knee, as ifits morning's work was still heavy upon it. What hope was there ofbeing able to do thirty-five miles of heavy going upon that? It wouldbe a strain upon the splendid ponies of his companions--and they werethe swiftest and most enduring in the country. The most enduring?There was one creature more enduring, and that was a real trottingcamel. If he had had one he might have got to the wires first afterall, for Mortimer had said that over thirty miles they have the betterof any horse. Yes, if he had only had a real trotting camel! And thenlike a flash came Mortimer's words, "It is the kind of beast that thedervishes ride when they make their lightning raids. "

The beasts the dervishes ride! What had these dead dervishes ridden?In an instant he was clambering up the rocks, with Abbas protesting athis heels. Had the two fugitives carried away all the camels, or hadthey been content to save themselves? The brass gleam from a litter ofempty Remington cases caught his eye, and showed where the enemy hadbeen crouching. And then he could have shouted for joy, for there, inthe hollow, some little distance off, rose the high, graceful white neckand the elegant head of such a camel as he had never set eyes uponbefore--a swanlike, beautiful creature, as far from the rough, clumsybaggles as the cart-horse is from the racer. 

The beast was kneeling under the shelter of the rocks with its waterskinand bag of doora slung over its shoulders, and its forelegs tetheredArab fashion with a rope around the knees. Anerley threw his leg overthe front pommel while Abbas slipped off the cord. Forward flewAnerley towards the creature's neck, then violently backwards, clawingmadly at anything which might save him, and then, with a jerk whichnearly snapped his loins, he was thrown forward again. But the camelwas on its legs now, and the young pressman was safely seated upon oneof the fliers of the desert. It was as gentle as it was swift, and itstood oscillating its long neck and gazing round with its large browneyes, whilst Anerley coiled his legs round the peg and grasped thecurved camel-stick which Abbas had handed up to him. There were twobridle-cords, one from the nostril and one from the neck, but heremembered that Scott had said that it was the servant's and not thehouse-bell which had to be pulled, so he kept his grasp upon the lower. Then he touched the long, vibrating neck with his stick, and in aninstant Abbas' farewell seemed to come from far behind him, and theblack rocks and yellow sand were dancing past on either side. 

It was his first experience of a trotting camel, and at first themotion, although irregular and abrupt, was not unpleasant. Having nostirrup or fixed point of any kind, he could not rise to it, but hegripped as tightly as be could with his knee, and he tried to swaybackwards and forwards as he had seen the Arabs do. It was a large, very concave Makloofa saddle, and he was conscious that he was bouncingabout on it with as little power of adhesion as a billiard-ball upon atea-tray. He gripped the two sides with his hands to hold himselfsteady. The creature had got into its long, swinging, stealthy trot, its sponge-like feet making no sound upon the hard sand. Anerley leanedback with his two hands gripping hard behind him, and he whooped thecreature on. The sun had already sunk behind the line of black volcanicpeaks, which look like huge slag-heaps at the mouth of a mine. The western sky had taken that lovely light green and pale pink tintwhich makes evening beautiful upon the Nile, and the old brown riveritself, swirling down amongst the black rocks, caught some shimmer ofthe colours above. The glare, the heat, and the piping of the insectshad all ceased together. In spite of his aching head, Anerley couldhave cried out for pure physical joy as the swift creature beneath himflew along with him through that cool, invigorating air, with the virilenorth wind soothing his pringling face. 

He had looked at his watch, and now he made a swift calculation of timesand distances. It was past six when he had left the camp. Over brokenground it was impossible that he could hope to do more than seven milesan hour--less on bad parts, more on the smooth. His recollection of thetrack was that there were few smooth and many bad. He would be lucky, then, if he reached Sarras anywhere from twelve to one. Then themessages took a good two hours to go through, for they had to betranscribed at Cairo. At the best he could only hope to have told hisstory in Fleet Street at two or three in the morning. It was possiblethat he might manage it, but the chances seemed enormously against him. About three the morning edition would be made up, and his chance gonefor ever. The one thing clear was that only the first man at the wireswould have any chance at all, and Anerley meant to be first if hardriding could do it. So he tapped away at the bird-like neck, and thecreature's long, loose limbs went faster and faster at every tap. Where the rocky spurs ran down to the river, horses would have to goround, while camels might get across, so that Anerley felt that he wasalways gaining upon his companions. 

But there was a price to be paid for the feeling. He had heard of menwho had burst when on camel journeys, and he knew that the Arabs swathetheir bodies tightly in broad cloth bandages when they prepare for along march. It had seemed unnecessary and ridiculous when he firstbegan to speed over the level track, but now, when he got on the rockypaths, he understood what it meant. Never for an instant was he at thesame angle. Backwards, forwards he swung, with a tingling jar at theend of each sway, until he ached from his neck to his knees. It caughthim across the shoulders, it caught him down the spine, it gripped himover the loins, it marked the lower line of his ribs with one heavy, dull throb. He clutched here and there with his hand to try and easethe strain upon his muscles. He drew up his knees, altered his seat, and set his teeth with a grim determination to go through with it shouldit kill him. His head was splitting, his flayed face smarting, andevery joint in his body aching as if it were dislocated. But he forgotall that when, with the rising of the moon, he heard the clinking ofhorses' hoofs down upon the track by the river, and knew that, unseen bythem, he had already got well abreast of his companions. But he washardly halfway, and the time already eleven. 

All day the needles had been ticking away without intermission in thelittle corrugated iron hut which served as a telegraph station atSarras. With its bare walls and its packing-case seats, it was none theless for the moment one of the vital spots upon the earth's surface, andthe crisp, importunate ticking might have come from the world-old clockof Destiny. Many august people had been at the other end of thosewires, and had communed with the moist-faced military clerk. A FrenchPremier had demanded a pledge, and an English marquis had passed on therequest to the General in command, with a question as to how it wouldaffect the situation. Cipher telegrams had nearly driven the clerk outof his wits, for of all crazy occupations the taking of a ciphermessage, when you are without the key to the cipher, is the worst. Much high diplomacy had been going on all day in the innermost chambersof European chancellories, and the results of it had been whispered intothis little corrugated-iron hut. About two in the morning an enormousdespatch had come at last to an end, and the weary operator had openedthe door, and was lighting his pipe in the cool, fresh air, when he sawa camel plump down in the dust, and a man, who seemed to be in the laststage of drunkenness, come rolling towards him. 

"What's the time?" he cried, in a voice which appeared to be the onlysober thing about him. 

It was on the clerk's lips to say that it was time that the questionerwas in his bed, but it is not safe upon a campaign to be ironical at theexpense of khaki-clad men. He contented himself, therefore, with thebald statement that it was after two. But no retort that he could havedevised could have had a more crushing effect. The voice turned drunkenalso, and the man caught at the door-post to uphold him. 

"Two o'clock! I'm done after all!" said he. His head was tied up in abloody handkerchief, his face was crimson, and he stood with his legscrooked as if the pith had all gone out of his back. The clerk began torealise that something out of the ordinary was in the wind. 

"How long does it take to get a wire to London?"

"About two hours. "

"And it's two now. I could not get it there before four. "

"Before three. "

"Four. "

"No, three. "

"But you said two hours. "

"Yes, but there's more than an hour's difference in longitude. "

"By Heaven, I'll do it yet!" cried Anerley, and staggering to apacking-case, he began the dictation of his famous despatch. 

And so it came about that the _Gazette_ had a long column, withheadlines like an epitaph, when the sheets of the _Intelligence_ and the_Courier_ were as blank as the faces of their editors. And so, too, ithappened that when two weary men, upon two foundered horses, arrivedabout four in the morning at the Sarras post-office, they looked at eachother in silence and departed noiselessly, with the conviction thatthere are some situations with which the English language is not capableof dealing. 

The New Catacomb

"Look here, Burger, " said Kennedy, "I do wish that you would confide inme. "

The two famous students of Roman remains sat together in Kennedy'scomfortable room overlooking the Corso. The night was cold, and theyhad both pulled up their chairs to the unsatisfactory Italian stovewhich threw out a zone of stuffiness rather than of warmth. 

Outside under the bright winter stars lay the modern Rome, the long, double chain of the electric lamps, the brilliantly lighted _cafes_, therushing carriages, and the dense throng upon the footpaths. But inside, in the sumptuous chamber of the rich young English archaeologist, therewas only old Rome to be seen. Cracked and time-worn friezes hung uponthe walls, grey old busts of senators and soldiers with their fightingheads and their hard, cruel faces peered out from the corners. On thecentre table, amidst a litter of inscriptions, fragments, and ornaments, there stood the famous reconstruction by Kennedy of the Baths ofCaracalla, which excited such interest and admiration when it wasexhibited in Berlin. 

Amphorae hung from the ceiling, and a litter of curiosities strewed therich red Turkey carpet. And of them all there was not one which was notof the most unimpeachable authenticity, and of the utmost rarity andvalue; for Kennedy, though little more than thirty, had a Europeanreputation in this particular branch of research, and was, moreover, provided with that long purse which either proves to be a fatal handicapto the student's energies, or, if his mind is still true to its purpose, gives him an enormous advantage in the race for fame. Kennedy had oftenbeen seduced by whim and pleasure from his studies, but his mind was anincisive one, capable of long and concentrated efforts which ended insharp reactions of sensuous languor. His handsome face, with its high, white forehead, its aggressive nose, and its somewhat loose and sensuousmouth, was a fair index of the compromise between strength and weaknessin his nature. 

Of a very different type was his companion, Julius Burger. He came of acurious blend, a German father and an Italian mother, with the robustqualities of the North mingling strangely with the softer graces of theSouth. Blue Teutonic eyes lightened his sun-browned face, and abovethem rose a square, massive forehead, with a fringe of close yellowcurls lying round it. His strong, firm jaw was clean-shaven, and hiscompanion had frequently remarked how much it suggested those old Romanbusts which peered out from the shadows in the corners of his chamber. Under its bluff German strength there lay always a suggestion of Italiansubtlety, but the smile was so honest, and the eyes so frank, that oneunderstood that this was only an indication of his ancestry, with noactual bearing upon his character. 

In age and in reputation he was on the same level as his Englishcompanion, but his life and his work had both been far more arduous. Twelve years before he had come as a poor student to Rome, and had livedever since upon some small endowment for research which had been awardedto him by the University of Bonn. 

Painfully, slowly, and doggedly, with extraordinary tenacity andsinglemindedness, he had climbed from rung to rung of the ladder offame, until now he was a member of the Berlin Academy, and there wasevery reason to believe that he would shortly be promoted to the Chairof the greatest of German Universities. But the singleness of purposewhich had brought him to the same high level as the rich and brilliantEnglishman, had caused him in everything outside their work to standinfinitely below him. He had never found a pause in his studies inwhich to cultivate the social graces. It was only when he spoke of hisown subject that his face was filled with life and soul. At other timeshe was silent and embarrassed, too conscious of his own limitations inlarger subjects, and impatient of that small talk which is theconventional refuge of those who have no thoughts to express. 

And yet for some years there had been an acquaintanceship which appearedto be slowly ripening into a friendship between these two very differentrivals. The base and origin of this lay in the fact that in their ownstudies each was the only one of the younger men who had knowledge andenthusiasm enough to properly appreciate the other. Their commoninterests and pursuits had brought them together, and each had beenattracted by the other's knowledge. And then gradually something hadbeen added to this. Kennedy had been amused by the frankness andsimplicity of his rival, while Burger in turn had been fascinated by thebrilliancy and vivacity which had made Kennedy such a favourite in Romansociety. I say "had, " because just at the moment the young Englishmanwas somewhat under a cloud. 

A love affair, the details of which had never quite come out, hadindicated a heartlessness and callousness upon his part which shockedmany of his friends. But in the bachelor circles of students andartists in which he preferred to move there is no very rigid code ofhonour in such matters, and though a head might be shaken or a pair ofshoulders shrugged over the flight of two and the return of one, thegeneral sentiment was probably one of curiosity and perhaps of envyrather than of reprobation. 

"Look here, Burger, " said Kennedy, looking hard at the placid face ofhis companion, "I do wish that you would confide in me. "

As he spoke he waved his hand in the direction of a rug whichlay upon the floor. 

On the rug stood a long, shallow fruit-basket of the light wicker-workwhich is used in the Campagna, and this was heaped with a litter ofobjects, inscribed tiles, broken inscriptions, cracked mosaics, tornpapyri, rusty metal ornaments, which to the uninitiated might haveseemed to have come straight from a dustman's bin, but which aspecialist would have speedily recognized as unique of their kind. 

The pile of odds and ends in the flat wicker-work basket suppliedexactly one of those missing links of social development which are ofsuch interest to the student. It was the German who had brought themin, and the Englishman's eyes were hungry as he looked at them. 

"I won't interfere with your treasure-trove, but I should very much liketo hear about it, " he continued, while Burger very deliberately lit acigar. "It is evidently a discovery of the first importance. Theseinscriptions will make a sensation throughout Europe. "

"For every one here there are a million there!" said the German. "Thereare so many that a dozen savants might spend a lifetime over them, andbuild up a reputation as solid as the Castle of St. Angelo. "

Kennedy was thinking with his fine forehead wrinkled and his fingersplaying with his long, fair moustache. 

"You have given yourself away, Burger!" said he at last. "Your wordscan only apply to one thing. You have discovered a new catacomb. "

"I had no doubt that you had already come to that conclusion from anexamination of these objects. "

"Well, they certainly appeared to indicate it, but your last remarksmake it certain. There is no place except a catacomb which couldcontain so vast a store of relics as you describe. "

"Quite so. There is no mystery about that. I _have_ discovered a newcatacomb. "

"Where?"

"Ah, that is my secret, my dear Kennedy! Suffice it that it is sosituated that there is not one chance in a million of anyone else comingupon it. Its date is different from that of any known catacomb, and ithas been reserved for the burial of the highest Christians, so that theremains and the relics are quite different from anything which has everbeen seen before. If I was not aware of your knowledge and of yourenergy, my friend, I would not hesitate, under the pledge of secrecy, totell you everything about it. But as it is I think that I mustcertainly prepare my own report of the matter before I expose myself tosuch formidable competition. "

Kennedy loved his subject with a love which was almost a mania--a lovewhich held him true to it, amidst all the distractions which come to awealthy and dissipated young man. He had ambition, but his ambition wassecondary to his mere abstract joy and interest in everything whichconcerned the old life and history of the city. He yearned to see thisnew underworld which his companion had discovered. 

"Look here, Burger, " said he, earnestly, "I assure you that you cantrust me most implicitly in the matter. Nothing would induce me to putpen to paper about anything which I see until I have your expresspermission. I quite understand your feeling, and I think it is mostnatural, but you have really nothing whatever to fear from me. On theother hand, if you don't tell me I shall make a systematic search, and Ishall most certainly discover it. In that case, of course, I shouldmake what use I liked of it, since I should be under no obligation toyou. "

Burger smiled thoughtfully over his cigar. 

"I have noticed, friend Kennedy, " said he, "that when I want informationover any point you are not always so ready to supply it. "

"When did you ever ask me anything that I did not tell you? Youremember, for example, my giving you the material for your paper aboutthe temple of the Vestals. "

"Ah, well, that was not a matter of much importance. If I were toquestion you upon some intimate thing, would you give me an answer, Iwonder! This new catacomb is a very intimate thing to me, and I shouldcertainly expect some sign of confidence in return. "

"What you are driving at I cannot imagine, " said the Englishman, "but ifyou mean that you will answer my question about the catacomb if I answerany question which you may put to me, I can assure you that I willcertainly do so. "

"Well, then, " said Burger, leaning luxuriously back in his settee, andpuffing a blue tree of cigar-smoke into the air, "tell me all about yourrelations with Miss Mary Saunderson. "

Kennedy sprang up in his chair and glared angrily at his impassivecompanion. 

"What the devil do you mean?" he cried. "What sort of a question isthis? You may mean it as a joke, but you never made a worse one. "

"No, I don't mean it as a joke, " said Burger, simply. "I am reallyrather interested in the details of the matter. I don't know much aboutthe world and women and social life and that sort of thing, and such anincident has the fascination of the unknown for me. I know you, and Iknew her by sight--I had even spoken to her once or twice. I shouldvery much like to hear from your own lips exactly what it was whichoccurred between you. "

"I won't tell you a word. "

"That's all right. It was only my whim to see if you would give up asecret as easily as you expected me to give up my secret of the newcatacomb. You wouldn't, and I didn't expect you to. But why should youexpect otherwise of me? There's St. John's clock striking ten. It isquite time that I was going home. "

"No, wait a bit, Burger, " said Kennedy; "this is really a ridiculouscaprice of yours to wish to know about an old love affair which hasburned out months ago. You know we look upon a man who kisses and tellsas the greatest coward and villain possible. "

"Certainly, " said the German, gathering up his basket of curiosities, "when he tells anything about a girl which is previously unknown, hemust be so. But in this case, as you must be aware, it was a publicmatter which was the common talk of Rome, so that you are not reallydoing Miss Mary Saunderson any injury by discussing her case with me. But still, I respect your scruples; and so good night!"

"Wait a bit, Burger, " said Kennedy, laying his hand upon the other'sarm; "I am very keen upon this catacomb business, and I can't let itdrop quite so easily. Would you mind asking me something else inreturn--something not quite so eccentric this time?"

"No, no; you have refused, and there is an end of it, " said Burger, withhis basket on his arm. "No doubt you are quite right not to answer, andno doubt I am quite right also--and so again, my dear Kennedy, goodnight!"

The Englishman watched Burger cross the room, and he had his hand on thehandle of the door before his host sprang up with the air of a man whois making the best of that which cannot be helped. "Hold on, oldfellow, " said he. "I think you are behaving in a most ridiculousfashion, but still, if this is your condition, I suppose that I mustsubmit to it. I hate saying anything about a girl, but, as you say, itis all over Rome, and I don't suppose I can tell you anything which youdo not know already. What was it you wanted to know?"

The German came back to the stove, and, laying down his basket, he sankinto his chair once more. "May I have another cigar?" said he. "Thankyou very much! I never smoke when I work, but I enjoy a chat much morewhen I am under the influence of tobacco. Now, as regards this younglady, with whom you had this little adventure. What in the world hasbecome of her?"

"She is at home with her own people. "

"Oh, really--in England?"

"Yes. "

"What part of England--London?"

"No, Twickenham. "

"You must excuse my curiosity, my dear Kennedy, and you must put it downto my ignorance of the world. No doubt it is quite a simple thing topersuade a young lady to go off with you for three weeks or so, and thento hand her over to her own family at--what did you call the place?"

"Twickenham. "

"Quite so--at Twickenham. But it is something so entirely outside myown experience that I cannot even imagine how you set about it. Forexample, if you had loved this girl your love could hardly disappear inthree weeks, so I presume that you could not have loved her at all. Butif you did not love her why should you make this great scandal which hasdamaged you and ruined her?"

Kennedy looked moodily into the red eye of the stove. "That's a logicalway of looking at it, certainly, " said he. "Love is a big word, and itrepresents a good many different shades of feeling. I liked her, and--well, you say you've seen her--you know how charming she can look. But still I am willing to admit, looking back, that I could never havereally loved her. "

"Then, my dear Kennedy, why did you do it?"

"The adventure of the thing had a great deal to do with it. "

"What! You are so fond of adventures!"

"Where would the variety of life be without them? It was for anadventure that I first began to pay my attentions to her. I've chased agood deal of game in my time, but there's no chase like that of a prettywoman. There was the piquant difficulty of it also, for, as she was thecompanion of Lady Emily Rood it was almost impossible to see her alone. On the top of all the other obstacles which attracted me, I learned fromher own lips very early in the proceedings that she was engaged. "

"Mein Gott! To whom?"

"She mentioned no names. "

"I do not think that anyone knows that. So that made the adventure morealluring, did it?"

"Well, it did certainly give a spice to it. Don't you think so?"

"I tell you that I am very ignorant about these things. "

"My dear fellow, you can remember that the apple you stole from yourneighbour's tree was always sweeter than that which fell from your own. And then I found that she cared for me. "

"What--at once?"

"Oh, no, it took about three months of sapping and mining. But at lastI won her over. She understood that my judicial separation from my wifemade it impossible for me to do the right thing by her--but she came allthe same, and we had a delightful time, as long as it lasted. "

"But how about the other man?"

Kennedy shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose it is the survival of thefittest, " said he. "If he had been the better man she would not havedeserted him. Let's drop the subject, for I have had enough of it!"

"Only one other thing. How did you get rid of her in three weeks?"

"Well, we had both cooled down a bit, you understand. She absolutelyrefused, under any circumstances, to come back to face the people shehad known in Rome. Now, of course, Rome is necessary to me, and I wasalready pining to be back at my work--so there was one obvious cause ofseparation. Then, again, her old father turned up at the hotel inLondon, and there was a scene, and the whole thing became so unpleasantthat really--though I missed her dreadfully at first--I was very glad toslip out of it. Now, I rely upon you not to repeat anything of what Ihave said. "

"My dear Kennedy, I should not dream of repeating it. But all that yousay interests me very much, for it gives me an insight into your way oflooking at things, which is entirely different from mine, for I haveseen so little of life. And now you want to know about my new catacomb. There's no use my trying to describe it, for you would never find it bythat. There is only one thing, and that is for me to take you there. "

"That would be splendid. "

"When would you like to come?"

"The sooner the better. I am all impatience to see it. "

"Well, it is a beautiful night--though a trifle cold. Suppose we startin an hour. We must be very careful to keep the matter to ourselves. If anyone saw us hunting in couples they would suspect that there wassomething going on. "

"We can't be too cautious, " said Kennedy. "Is it far?"

"Some miles. "

"Not too far to walk?"

"Oh, no, we could walk there easily. "

"We had better do so, then. A cabman's suspicions would be aroused ifhe dropped us both at some lonely spot in the dead of the night. "

"Quite so. I think it would be best for us to meet at the Gate of theAppian Way at midnight. I must go back to my lodgings for the matchesand candles and things. "

"All right, Burger! I think it is very kind of you to let me into thissecret, and I promise you that I will write nothing about it until youhave published your report. Good-bye for the present! You will find meat the Gate at twelve. "

The cold, clear air was filled with the musical chimes from that city ofclocks as Burger, wrapped in an Italian overcoat, with a lantern hangingfrom his hand, walked up to the rendezvous. Kennedy stepped out of theshadow to meet him. 

"You are ardent in work as well as in love!" said the German, laughing. 

"Yes; I have been waiting here for nearly half an hour. "

"I hope you left no clue as to where we were going. "

"Not such a fool! By Jove, I am chilled to the bone! Come on, Burger, let us warm ourselves by a spurt of hard walking. "

Their footsteps sounded loud and crisp upon the rough stone paving ofthe disappointing road which is all that is left of the most famoushighway of the world. A peasant or two going home from the wine-shop, and a few carts of country produce coming up to Rome, were the onlythings which they met. They swung along, with the huge tombs looming upthrough the darkness upon each side of them, until they had come as faras the Catacombs of St. Calixtus, and saw against a rising moon thegreat circular bastion of Cecilia Metella in front of them. Then Burgerstopped with his hand to his side. "Your legs are longer than mine, andyou are more accustomed to walking, " said he, laughing. "I think thatthe place where we turn off is somewhere here. Yes, this is it, roundthe corner of the trattoria. Now, it is a very narrow path, so perhapsI had better go in front, and you can follow. " He had lit his lantern, and by its light they were enabled to follow a narrow and devious trackwhich wound across the marshes of the Campagna. The great Aqueduct ofold Rome lay like a monstrous caterpillar across the moonlit landscape, and their road led them under one of its huge arches, and past thecircle of crumbling bricks which marks the old arena. At last Burgerstopped at a solitary wooden cowhouse, and he drew a key from hispocket. 

"Surely your catacomb is not inside a house!" cried Kennedy. 

"The entrance to it is. That is just the safeguard which we haveagainst anyone else discovering it. "

"Does the proprietor know of it?"

"Not he. He had found one or two objects which made me almost certainthat his house was built on the entrance to such a place. So I rentedit from him, and did my excavations for myself. Come in, and shut thedoor behind you. "

It was a long, empty building, with the mangers of the cows along onewall. Burger put his lantern down on the ground, and shaded its lightin all directions save one by draping his overcoat round it. "It mightexcite remark if anyone saw a light in this lonely place, " said he. "Just help me to move this boarding. " The flooring was loose in thecorner, and plank by plank the two savants raised it and leaned itagainst the wall. Below there was a square aperture and a stair of oldstone steps which led away down into the bowels of the earth. 

"Be careful!" cried Burger, as Kennedy, in his impatience, hurried down them. "It is a perfect rabbits'-warren below, and ifyou were once to lose your way there, the chances would be a hundredto one against your ever coming out again. Wait until I bring thelight. "

"How do you find your own way if it is so complicated?"

"I had some very narrow escapes at first, but I have gradually learnedto go about. There is a certain system to it, but it is one which alost man, if he were in the dark, could not possibly find out. Even nowI always spin out a ball of string behind me when I am going far intothe catacomb. You can see for yourself that it is difficult, but everyone of these passages divides and subdivides a dozen times before you goa hundred yards. " They had descended some twenty feet from the level ofthe byre, and they were standing now in a square chamber cut out of thesoft tufa. The lantern cast a flickering light, bright below and dimabove, over the cracked brown walls. In every direction were the blackopenings of passages which radiated from this common centre. 

"I want you to follow me closely, my friend, " said Burger. "Do notloiter to look at anything upon the way, for the place to which I willtake you contains all that you can see, and more. It will save time forus to go there direct. " He led the way down one of the corridors, andthe Englishman followed closely at his heels. Every now and then thepassage bifurcated, but Burger was evidently following some secret marksof his own, for he neither stopped nor hesitated. Everywhere along thewalls, packed like the berths upon an emigrant ship, lay the Christiansof old Rome. The yellow light flickered over the shrivelled features ofthe mummies, and gleamed upon rounded skulls and long, white arm-bonescrossed over fleshless chests. And everywhere as he passed Kennedylooked with wistful eyes upon inscriptions, funeral vessels, pictures, vestments, utensils, all lying as pious hands had placed them so manycenturies ago. It was apparent to him, even in those hurried, passingglances, that this was the earliest and finest of the catacombs, containing such a storehouse of Roman remains as had never before comeat one time under the observation of the student. "What would happen ifthe light went out?" he asked, as they hurried on. 

"I have a spare candle and a box of matches in my pocket. By the way, Kennedy, have you any matches?"

"No; you had better give me some. "

"Oh, that is all right. There is no chance of our separating. "

"How far are we going? It seems to me that we have walked at least aquarter of a mile. "

"More than that, I think. There is really no limit to the tombs--atleast, I have never been able to find any. This is a very difficultplace, so I think that I will use our ball of string. " He fastened oneend of it to a projecting stone and he carried the coil in the breast ofhis coat, paying it out as he advanced. Kennedy saw that it was nounnecessary precaution, for the passages had become more complexed andtortuous than ever, with a perfect network of intersecting corridors. But these all ended in one large circular hall with a square pedestal oftufa topped with a slab of marble at one end of it. "By Jove!" criedKennedy in an ecstasy, as Burger swung his lantern over the marble. "Itis a Christian altar--probably the first one in existence. Here is thelittle consecration cross cut upon the corner of it. No doubt thiscircular space was used as a church. "

"Precisely, " said Burger. "If I had more time I should like to show youall the bodies which are buried in these niches upon the walls, for theyare the early popes and bishops of the Church, with their mitres, theircroziers, and full canonicals. Go over to that one and look at it!"Kennedy went across, and stared at the ghastly head which lay loosely onthe shredded and mouldering mitre. 

"This is most interesting, " said he, and his voice seemed to boomagainst the concave vault. "As far as my experience goes, it is unique. Bring the lantern over, Burger, for I want to see them all. " But theGerman had strolled away, and was standing in the middle of a yellowcircle of light at the other side of the hall. 

"Do you know how many wrong turnings there are between this and thestairs?" he asked. "There are over two thousand. No doubt it was oneof the means of protection which the Christians adopted. The odds aretwo thousand to one against a man getting out, even if he had a light;but if he were in the dark it would, of course, be far more difficult. "

"So I should think. "

"And the darkness is something dreadful. I tried it once for anexperiment. Let us try it again!" He stooped to the lantern, and in aninstant it was as if an invisible hand was squeezed tightly over each ofKennedy's eyes. Never had he known what such darkness was. It seemedto press upon him and to smother him. It was a solid obstacle againstwhich the body shrank from advancing. He put his hands out to push itback from him. "That will do, Burger, " said he, "let's have the lightagain. "

But his companion began to laugh, and in that circular room the soundseemed to come from every side at once. "You seem uneasy, friendKennedy, " said he. 

"Go on, man, light the candle!" said Kennedy, impatiently. 

"It's very strange, Kennedy, but I could not in the least tell by thesound in which direction you stand. Could you tell where I am?"

"No; you seem to be on every side of me. "

"If it were not for this string which I hold in my hand I should nothave a notion which way to go. "

"I dare say not. Strike a light, man, and have an end of thisnonsense. "

"Well, Kennedy, there are two things which I understand that you arevery fond of. The one is adventure, and the other is an obstacle tosurmount. The adventure must be the finding of your way out of thiscatacomb. The obstacle will be the darkness and the two thousand wrongturns which make the way a little difficult to find. But you need nothurry, for you have plenty of time, and when you halt for a rest now andthen, I should like you just to think of Miss Mary Saunderson, andwhether you treated her quite fairly. "

"You devil, what do you mean?" roared Kennedy. He was runningabout in little circles and clasping at the solid blackness withboth hands. 

"Good-bye, " said the mocking voice, and it was already at some distance. "I really do not think, Kennedy, even by your own showing that you didthe right thing by that girl. There was only one little thing which youappeared not to know, and I can supply it. Miss Saunderson was engagedto a poor, ungainly devil of a student, and his name was Julius Burger. "There was a rustle somewhere--the vague sound of a foot striking astone--and then there fell silence upon that old Christian church--astagnant heavy silence which closed round Kennedy and shut him in likewater round a drowning man. 

Some two months afterwards the following paragraph made the round of theEuropean Press:--

 One of the most interesting discoveries of recent years is that of the new catacomb in Rome, which lies some distance to the east of the well-known vaults of St. Calixtus. The finding of this important burial-place, which is exceedingly rich in most interesting early Christian remains, is due to the energy and sagacity of Dr. Julius Burger, the young German specialist, who is rapidly taking the first place as an authority upon ancient Rome. Although the first to publish his discovery, it appears that a less fortunate adventurer had anticipated Dr. Burger. Some months ago Mr. Kennedy, the well-known English student, disappeared suddenly from his rooms in the "Corso", and it was conjectured that his association with a recent scandal had driven him to leave Rome. It appears now that he had in reality fallen a victim to that fervid love of archaeology which had raised him to a distinguished place among living scholars. His body was discovered in the heart of the new catacomb, and it was evident from the condition of his feet and boots that he had tramped for days through the tortuous corridors which make these subterranean tombs so dangerous to explorers. The deceased gentleman had, with inexplicable rashness, made his way into this labyrinth without, as far as can be discovered, taking with him either candles or matches, so that his sad fate was the natural result of his own temerity. What makes the matter more painful is that Dr. Julius Burger was an intimate friend of the deceased. His joy at the extraordinary find which he has been so fortunate as to make has been greatly marred by the terrible fate of his comrade and fellow-worker. 

THE DEBUT OF BIMBASHI JOYCE

It was in the days when the tide of Mahdism, which had swept in such aflood from the great Lakes and Darfur to the confines of Egypt, had atlast come to its full, and even begun, as some hoped, to show signs of aturn. At its outset it had been terrible. It had engulfed Hicks'sarmy, swept over Gordon and Khartoum, rolled behind the British forcesas they retired down the river, and finally cast up a spray of raidingparties as far north as Assouan. Then it found other channels to eastand west, to Central Africa and to Abyssinia, and retired a little onthe side of Egypt. For ten years there ensued a lull, during which thefrontier garrisons looked out upon those distant blue hills of Dongola. Behind the violet mists which draped them lay a land of blood andhorror. From time to time some adventurer went south towards thosehaze-girt mountains, tempted by stories of gum and ivory, but none everreturned. Once a mutilated Egyptian and once a Greek woman, mad withthirst and fear, made their way to the lines. They were the onlyexports of that country of darkness. Sometimes the sunset would turnthose distant mists into a bank of crimson, and the dark mountains wouldrise from that sinister reek like islands in a sea of blood. It seemeda grim symbol in the southern heaven when seen from the fort-cappedhills by Wady Halfa. Ten years of lust in Khartoum, ten years of silentwork in Cairo, and then all was ready, and it was time for civilisationto take a trip south once more, travelling as her wont is in an armouredtrain. Everything was ready, down to the last pack-saddle of the lastcamel, and yet no one suspected it, for an unconstitutional Governmenthas its advantage. A great administrator had argued, and managed, andcajoled; a great soldier had organised and planned, and made piastres dothe work of pounds. And then one night these two master spirits met andclasped hands, and the soldier vanished away upon some business of hisown. And just at that very time, Bimbashi Hilary Joyce, seconded fromthe Royal Mallow Fusiliers, and temporarily attached to the NinthSoudanese, made his first appearance in Cairo. 

Napoleon had said, and Hilary Joyce had noted, that great reputationsare only to be made in the East. Here he was in the East with four tincases of baggage, a Wilkinson sword, a Bond's slug-throwing pistol, anda copy of "Green's Introduction to the Study of Arabic. " With such astart, and the blood of youth running hot in his veins, everythingseemed easy. He was a little frightened of the general; he had heardstories of his sternness to young officers, but with tact and suavity hehoped for the best. So, leaving his effects at "Shepherd's Hotel, " hereported himself at headquarters. It was not the general, but the headof the Intelligence Department who received him, the chief being stillabsent upon that business which had called him. Hilary Joyce foundhimself in the presence of a short, thick-set officer, with a gentlevoice and a placid expression which covered a remarkably acute andenergetic spirit. With that quiet smile and guileless manner he hadundercut and outwitted the most cunning of Orientals. He stood, acigarette between his fingers, looking at the newcomer. "I heard thatyou had come. Sorry the chief isn't here to see you. Gone up to thefrontier, you know. "

"My regiment is at Wady Halfa. I suppose, sir, that I should reportmyself there at once?"

"No; I was to give you your orders. " He led the way to a map upon thewall, and pointed with the end of his cigarette. "You see this place. It's the Oasis of Kurkur--a little quiet, I am afraid, but excellentair. You are to get out there as quick as possible. You'll find acompany of the Ninth, and half a squadron of cavalry. You will be incommand. "

Hilary Joyce looked at the name, printed at the intersection of twoblack lines without another dot upon the map for several inches aroundit. "A village, sir?"

"No, a well. Not very good water, I'm afraid, but you soon getaccustomed to natron. It's an important post, as being at the junctionof two caravan routes. All routes are closed now, of course, but stillyou never know who _might_ come along them. "

"We are there, I presume, to prevent raiding?"

"Well, between you and me, there's really nothing to raid. You arethere to intercept messengers. They must call at the wells. Of courseyou have only just come out, but you probably understand already enoughabout the conditions of this country to know that there is a great dealof disaffection about, and that the Khalifa is likely to try and keep intouch with his adherents. Then, again, Senoussi lives up that way"--hewaved his cigarette to the westward--"the Khalifa might send a messageto him along that route. Anyhow, your duty is to arrest everyone comingalong, and get some account of him before you let him go. You don'ttalk Arabic, I suppose?"

"I am learning, sir. "

"Well, well, you'll have time enough for study there. And you'll have anative officer, Ali something or other, who speaks English, and caninterpret for you. Well, good-bye--I'll tell the chief that youreported yourself. Get on to your post now as quickly as you can. "

Railway to Baliani, the post-boat to Assouan, and then two days on acamel in the Libyan desert, with an Ababdeh guide, and threebaggage-camels to tie one down to their own exasperating pace. However, even two and a half miles an hour mount up in time, and atlast, on the third evening, from the blackened slag-heap of a hill whichis called the Jebel Kurkur, Hilary Joyce looked down upon a distantclump of palms, and thought that this cool patch of green in the midstof the merciless blacks and yellows was the fairest colour effect thathe had ever seen. An hour later he had ridden into the little camp, theguard had turned out to salute him, his native subordinate had greetedhim in excellent English, and he had fairly entered into his own. It was not an exhilarating place for a lengthy residence. There was onelarge, bowl-shaped, grassy depression sloping down to the three pits ofbrown and brackish water. There was the grove of palm trees also, beautiful to look upon, but exasperating in view of the fact that Naturehas provided her least shady trees on the very spot where shade isneeded most. A single wide-spread acacia did something to restore thebalance. Here Hilary Joyce slumbered in the heat, and in the cool heinspected his square-shouldered, spindle-shanked Soudanese, with theircheery black faces and their funny little pork-pie forage caps. Joyce was a martinet at drill, and the blacks loved being drilled, sothe Bimbashi was soon popular among them. But one day was exactly likeanother. The weather, the view, the employment, the food--everythingwas the same. At the end of three weeks he felt that he had been therefor interminable years. And then at last there came something to breakthe monotony. 

One evening, as the sun was sinking, Hilary Joyce rode slowly down theold caravan road. It had a fascination for him, this narrow track, winding among the boulders and curving up the nullahs, for heremembered how in the map it had gone on and on, stretching away intothe unknown heart of Africa. The countless pads of innumerable camelsthrough many centuries had beaten it smooth, so that now, unused anddeserted, it still wound away, the strangest of roads, a foot broad, andperhaps two thousand miles in length. Joyce wondered as he rode howlong it was since any traveller had journeyed up it from the south, andthen he raised his eyes, and there was a man coming along the path. For an instant Joyce thought that it might be one of his own men, but asecond glance assured him that this could not be so. The stranger wasdressed in the flowing robes of an Arab, and not in the close-fittingkhaki of a soldier. He was very tall, and a high turban made him seemgigantic. He strode swiftly along, with head erect, and the bearing ofa man who knows no fear. 

Who could he be, this formidable giant coming out of the unknown?The precursor possibly of a horde of savage spearmen. And where couldhe have walked from? The nearest well was a long hundred miles down thetrack. At any rate the frontier post of Kurkur could not afford toreceive casual visitors. Hilary Joyce whisked round his horse, gallopedinto camp, and gave the alarm. Then, with twenty horsemen at his back, he rode out again to reconnoitre. The man was still coming on in spiteof these hostile preparations. For an instant he hesitated when firsthe saw the cavalry, but escape was out of the question, and he advancedwith the air of one who makes the best of a bad job. He made noresistance, and said nothing when the hands of two troopers clutched athis shoulders, but walked quietly between their horses into camp. Shortly afterwards the patrol came in again. There were no signs of anydervishes. The man was alone. A splendid trotting camel had been foundlying dead a little way down the track. The mystery of the stranger'sarrival was explained. But why, and whence, and whither?--these werequestions for which a zealous officer must find an answer. 

Hilary Joyce was disappointed that there were no dervishes. It wouldhave been a great start for him in the Egyptian army had he fought alittle action on his own account. But even as it was, he had a rarechance of impressing the authorities. He would love to show hiscapacity to the head of the Intelligence, and even more to that grimChief who never forgot what was smart, or forgave what was slack. The prisoner's dress and bearing showed that he was of importance. Mean men do not ride pure-bred trotting camels. Joyce sponged his headwith cold water, drank a cup of strong coffee, put on an imposingofficial tarboosh instead of his sun-helmet, and formed himself into acourt of inquiry and judgment under the acacia tree. He would haveliked his people to have seen him now, with his two black orderlies inwaiting, and his Egyptian native officer at his side. He sat behind acamp-table, and the prisoner, strongly guarded, was led up to him. The man was a handsome fellow, with bold grey eyes and a long blackbeard. 

"Why!" cried Joyce, "the rascal is making faces at me. " A curiouscontraction had passed over the man's features, but so swiftly that itmight have been a nervous twitch. He was now a model of Orientalgravity. "Ask him who he is, and what he wants?" The native officerdid so, but the stranger made no reply, save that the same sharp spasmpassed once more over his face. "Well, I'm blessed!" cried HilaryJoyce. "Of all the impudent scoundrels! He keeps on winking at me. Who are you, you rascal? Give an account of yourself! D'ye hear?"But the tall Arab was as impervious to English as to Arabic. The Egyptian tried again and again. The prisoner looked at Joyce withhis inscrutable eyes, and occasionally twitched his face at him, butnever opened his mouth. The Bimbashi scratched his head inbewilderment. 

"Look here, Mahomet Ali, we've got to get some sense out of this fellow. You say there are no papers on him?"

"No, sir; we found no papers. "

"No clue of any kind?"

"He has come far, sir. A trotting camel does not die easily. He hascome from Dongola, at least. "

"Well, we must get him to talk. "

"It is possible that he is deaf and dumb. "

"Not he. I never saw a man look more all there in my life. "

"You might send him across to Assouan. "

"And give someone else the credit? No, thank you. This is my bird. But how are we going to get him to find his tongue?"

The Egyptian's dark eyes skirted the encampment and rested on the cook'sfire. "Perhaps, " said he, "if the Bimbashi thought fit--" He looked atthe prisoner and then at the burning wood. 

"No, no; it wouldn't do. No, by Jove, that's going too far. "

"A very little might do it. "

"No, no. It's all very well here, but it would sound just awful if everit got as far as Fleet Street. But, I say, " he whispered, "we mightfrighten him a bit. There's no harm in that. "

"No, sir. "

"Tell them to undo the man's galabeeah. Order them to put a horseshoein the fire and make it red-hot. " The prisoner watched the proceedingswith an air which had more of amusement than of uneasiness. He neverwinced as the black sergeant approached with the glowing shoe held upontwo bayonets. 

"Will you speak now?" asked the Bimbashi, savagely. The prisoner smiledgently and stroked his beard. 

"Oh, chuck the infernal thing away!" cried Joyce, jumping up in apassion. "There's no use trying to bluff the fellow. He knows we won'tdo it. But I _can_ and I _will_ flog him, and you can tell him from methat if he hasn't found his tongue by to-morrow morning I'll take theskin off his back as sure as my name's Joyce. Have you said all that?"

"Yes, sir. "

"Well, you can sleep upon it, you beauty, and a good night's rest may itgive you!" He adjourned the Court, and the prisoner, as imperturbableas ever, was led away by the guard to his supper of rice and water. Hilary Joyce was a kind-hearted man, and his own sleep was considerablydisturbed by the prospect of the punishment which he must inflict nextday. He had hopes that the mere sight of the koorbash and the thongsmight prevail over his prisoner's obstinacy. And then, again, hethought how shocking it would be if the man proved to be really dumbafter all. The possibility shook him so that he had almost determinedby daybreak that he would send the stranger on unhurt to Assouan. And yet what a tame conclusion it would be to the incident! He lay uponhis angareeb still debating it when the question suddenly andeffectively settled itself. Ali Mahomet rushed into his tent. 

"Sir, " he cried, "the prisoner is gone!"

"Gone!"

"Yes, sir, and your own best riding camel as well. There is a slit cutin the tent, and he got away unseen in the early morning. "

The Bimbashi acted with all energy. Cavalry rode along every track;scouts examined the soft sand of the wadys for signs of the fugitive, but no trace was discovered. The man had utterly disappeared. With aheavy heart, Hilary Joyce wrote an official report of the matter andforwarded it to Assouan. Five days later there came a curt order fromthe chief that he should report himself there. He feared the worst fromthe stern soldier, who spared others as little as he spared himself. And his worst forebodings were realised. Travel-stained and weary, hereported himself one night at the general's quarters. Behind a tablepiled with papers and strewn with maps the famous soldier and his Chiefof Intelligence were deep in plans and figures. Their greeting was acold one. 

"I understand, Captain Joyce, " said the general, "that you have alloweda very important prisoner to slip through your fingers. "

"I am sorry, sir. "

"No doubt. But that will not mend matters. Did you ascertain anythingabout him before you lost him?"

"No, sir. "

"How was that?"

"I could get nothing out of him, sir. "

"Did you try?"

"Yes, sir; I did what I could. "

"What did you do?"

"Well, sir, I threatened to use physical force. "

"What did he say?"

"He said nothing. "

"What was he like?"

"A tall man, sir. Rather a desperate character, I should think. "

"Any way by which we could identify him?"

"A long black beard, sir. Grey eyes. And a nervous way of twitchinghis face. "

"Well, Captain Joyce, " said the general, in his stern, inflexible voice, "I cannot congratulate you upon your first exploit in the Egyptian army. You are aware that every English officer in this force is a picked man. I have the whole British army from which to draw. It is necessary, therefore, that I should insist upon the very highest efficiency. It would be unfair upon the others to pass over any obvious want of zealor intelligence. You are seconded from the Royal Mallows, Iunderstand?"

"Yes, sir. "

"I have no doubt that your colonel will be glad to see you fulfillingyour regimental duties again. " Hilary Joyce's heart was too heavy forwords. He was silent. "I will let you know my final decision to-morrowmorning. " Joyce saluted and turned upon his heel. "

"You can sleep upon that, you beauty, and a good night's rest may itgive you!"

Joyce turned in bewilderment. Where had those words been used before?Who was it who had used them? The general was standing erect. Both heand the Chief of the Intelligence were laughing. Joyce stared at thetall figure, the erect bearing, the inscrutable grey eyes. 

"Good Lord!" he gasped. 

"Well, well, Captain Joyce, we are quits!" said the general, holding outhis hand. "You gave me a bad ten minutes with that infernal red-hothorseshoe of yours. I've done as much for you. I don't think we canspare you for the Royal Mallows just yet awhile. "

"But, sir; but--!"

"The fewer questions the better, perhaps. But of course it must seemrather amazing. I had a little private business with the Kabbabish. It must be done in person. I did it, and came to your post in myreturn. I kept on winking at you as a sign that I wanted a word withyou alone. "

"Yes, yes. I begin to understand. "

"I couldn't give it away before all those blacks, or where should I havebeen the next time I used my false beard and Arab dress? You put me ina very awkward position. But at last I had a word alone with yourEgyptian officer, who managed my escape all right. "

"He! Mahomet Ali!"

"I ordered him to say nothing. I had a score to settle with you. But we dine at eight, Captain Joyce. We live plainly here, but I thinkI can do you a little better than you did me at Kurkur. "

A FOREIGN OFFICE ROMANCE

There are many folk who knew Alphonse Lacour in his old age. From aboutthe time of the Revolution of '48 until he died in the second year ofthe Crimean War he was always to be found in the same corner of the Cafede Provence, at the end of the Rue St. Honore, coming down about nine inthe evening, and going when he could find no one to talk with. It tooksome self-restraint to listen to the old diplomatist, for his storieswere beyond all belief, and yet he was quick at detecting the shadow ofa smile or the slightest little raising of the eyebrows. Then his huge, rounded back would straighten itself, his bull-dog chin would project, and his r's would burr like a kettledrum. When he got as far as, "Ah, monsieur r-r-r-rit!" or "Vous ne me cr-r-r-royez pas donc!" it was quitetime to remember that you had a ticket for the opera. 

There was his story of Talleyrand and the five oyster-shells, and therewas his utterly absurd account of Napoleon's second visit to Ajaccio. Then there was that most circumstantial romance (which he never venturedupon until his second bottle had been uncorked) of the Emperor's escapefrom St. Helena--how he lived for a whole year in Philadelphia, whileCount Herbert de Bertrand, who was his living image, personated him atLongwood. But of all his stories there was none which was morenotorious than that of the Koran and the Foreign Office messenger. Andyet when Monsieur Otto's memoirs were written it was found that therereally was some foundation for old Lacour's incredible statement. 

"You must know, monsieur, " he would say, "that I left Egypt afterKleber's assassination. I would gladly have stayed on, for I wasengaged in a translation of the Koran, and between ourselves I hadthoughts at the time of embracing Mahometanism, for I was deeply struckby the wisdom of their views about marriage. They had made anincredible mistake, however, upon the subject of wine, and this was whatthe Mufti who attempted to convert me could never get over. Then whenold Kleber died and Menou came to the top, I felt that it was time forme to go. It is not for me to speak of my own capacities, monsieur, butyou will readily understand that the man does not care to be ridden bythe mule. I carried my Koran and my papers to London, where MonsieurOtto had been sent by the First Consul to arrange a treaty of peace; forboth nations were very weary of the war, which had already lasted tenyears. Here I was most useful to Monsieur Otto on account of myknowledge of the English tongue, and also, if I may say so, on accountof my natural capacity. They were happy days during which I lived inthe square of Bloomsbury. The climate of monsieur's country is, it mustbe confessed, detestable. But then what would you have? Flowers growbest in the rain. One has but to point to monsieur's fellowcountry-women to prove it. 

"Well, Monsieur Otto, our Ambassador, was kept terribly busy over thattreaty, and all of his staff were worked to death. We had not Pitt todeal with, which was, perhaps, as well for us. He was a terrible manthat Pitt, and wherever half a dozen enemies of France were plottingtogether, there was his sharp-pointed nose right in the middle of them. The nation, however, had been thoughtful enough to put him out ofoffice, and we had to do with Monsieur Addington. But Milord Hawkesburywas the Foreign Minister, and it was with him that we were obliged to doour bargaining. 

"You can understand that it was no child's play. After ten years of wareach nation had got hold of a great deal which had belonged to theother, or to the other's allies. What was to be given back, and whatwas to be kept? Is this island worth that peninsula? If we do this atVenice, will you do that at Sierra Leone? If we give up Egypt to theSultan, will you restore the Cape of Good Hope, which you have takenfrom our allies the Dutch? So we wrangled and wrestled, and I have seenMonsieur Otto come back to the Embassy so exhausted that his secretaryand I had to help him from his carriage to his sofa. But at last thingsadjusted themselves, and the night came round when the treaty was to befinally signed. Now, you must know that the one great card which weheld, and which we played, played, played at every point of the game, was that we had Egypt. The English were very nervous about our beingthere. It gave us a foot at each end of the Mediterranean, you see. And they were not sure that that wonderful little Napoleon of ours mightnot make it the base of an advance against India. So whenever LordHawkesbury proposed to retain anything, we had only to reply, 'In _that_case, of course, we cannot consent to evacuate Egypt, ' and in this waywe quickly brought him to reason. It was by the help of Egypt that wegained terms which were remarkably favourable, and especially that wecaused the English to consent to give up the Cape of Good Hope. We didnot wish your people, monsieur, to have any foothold in South Africa, for history has taught us that the British foothold of one half-centuryis the British Empire of the next. It is not your army or your navyagainst which we have to guard, but it is your terrible younger son andyour man in search of a career. When we French have a possession acrossthe seas, we like to sit in Paris and to felicitate ourselves upon it. With you it is different. You take your wives and your children, andyou run away to see what kind of place this may be, and after that wemight as well try to take that old Square of Bloomsbury away from you. 

"Well, it was upon the first of October that the treaty was finally tobe signed. In the morning I was congratulating Monsieur Otto upon thehappy conclusion of his labours. He was a little pale shrimp of a man, very quick and nervous, and he was so delighted now at his own successthat he could not sit still, but ran about the room chattering andlaughing, while I sat on a cushion in the corner, as I had learned to doin the East. Suddenly, in came a messenger with a letter which had beenforwarded from Paris. Monsieur Otto cast his eye upon it, and then, without a word, his knees gave way, and he fell senseless upon thefloor. I ran to him, as did the courier, and between us we carried himto the sofa. He might have been dead from his appearance, but I couldstill feel his heart thrilling beneath my palm. 'What is this, then?' Iasked. 

"'I do not know, ' answered the messenger. 'Monsieur Talleyrand told meto hurry as never man hurried before, and to put this letter into thehands of Monsieur Otto. I was in Paris at midday yesterday. '

"I know that I am to blame, but I could not help glancing at the letter, picking it out of the senseless hand of Monsieur Otto. My God! thethunderbolt that it was! I did not faint, but I sat down beside mychief and I burst into tears. It was but a few words, but they told usthat Egypt had been evacuated by our troops a month before. All ourtreaty was undone then, and the one consideration which had induced ourenemies to give us good terms had vanished. In twelve hours it wouldnot have mattered. But now the treaty was not yet signed. We shouldhave to give up the Cape. We should have to let England have Malta. Now that Egypt was gone we had nothing left to offer in exchange. 

"But we are not so easily beaten, we Frenchmen. You English misjudge uswhen you think that because we show emotions which you conceal, that weare therefore of a weak and womanly nature. You cannot read yourhistories and believe that. Monsieur Otto recovered his sensespresently, and we took counsel what we should do. 

"'It is useless to go on, Alphonse, ' said he. 'This Englishman willlaugh at me when I ask him to sign. '

"'Courage!' I cried; and then a sudden thought coming into my head--'Howdo we know that the English will have news of this? Perhaps they maysign the treaty before they know of it. '

"Monsieur Otto sprang from the sofa and flung himself into my arms. 

"'Alphonse, ' he cried, 'you have saved me! Why should they know aboutit? Our news has come from Toulon to Paris, and thence straight toLondon. Theirs will come by sea through the Straits of Gibraltar. Atthis moment it is unlikely that anyone in Paris knows of it, save onlyTalleyrand and the First Consul. If we keep our secret, we may stillget our treaty signed. '

"Ah! monsieur, you can imagine the horrible uncertainty in which wespent the day. Never, never shall I forget those slow hours duringwhich we sat together, starting at every distant shout, lest it shouldbe the first sign of the rejoicing which this news would cause inLondon. Monsieur Otto passed from youth to age in a day. As for me, Ifind it easier to go out and meet danger than to wait for it. I setforth, therefore, towards evening. I wandered here, and wandered there. I was in the fencing-rooms of Monsieur Angelo, and in the salon-de-boxeof Monsieur Jackson, and in the club of Brooks, and in the lobby of theChamber of Deputies, but nowhere did I hear any news. Still, it waspossible that Milord Hawkesbury had received it himself just as we had. He lived in Harley Street, and there it was that the treaty was to befinally signed that night at eight. I entreated Monsieur Otto to drinktwo glasses of Burgundy before he went, for I feared lest his haggardface and trembling, hands should rouse suspicion in the Englishminister. 

"Well, we went round together in one of the Embassy's carriages abouthalf-past seven. Monsieur Otto went in alone; but presently, on excuseof getting his portfolio, he came out again, with his cheeks flushedwith joy, to tell me that all was well. 

"'He knows nothing, ' he whispered. 'Ah, if the next half-hour wereover!'

"'Give me a sign when it is settled, ' said I. 

"'For what reason?'

"'Because until then no messenger shall interrupt you. I give you mypromise--I, Alphonse Lacour. '

"He clasped my hand in both of his. 

"'I shall make an excuse to move one of the candles on to the table inthe window, ' said he, and hurried into the house, whilst I was leftwaiting beside the carriage. 

"Well, if we could but secure ourselves from interruption for a singlehalf-hour the day would be our own. I had hardly begun to form my planswhen I saw the lights of a carriage coming swiftly from the direction ofOxford Street. Ah! if it should be the messenger! What could I do?I was prepared to kill him--yes, even to kill him--rather than at thislast moment allow our work to be undone. Thousands die to make aglorious war. Why should not one die to make a glorious peace?What though they hurried me to the scaffold? I should have sacrificedmyself for my country. I had a little curved Turkish knife strapped tomy waist. My hand was on the hilt of it when the carriage which hadalarmed me so rattled safely past me. 

"But another might come. I must be prepared. Above all, I must notcompromise the Embassy. I ordered our carriage to move on, and Iengaged what you call a hackney coach. Then I spoke to the driver, andgave him a guinea. He understood that it was a special service. 

"'You shall have another guinea if you do what you are told, ' said I. 

"'All right, master, ' said he, turning his slow eyes upon me without atrace of excitement or curiosity. 

"' If I enter your coach with another gentleman, you will drive up anddown Harley Street, and take no orders from anyone but me. When I getout, you will carry the other gentleman to Watier's Club, in BrutonStreet. '

"'All right, master, ' said he again. 

"So I stood outside Milord Hawkesbury's house, and you can think howoften my eyes went up to that window in the hope of seeing the candletwinkle in it. Five minutes passed, and another five. Oh, how slowlythey crept along! It was a true October night, raw and cold, with awhite fog crawling over the wet, shining cobblestones, and blurring thedim oil-lamps. I could not see fifty paces in either direction, but myears were straining, straining, to catch the rattle of hoofs or therumble of wheels. It is not a cheering place, monsieur, that street ofHarley, even upon a sunny day. The houses are solid and veryrespectable over yonder, but there is nothing of the feminine aboutthem. It is a city to be inhabited by males. But on that raw night, amid the damp and the fog, with the anxiety gnawing at my heart, itseemed the saddest, weariest spot in the whole wide world. I paced upand down slapping my hands to keep them warm, and still straining myears. And then suddenly out of the dull hum of the traffic down inOxford Street I heard a sound detach itself, and grow louder and louder, and clearer and clearer with every instant, until two yellow lights cameflashing through the fog, and a light cabriolet whirled up to the doorof the Foreign Minister. It had not stopped before a young fellowsprang out of it and hurried to the steps, while the driver turned hishorse and rattled off into the fog once more. 

"Ah, it is in the moment of action that I am best, monsieur. You, whoonly see me when I am drinking my wine in the Cafe de Provence, cannotconceive the heights to which I rise. At that moment, when I knew thatthe fruits of a ten years' war were at stake, I was magnificent. It wasthe last French campaign and I the general and army in one. 

"'Sir, " said I, touching him upon the arm, 'are you the messenger forLord Hawkesbury?'

"'Yes, ' said he. 

"'I have been waiting for you half an hour, ' said I. 'You are to followme at once. He is with the French Ambassador. '

"I spoke with such assurance that he never hesitated for an instant. When he entered the hackney coach and I followed him in, my heart gavesuch a thrill of joy that I could hardly keep from shouting aloud. He was a poor little creature, this Foreign Office messenger, not muchbigger than Monsieur Otto, and I--monsieur can see my hands now, andimagine what they were like when I was seven-and-twenty years of age. 

"Well, now that I had him in my coach, the question was what I should dowith him. I did not wish to hurt him if I could help it. 

"'This is a pressing business, ' said he. 'I have a despatch which Imust deliver instantly. '

"Our coach had rattled down Harley Street now, in accordance with myinstruction, it turned and began to go up again. 

"'Hullo!' he cried. 'What's this?'

"'What then? 'I asked. 

"'We are driving back. Where is Lord Hawkesbury?'

"'We shall see him presently. '

"'Let me out!' he shouted. 'There's some trickery in this. Coachman, stop the coach! Let me out, I say!'

"I dashed him back into his seat as he tried to turn the handle of thedoor. He roared for help. I clapped my palm across his mouth. He madehis teeth meet through the side of it. I seized his own cravat andbound it over his lips. He still mumbled and gurgled, but the noise wascovered by the rattle of our wheels. We were passing the minister'shouse, and there was no candle in the window. 

"The messenger sat quiet for a little, and I could see the glint of hiseyes as he stared at me through the gloom. He was partly stunned, Ithink, by the force with which I had hurled him into his seat. And alsohe was pondering, perhaps, what he should do next. Presently he got hismouth partly free from the cravat. 

"'You shall have my watch and my purse if you will let me go, ' said he. 

"'Sir, ' said I, 'I am as honourable a man as you are yourself. '

"'Who are you, then?'

"'My name is of no importance. '

"'What do you want with me?'

"It is a bet. '

"'A bet? What d'you mean? Do you understand that I am on theGovernment service, and that you will see the inside of a gaol forthis?'

"'That is the bet. That is the sport, said I. '

"'You may find it poor sport before you finish, ' he cried. 'What isthis insane bet of yours then?'

"'I have bet, ' I answered, 'that I will recite a chapter of the Koran tothe first gentleman whom I should meet in the street. '

"I do not know what made me think of it, save that my translation wasalways running in my head. He clutched at the door-handle, and again Ihad to hurl him back into his seat. 

"'How long will it take?' he gasped. 

"'It depends on the chapter, ' I answered. 

"'A short one, then, and let me go!'

"'But is it fair?' I argued. 'When I say a chapter, I do not mean theshortest chapter, but rather one which should be of average length. '

"'Help! help! help!' he squealed, and I was compelled again to adjusthis cravat. 

"'A little patience, ' said I, 'and it will soon be over. I should liketo recite the chapter which would be of most interest to yourself. Youwill confess that I am trying to make things as pleasant as I can foryou?"

He slipped his mouth free again. 

"'Quick, then, quick!' he groaned. 

"'The Chapter of the Camel?' I suggested. 

"'Yes, yes. '

"'Or that of the Fleet Stallion?'

"'Yes, yes. Only proceed!'

"We had passed the window and there was no candle. I settled down torecite the Chapter of the Stallion to him. Perhaps you do not know yourKoran very well, monsieur? Well, I knew it by heart then, as I know itby heart now. The style is a little exasperating for anyone who is in ahurry. But, then, what would you have? The people in the East arenever in a hurry, and it was written for them. I repeated it all withthe dignity and solemnity which a sacred book demands, and the youngEnglishman he wriggled and groaned. 

"'When the horses, standing on three feet and placing the tip of theirfourth foot upon the ground, were mustered in front of him in theevening, he said, I have loved the love of earthly good above theremembrance of things on high, and have spent the time in viewing thesehorses. Bring the horses back to me. And when they were brought backhe began to cut off their legs and--'

"It was at this moment that the young Englishman sprang at me. My God!how little can I remember of the next few minutes! He was a boxer, thisshred of a man. He had been trained to strike. I tried to catch him bythe hands. Pac, pac, he came upon my nose and upon my eye. I put downmy head and thrust at him with it. Pac, he came from below. But ah!I was too much for him. I hurled myself upon him, and he had no placewhere he could escape from my weight. He fell flat upon the cushionsand I seated myself upon him with such conviction that the wind flewfrom him as from a burst bellows. 

"Then I searched to see what there was with which I could tie him. Idrew the strings from my shoes, and with one I secured his wrists, andwith another his ankles. Then I tied the cravat round his mouth again, so that he could only lie and glare at me. When I had done all this, and had stopped the bleeding of my own nose, I looked out of the coachand ah, monsieur, the very first thing which caught my eyes was thatcandle--that dear little candle--glimmering in the window of theminister. Alone, with these two hands, I had retrieved the capitulationof an army and the loss of a province. Yes, monsieur, what Abercrombieand 5, 000 men had done upon the beach at Aboukir was undone by me, single-handed, in a hackney coach in Harley Street. 

"Well, I had no time to lose, for at any moment Monsieur Otto might bedown. I shouted to my driver, gave him his second guinea, and allowedhim to proceed to Watier's. For myself, I sprang into our Embassy'scarriage, and a moment later the door of the minister opened. He hadhimself escorted Monsieur Otto downstairs, and now so deep was he intalk that he walked out bareheaded as far as the carriage. As he stoodthere by the open door, there came the rattle of wheels, and a manrushed down the pavement. 

"'A despatch of great importance for Milord Hawkesbury!' he cried. 

"I could see that it was not my messenger, but a second one. MilordHawkesbury caught the paper from his hand, and read it by the light ofthe carriage lamp. His face, monsieur, was as white as this plate, before he had finished. 

"'Monsieur Otto, ' he cried, 'we have signed this treaty upon a falseunderstanding. Egypt is in our hands. '

"'What!' cried Monsieur Otto. 'Impossible!'

"'It is certain. It fell to Abercrombie last month. '

"'In that case, ' said Monsieur Otto, 'it is very fortunate that thetreaty is signed. '

"'Very fortunate for you, sir, ' cried Milord Hawkesbury, as he turnedback to the house. 

"Next day, monsieur, what they call the Bow Street runners were afterme, but they could not run across salt water, and Alphonse Lacour wasreceiving the congratulations of Monsieur Talleyrand and the FirstConsul before ever his pursuers had got as far as Dover. "