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Dead Men Tell No Tales by E. W. Hornung

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Dead Men Tell No Tales

by E. W. Hornung


Chapter I Love on the Ocean

Chapter II The Mysterious Cargo

Chapter III To the Water's Edge

Chapter IV The Silent Sea

Chapter V My Reward

Chapter VI The Sole Survivor

Chapter V I Find a Friend

Chapter VI A Small Precaution

Chapter VII My Convalescent Home

Chapter VIII Wine and Weakness

Chapter IX I Live Again

Chapter X My Lady's Bidding

Chapter XI The Longest Day of My Life

Chapter XII In the Garden

Chapter XIII First Blood

Chapter XIV A Deadlock

Chapter XV When Thieves Fall Out

Chapter XVI A Man of Many Murders

Chapter XVII My Great Hour

Chapter XVIII The Statement of Francis Rattray


Love on the Ocean

Nothing is so easy as falling in love on a long sea voyage, except
falling out of love. Especially was this the case in the days
when the wooden clippers did finely to land you in Sydney or in
Melbourne under the four full months. We all saw far too much of
each other, unless, indeed, we were to see still more. Our
superficial attractions mutually exhausted, we lost heart and
patience in the disappointing strata which lie between the surface
and the bed-rock of most natures. My own experience was confined
to the round voyage of the Lady Jermyn, in the year 1853. It was
no common experience, as was only too well known at the time. And
I may add that I for my part had not the faintest intention of
falling in love on board; nay, after all these years, let me confess
that I had good cause to hold myself proof against such weakness.
Yet we carried a young lady, coming home, who, God knows, might have
made short work of many a better man!

Eva Denison was her name, and she cannot have been more than
nineteen years of age. I remember her telling me that she had not
yet come out, the very first time I assisted her to promenade the
poop. My own name was still unknown to her, and yet I recollect
being quite fascinated by her frankness and self-possession. She
was exquisitely young, and yet ludicrously old for her years; had
been admirably educated, chiefly abroad, and, as we were soon to
discover, possessed accomplishments which would have made the
plainest old maid a popular personage on board ship. Miss Denison,
however, was as beautiful as she was young, with the bloom of ideal
health upon her perfect skin. She had a wealth of lovely hair, with
strange elusive strands of gold among the brown, that drowned her
ears (I thought we were to have that mode again?) in sunny ripples;
and a soul greater than the mind, and a heart greater than either,
lay sleeping somewhere in the depths of her grave, gray eyes.

We were at sea together so many weeks. I cannot think what I was
made of then!

It was in the brave old days of Ballarat and Bendigo, when ship
after ship went out black with passengers and deep with stores, to
bounce home with a bale or two of wool, and hardly hands enough to
reef topsails in a gale. Nor was this the worst; for not the crew
only, but, in many cases, captain and officers as well, would join
in the stampede to the diggings; and we found Hobson's Bay the
congested asylum of all manner of masterless and deserted vessels.
I have a lively recollection of our skipper's indignation when
the pilot informed him of this disgraceful fact. Within a fortnight,
however, I met the good man face to face upon the diggings. It is
but fair to add that the Lady Jermyn lost every officer and man in
the same way, and that the captain did obey tradition to the extent
of being the last to quit his ship. Nevertheless, of all who sailed
by her in January, I alone was ready to return at the beginning of
the following July.

I had been to Ballarat. I had given the thing a trial. For the
most odious weeks I had been a licensed digger on Black Hill Flats;
and I had actually failed to make running expenses. That, however,
will surprise you the less when I pause to declare that I have paid
as much as four shillings and sixpence for half a loaf of execrable
bread; that my mate and I, between us, seldom took more than a few
pennyweights of gold-dust in any one day; and never once struck pick
into nugget, big or little, though we had the mortification of
inspecting the "mammoth masses" of which we found the papers full
on landing, and which had brought the gold-fever to its height during
our very voyage. With me, however, as with many a young fellow who
had turned his back on better things, the malady was short-lived. We
expected to make our fortunes out of hand, and we had reckoned
without the vermin and the villainy which rendered us more than ever
impatient of delay. In my fly-blown blankets I dreamt of London
until I hankered after my chambers and my club more than after much
fine gold. Never shall I forget my first hot bath on getting back to
Melbourne; it cost five shillings, but it was worth five pounds, and
is altogether my pleasantest reminiscence of Australia.

There was, however, one slice of luck in store for me. I found the
dear old Lady Jermyn on the very eve of sailing, with a new captain,
a new crew, a handful of passengers (chiefly steerage), and nominally
no cargo at all. I felt none the less at home when I stepped over
her familiar side.

In the cuddy we were only five, but a more uneven quintette I defy
you to convene. There was a young fellow named Ready, packed out
for his health, and hurrying home to die among friends. There was
an outrageously lucky digger, another invalid, for he would drink
nothing but champagne with every meal and at any minute of the day,
and I have seen him pitch raw gold at the sea-birds by the hour
together. Miss Denison was our only lady, and her step-father, with
whom she was travelling, was the one man of distinction on board.
He was a Portuguese of sixty or thereabouts, Senhor Joaquin Santos
by name; at first it was incredible to me that he had no title, so
noble was his bearing; but very soon I realized that he was one of
those to whom adventitious honors can add no lustre. He treated
Miss Denison as no parent ever treated a child, with a gallantry
and a courtliness quite beautiful to watch, and not a little
touching in the light of the circumstances under which they were
travelling together. The girl had gone straight from school to her
step-father's estate on the Zambesi, where, a few months later, her
mother had died of the malaria. Unable to endure the place after
his wife's death, Senhor Santos had taken ship to Victoria, there
to seek fresh fortune with results as indifferent as my own. He
was now taking Miss Denison back to England, to make her home with
other relatives, before he himself returned to Africa (as he once
told me) to lay his bones beside those of his wife. I hardly know
which of the pair I see more plainly as I write - the young girl
with her soft eyes and her sunny hair, or the old gentleman with
the erect though wasted figure, the noble forehead, the steady eye,
the parchment skin, the white imperial, and the eternal cigarette
between his shrivelled lips.

No need to say that I came more in contact with the young girl.
She was not less charming in my eyes because she provoked me
greatly as I came to know her intimately. She had many irritating
faults. Like most young persons of intellect and inexperience, she
was hasty and intolerant in nearly all her judgments, and rather
given to being critical in a crude way. She was very musical,
playing the guitar and singing in a style that made our shipboard
concerts vastly superior to the average of their order; but I have
seen her shudder at the efforts of less gifted folks who were
also doing their best; and it was the same in other directions where
her superiority was less specific. The faults which are most
exasperating in another are, of course, one's own faults; and I
confess that I was very critical of Eva Denison's criticisms. Then
she had a little weakness for exaggeration, for unconscious egotism
in conversation, and I itched to tell her so. I felt so certain
that the girl had a fine character underneath, which would rise to
noble heights in stress or storm: all the more would I long now to
take her in hand and mould her in little things, and anon to take
her in my arms just as she was. The latter feeling was resolutely
crushed. To be plain, I had endured what is euphemistically called
"disappointment" already; and, not being a complete coxcomb, I had
no intention of courting a second.

Yet, when I write of Eva Denison, I am like to let my pen outrun my
tale. I lay the pen down, and a hundred of her sayings ring in my
ears, with my own contradictious comments, that I was doomed so soon
to repent; a hundred visions of her start to my eyes; and there is
the trade-wind singing in the rigging, and loosening a tress of my
darling's hair, till it flies like a tiny golden streamer in the
tropic sun. There, it is out! I have called her what she was to
be in my heart ever after. Yet at the time I must argue with her
- with her! When all my courage should have gone to love-making,
I was plucking it up to sail as near as I might to plain
remonstrance! I little dreamt how the ghost of every petty word
was presently to return and torture me.

So it is that I can see her and hear her now on a hundred separate
occasions beneath the awning beneath the stars on deck below at noon
or night but plainest of all in the evening of the day we signalled
the Island of Ascension, at the close of that last concert on the
quarter-deck. The watch are taking down the extra awning; they are
removing the bunting and the foot-lights. The lanterns are trailed
forward before they are put out; from the break of the poop we watch
the vivid shifting patch of deck that each lights up on its way. The
stars are very sharp in the vast violet dome above our masts; they
shimmer on the sea; and our trucks describe minute orbits among the
stars, for the trades have yet to fail us, and every inch of canvas
has its fill of the gentle steady wind. It is a heavenly night.
The peace of God broods upon His waters. No jarring note offends
the ear. In the forecastle a voice is humming a song of Eva Denison's
that has caught the fancy of the men; the young girl who sang it so
sweetly not twenty minutes since who sang it again and again to
please the crew she alone is at war with our little world she alone
would head a mutiny if she could.

"I hate the captain!" she says again.

"My dear Miss Denison!" I begin; for she has always been severe upon
our bluff old man, and it is not the spirit of contrariety alone
which makes me invariably take his part. Coarse he may be, and not
one whom the owners would have chosen to command the Lady Jermyn; a
good seaman none the less, who brought us round the Horn in foul
weather without losing stitch or stick. I think of the ruddy ruffian
in his dripping oilskins, on deck day and night for our sakes, and
once more I must needs take his part; but Miss Denison stops me
before I can get out another word.

"I am not dear, and I'm not yours," she cries. "I'm only a
school-girl - you have all but told me so before to-day! If I were
a man - if I were you - I should tell Captain Harris what I thought
of him!"

"Why? What has he done now?"

"Now? You know how rude he was to poor Mr. Ready this very

It was true. He had been very rude indeed. But Ready also had
been at fault. It may be that I was always inclined to take an
opposite view, but I felt bound to point this out, and at any cost.

"You mean when Ready asked him if we were out of our course? I
must say I thought it was a silly question to put. It was the same
the other evening about the cargo. If the skipper says we're in
ballast why not believe him? Why repeat steerage gossip, about
mysterious cargoes, at the cuddy table? Captains are always touchy
about that sort of thing. I wasn't surprised at his letting out."

My poor love stares at me in the starlight. Her great eyes flash
their scorn. Then she gives a little smile - and then a little nod
- more scornful than all the rest.

"You never are surprised, are you, Mr. Cole?" says she. "You were
not surprised when the wretch used horrible language in front of me!
You were not surprised when it was a - dying man - whom he abused!"

I try to soothe her. I agree heartily with her disgust at the
epithets employed in her hearing, and towards an invalid, by the
irate skipper. But I ask her to make allowances for a rough,
uneducated man, rather clumsily touched upon his tender spot. I
shall conciliate her presently; the divine pout (so childish it was!)
is fading from her lips; the starlight is on the tulle and lace and
roses of her pretty evening dress, with its festooned skirts and
obsolete flounces; and I am watching her, ay, and worshipping her,
though I do not know it yet. And as we stand there comes another
snatch from the forecastle: -

"What will you do, love, when I am going.
With white sail flowing,
The seas beyond?
What will you do, love - "

"They may make the most of that song," says Miss Denison grimly;
"it's the last they'll have from me. Get up as many more concerts
as you like. I won't sing at another unless it's in the fo'c'sle.
I'll sing to the men, but not to Captain Harris. He didn't put in
an appearance tonight. He shall not have another chance of
insulting me."

Was it her vanity that was wounded after all? "You forget," said I,
"that you would not answer when he addressed you at dinner."

"I should think I wouldn't, after the way he spoke to Mr. Ready; and
he too agitated to come to table, poor fellow!"

"Still, the captain felt the open slight."

"Then he shouldn't have used such language in front of me."

"Your father felt it, too, Miss Denison."

I hear nothing plainer than her low but quick reply:

"Mr. Cole, my father has been dead many; many years; he died
before I can remember. That man only married my poor mother. He
sympathizes with Captain Harris - against me; no father would do
that. Look at them together now! And you take his side, too; oh!
I have no patience with any of you - except poor Mr. Ready in his

"But you are not going."

"Indeed I am. I am tired of you all."

And she was gone with angry tears for which I blamed myself as I
fell to pacing the weather side of the poop - and so often
afterwards! So often, and with such unavailing bittertness !

Senhor Santos and the captain were in conversation by the weather
rail. I fancied poor old Harris eyed me with suspicion, and I
wished he had better cause. The Portuguese, however, saluted me
with his customary courtesy, and I thought there was a grave twinkle
in his steady eye.

"Are you in deesgrace also, friend Cole?" he inquired in his all
but perfect English.

"More or less," said I ruefully.

He gave the shrug of his country - that delicate gesture which is
done almost entirely with the back - a subtlety beyond the power
of British shoulders.

"The senhora is both weelful and pivish," said he, mixing the two
vowels which (with the aspirate) were his only trouble with our
tongue. "It is great grif to me to see her growing so unlike her
sainted mother!"

He sighed, and I saw his delicate fingers forsake the cigarette
they were rolling to make the sacred sign upon his breast. He was
always smoking one cigarette and making another; as he lit the new
one the glow fell upon a strange pin that he wore, a pin with a
tiny crucifix inlaid in mosaic. So the religious cast of Senhor
Santos was brought twice home to me in the same moment, though, to
be sure, I had often been struck by it before. And it depressed me
to think that so sweet a child as Eva Denison should have spoken
harshly of so good a man as her step-father, simply because he had
breadth enough to sympathize with a coarse old salt like Captain

I turned in, however, and I cannot say the matter kept me awake in
the separate state-room which was one luxury of our empty saloon.
Alas? I was a heavy sleeper then.



"Wake up, Cole! The ship's on fire!"

It was young Ready's hollow voice, as cool, however, as though he
were telling me I was late for breakfast. I started up and sought
him wildly in the darkness.

"You're joking," was my first thought and utterance; for now he was
lighting my candle, and blowing out the match with a care that
seemed in itself a contradiction.

"I wish I were," he answered. "Listen to that!"

He pointed to my cabin ceiling; it quivered and creaked; and all at
once I was as a deaf man healed.

One gets inured to noise at sea, but to this day it passes me how
even I could have slept an instant in the abnormal din which I now
heard raging above my head. Sea-boots stamped; bare feet pattered;
men bawled; women shrieked; shouts of terror drowned the roar of

"Have we long to last?" I asked, as I leaped for my clothes.

"Long enough for you to dress comfortably. Steady, old man! It's
only just been discovered; they may get it under. The panic's the
worst part at present, and we're out of that."

But was Eva Denison? Breathlessly I put the question; his answer
was reassuring. Miss Denison was with her step-father on the poop.
"And both of 'em as cool as cucumbers," added Ready.

They could not have been cooler than this young man, with death at
the bottom of his bright and sunken eyes. He was of the type which
is all muscle and no constitution; athletes one year, dead men the
next; but until this moment the athlete had been to me a mere and
incredible tradition. In the afternoon I had seen his lean knees
totter under the captain's fire. Now, at midnight - the exact time
by my watch - it was as if his shrunken limbs had expanded in his
clothes; he seemed hardly to know his own flushed face, as he caught
sight of it in my mirror.

"By Jove!" said he, "this has put me in a fine old fever; but I
don't know when I felt in better fettle. If only they get it under!
I've not looked like this all the voyage."

And he admired himself while I dressed in hot haste: a fine young
fellow; not at all the natural egotist, but cast for death by the
doctors, and keenly incredulous in his bag of skin. It revived
one's confidence to hear him talk. But he forgot himself in an
instant, and gave me a lead through the saloon with a boyish
eagerness that made me actually suspicious as I ran. We were
nearing the Line. I recalled the excesses of my last crossing,
and I prepared for some vast hoax at the last moment. It was only
when we plunged upon the crowded quarter-deck, and my own eyes read
lust of life and dread of death in the starting eyes of others, that
such lust and such dread consumed me in my turn, so that my veins
seemed filled with fire and ice.

To be fair to those others, I think that the first wild panic was
subsiding even then; at least there was a lull, and even a reaction
in the right direction on the part of the males in the second class
and steerage. A huge Irishman at their head, they were passing
buckets towards the after-hold; the press of people hid the hatchway
from us until we gained the poop; but we heard the buckets spitting
and a hose-pipe hissing into the flames below; and we saw the column
of white vapor rising steadily from their midst.

At the break of the poop stood Captain Harris, his legs planted wide
apart, very vigorous, very decisive, very profane. And I must
confess that the shocking oaths which had brought us round the Horn
inspired a kind of confidence in me now. Besides, even from the
poop I could see no flames. But the night was as beautiful as it
had been an hour or two back; the stars as brilliant, the breeze
even more balmy, the sea even more calm; and we were hove-to already,
against the worst.

In this hour of peril the poop was very properly invaded by all
classes of passengers, in all manner of incongruous apparel, in all
stages of fear, rage, grief and hysteria; as we made our way among
this motley nightmare throng, I took Ready by the arm.

"The skipper's a brute," said I, "but he's the right brute in the
right place to-night, Ready !"

"I hope he may be," was the reply. "But we were off our course
this afternoon; and we were off it again during the concert, as
sure as we're not on it now."

His tone made me draw him to the rail.

"But how do you know? You didn't have another look, did you?"

"Lots of looks-at the stars. He couldn't keep me from consulting
them; and I'm just as certain of it as I'm certain that we've a
cargo aboard which we're none of us supposed to know anything about."

The latter piece of gossip was, indeed, all over the ship; but this
allusion to it struck me as foolishly irrelevant and frivolous. As
to the other matter, I suggested that the officers would have had
more to say about it than Ready, if there had been anything in it.

"Officers be damned!" cried our consumptive, with a sound man's
vigor. "They're ordinary seamen dressed up; I don't believe they've
a second mate's certificate between them, and they're frightened out
of their souls."

"Well, anyhow, the skipper isn't that."

"No; he's drunk; he can shout straight, but you should hear him try
to speak."

I made my way aft without rejoinder. "Invalid's pessimism," was my
private comment. And yet the sick man was whole for the time being;
the virile spirit was once more master of the recreant members; and
it was with illogical relief that I found those I sought standing
almost unconcernedly beside the binnacle.

My little friend was, indeed, pale enough, and her eyes great with
dismay; but she stood splendidly calm, in her travelling cloak and
bonnet, and with all my soul I hailed the hardihood with which I
had rightly credited my love. Yes! I loved her then. It had come
home to me at last, and I no longer denied it in my heart. In my
innocence and my joy I rather blessed the fire for showing me her
true self and my own; and there I stood, loving her openly with my
eyes (not to lose another instant), and bursting to tell her so
with my lips.

But there also stood Senhor Santos, almost precisely as I had seen
him last, cigarette, tie-pin, and all. He wore an overcoat, however,
and leaned upon a massive ebony cane, while he carried his daughter's
guitar in its case, exactly as though they were waiting for a train.
Moreover, I thought that for the first time he was regarding me with
no very favoring glance.

"You don't think it serious?" I asked him abruptly, my heart still
bounding with the most incongruous joy.

He gave me his ambiguous shrug; and then, "A fire at sea is surely
sirrious," said he.

"Where did it break out ?"

"No one knows; it may have come of your concert."

"But they are getting the better of it?"

"They are working wonders so far, senhor."

"You see, Miss Denison," I continued ecstatically, "our rough old
diamond of a skipper is the right man in the right place after all.
A tight man in a tight place, eh?" and I laughed like an idiot in
their calm grave faces.

"Senhor Cole is right," said Santos, "although his 'ilarity sims a
leetle out of place. But you must never spik against Captain 'Arrees
again, menma."

"I never will," the poor child said; yet I saw her wince whenever
the captain raised that hoarse voice of his in more and more
blasphemous exhortation; and I began to fear with Ready that the
man was drunk.

My eyes were still upon my darling, devouring her, revelling in her,
when suddenly I saw her hand twitch within her step-father's arm.
It was an answering start to one on his part. The cigarette was
snatched from his lips. There was a commotion forward, and a cry
came aft, from mouth to mouth:

"The flames! The flames !"

I turned, and caught their reflection on the white column of smoke
and steam. I ran forward, and saw them curling and leaping in the
hell-mouth of the hold.

The quarter-deck now staged a lurid scene: that blazing trap-door
in its midst; and each man there a naked demon madly working to
save his roasting skin. Abaft the mainmast the deck-pump was being
ceaselessly worked by relays of the passengers; dry blankets were
passed forward, soaking blankets were passed aft, and flung flat
into the furnace one after another. These did more good than the
pure water: the pillar of smoke became blacker, denser: we were at
a crisis; a sudden hush denoted it; even our hoarse skipper stood

I had rushed down into the waist of the ship - blushing for my
delay - and already I was tossing blankets with the rest. Looking
up in an enforced pause, I saw Santos whispering in the skipper's
ear, with the expression of a sphinx but no lack of foreign
gesticulation - behind them a fringe of terror-stricken faces,
parted at that instant by two more figures, as wild and strange as
any in that wild, strange scene. One was our luckless lucky digger,
the other a gigantic Zambesi nigger, who for days had been told off
to watch him; this was the servant (or rather the slave) of Senhor

The digger planted himself before the captain. His face was
reddened by a fire as consuming as that within the bowels of our
gallant ship. He had a huge, unwieldy bundle under either arm.

"Plain question - plain answer," we heard him stutter. "Is there
any *** chance of saving this *** ship?"

His adjectives were too foul for print; they were given with such
a special effort at distinctness, however, that I was smiling one
instant, and giving thanks the next that Eva Denison had not come
forward with her guardian. Meanwhile the skipper had exchanged a
glance with Senhor Santos, and I think we all felt that he was going
to tell us the truth.

He told it in two words - "Very little."

Then the first individual tragedy was enacted before every eye.
With a yell the drunken maniac rushed to the rail. The nigger was
at his heels - he was too late. Uttering another and more piercing
shriek, the madman was overboard at a bound; one of his bundles
preceded him; the other dropped like a cannon-ball on the deck.

The nigger caught it up and carried it forward to the captain.

Harris held up his hand. We were still before we had fairly found
our tongues. His words did run together a little, but he was not

"Men and women," said he, "what I told that poor devil is Gospel
truth; but I didn't tell him we'd no chance of saving our lives,
did I? Not me, because we have! Keep your heads and listen to me.
There's two good boats on the davits amidships; the chief will take
one, the second officer the other; and there ain't no reason why
every blessed one of you shouldn't sleep in Ascension to-morrow
night. As for me, let me see every soul off of my ship and perhaps
I may follow; but by the God that made you, look alive! Mr. Arnott
- Mr. McClellan - man them boats and lower away. You can't get quit
o' the ship too soon, an' I don't mind tellin' you why. I'll tell
you the worst, an' then you'll know. There's been a lot o' gossip
goin', gossip about my cargo. I give out as I'd none but ship's
stores and ballast, an' I give out a lie. I don't mind tellin' you
now. I give out a cussed lie, but I give it out for the good o' the
ship! What was the use o' frightenin' folks? But where's the sense
in keepin' it back now? We have a bit of a cargo," shouted Harris;
"and it's gunpowder - every damned ton of it!"

The effect of this announcement may be imagined; my hand has not
the cunning to reproduce it on paper; and if it had, it would shrink
from the task. Mild men became brutes, brutal men, devils, women
- God help them! - shrieking beldams for the most part. Never shall
I forget them with their streaming hair, their screaming open mouths,
and the cruel ascending fire glinting on their starting eyeballs!

Pell-mell they tumbled down the poop-ladders; pell-mell they raced
amidships past that yawning open furnace; the pitch was boiling
through the seams of the crackling deck; they slipped and fell upon
it, one over another, and the wonder is that none plunged headlong
into the flames. A handful remained on the poop, cowering and
undone with terror. Upon these turned Captain Harris, as Ready
and I, stemming the torrent of maddened humanity, regained the
poop ourselves.

"For'ard with ye!" yelled the skipper. "The powder's underneath
you in the lazarette!"

They were gone like hunted sheep. And now abaft the flaming
hatchway there were only we four surviving saloon passengers, the
captain, his steward, the Zambesi negro, and the quarter-master at
the wheel. The steward and the black I observed putting stores
aboard the captain's gig as it overhung the water from the stern

"Now, gentlemen," said Harris to the two of us, "I must trouble
you to step forward with the rest. Senhor Santos insists on taking
his chance along with the young lady in my gig. I've told him the
risk, but he insists, and the gig'll hold no more."

"But she must have a crew, and I can row. For God's sake take me,
captain!" cried I; for Eva Denison sat weeping in her deck chair,
and my heart bled faint at the thought of leaving her, I who loved
her so, and might die without ever telling her my love! Harris,
however, stood firm.

"There's that quartermaster and my steward, and Jose the nigger,"
said he. "That's quite enough, Mr. Cole, for I ain't above an oar
myself; but, by God, I'm skipper o' this here ship, and I'll skip
her as long as I remain aboard!"

I saw his hand go to his belt; I saw the pistols stuck there for
mutineers. I looked at Santos. He answered me with his neutral
shrug, and, by my soul, he struck a match and lit a cigarette in
that hour of life and death! Then last I looked at Ready; and he
leant invertebrate over the rail, gasping pitiably from his
exertions in regaining the poop, a dying man once more. I pointed
out his piteous state.

"At least," I whispered, "you won't refuse to take him?"

"Will there be anything to take?" said the captain brutally.

Santos advanced leisurely, and puffed his cigarette over the poor
wasted and exhausted frame.

"It is for you to decide, captain," said he cynically; "but this
one will make no deeference. Yes, I would take him. It will not
be far," he added, in a tone that was not the less detestable for
being lowered.

"Take them both!" moaned little Eva, putting in her first and last
sweet word.

"Then we all drown, Evasinha," said her stepfather. "It is

"We're too many for her as it is," said the captain. "So for'ard
with ye, Mr. Cole, before it's too late."

But my darling's brave word for me had fired my blood, and I turned
with equal resolution on Harris and on the Portuguese. "I will go
like a lamb," said I, "if you will first give me five minutes'
conversation with Miss Denison. Otherwise I do not go; and as for
the gig, you may take me or leave me, as you choose."

"What have you to say to her?" asked Santos, coming up to me, and
again lowering his voice.

I lowered mine still more. "That I love her!" I answered in a soft
ecstasy. "That she may remember how I loved her, if I die!"

His shoulders shrugged a cynical acquiescence.

"By all mins, senhor; there is no harm in that."

I was at her side before another word could pass his withered lips.

"Miss Denison, will you grant me five minutes', conversation? It
may be the last that we shall ever have together!"

Uncovering her face, she looked at me with a strange terror in her
great eyes; then with a questioning light that was yet more strange,
for in it there was a wistfulness I could not comprehend. She
suffered me to take her hand, however, and to lead her unresisting
to the weather rail.

"What is it you have to say?" she asked me in her turn. "What is
it that you - think?"

Her voice fell as though she must have the truth.

"That we have all a very good chance," said I heartily.

"Is that all ?" cried Eva, and my heart sank at her eager manner.

She seemed at once disappointed and relieved. Could it be possible
she dreaded a declaration which she had foreseen all along? My evil
first experience rose up to warn me. No, I would not speak now; it
was no time. If she loved me, it might make her love me less;
better to trust to God to spare us both.

"Yes, it is all," I said doggedly.

She drew a little nearer, hesitating. It was as though her
disappointment had gained on her relief.

"Do you know what I thought you were going to say?"

"No, indeed."

"Dare I tell you?"

"You can trust me."

Her pale lips parted. Her great eyes shone. Another instant, and
she had told me that which I would have given all but life itself
to know. But in that tick of time a quick step came behind me, and
the light went out of the sweet face upturned to mine.

"I cannot! I must not! Here is - that man!"

Senhor Santos was all smiles and rings of pale-blue smoke.

"You will be cut off, friend Cole," said he. "The fire is

"Let it spread!" I cried, gazing my very soul into the young girl's
eyes. "We have not finished our conversation.

"We have!" said she, with sudden decision. "Go - go - for my sake
- for your own sake - go at once!"

She gave me her hand. I merely clasped it. And so I left her at
the rail-ah, heaven! how often we had argued on that very spot! So
I left her, with the greatest effort of all my life (but one); and
yet in passing, full as my heart was of love and self, I could not
but lay a hand on poor Ready's shoulders.

"God bless you, old boy!" I said to him.

He turned a white face that gave me half an instant's pause.

"It's all over with me this time," he said. "But, I say, I was
right about the cargo?"

And I heard a chuckle as I reached the ladder; but Ready was no
longer in my mind; even Eva was driven out of it, as I stood
aghast on the top-most rung.



It was not the new panic amidships that froze my marrow; it was
not that the pinnace hung perpendicularly by the fore-tackle, and
had shot out those who had swarmed aboard her before she was
lowered, as a cart shoots a load of bricks. It was bad enough to
see the whole boat-load struggling, floundering, sinking in the sea;
for selfish eyes (and which of us is all unselfish at such a time?)
there was a worse sight yet; for I saw all this across an impassable
gulf of fire.

The quarter-deck had caught: it was in flames to port and starboard
of the flaming hatch; only fore and aft of it was the deck sound to
the lips of that hideous mouth, with the hundred tongues shooting
out and up.

Could I jump it there? I sprang down and looked. It was only a
few feet across; but to leap through that living fire was to leap
into eternity. I drew back instantly, less because my heart failed
me, I may truly say, than because my common sense did not.

Some were watching me, it seemed, across this hell. "The bulwarks!"
they screamed. "Walk along the bulwarks!" I held up my hand in
token that I heard and understood and meant to act. And as I did
their bidding I noticed what indeed had long been apparent to idler
eyes: the wind was not; we had lost our southeast trades; the doomed
ship was rolling in a dead calm.

Rolling, rolling, rolling so that it seemed minutes before I dared
to move an inch. Then I tried it on my hands and knees, but the
scorched bulwarks burned me to the bone. And then I leapt up,
desperate with the pain; and, with my tortured hands spread wide
to balance me, I walked those few yards, between rising sea and
falling fire, and falling sea and rising fire, as an acrobat walks
a rope, and by God's grace without mishap.

There was no time to think twice about my feat, or, indeed, about
anything else that befell upon a night when each moment was more
pregnant than the last. And yet I did think that those who had
encouraged me to attempt so perilous a trick might have welcomed
me alive among them; they were looking at something else already;
and this was what it was.

One of the cabin stewards had presented himself on the poop; he had
a bottle in one hand, a glass in the other; in the red glare we saw
him dancing in front of the captain like an unruly marionette.
Harris appeared to threaten him. What he said we could not hear for
the deep-drawn blast and the high staccato crackle of the blazing
hold. But we saw the staggering steward offering him a drink; saw
the glass flung next instant in the captain's face, the blood
running, a pistol drawn, fired without effect, and snatched away by
the drunken mutineer. Next instant a smooth black cane was raining
blow after blow on the man's head. He dropped; the blows fell
thick and heavy as before. He lay wriggling; the Portuguese struck
and struck until he lay quite still; then we saw Joaquin Santos
kneel, and rub his stick carefully on the still thing's clothes, as
a man might wipe his boots.

Curses burst from our throats; yet the fellow deserved to die. Nor,
as I say, had we time to waste two thoughts upon any one incident.
This last had begun and ended in the same minute; in another we were
at the starboard gangway, tumbling helter-skelter aboard the lowered

She lay safely on the water: how we thanked our gods for that!
Lower and lower sank her gunwale as we dropped aboard her, with no
more care than the Gadarene swine whose fate we courted. Discipline,
order, method, common care, we brought none of these things with us
from our floating furnace; but we fought to be first over the
bulwarks, and in the bottom of the long-boat we fought again.

And yet she held us all! All, that is, but a terror-stricken few,
who lay along the jibboom like flies upon a stick: all but two or
three more whom we left fatally hesitating in the forechains:
all but the selfish savages who had been the first to perish in the
pinnace, and one distracted couple who had thrown their children
into the kindly ocean, and jumped in after them out of their torment,
locked for ever in each other's arms.

Yes! I saw more things on that starry night, by that blood-red
glare, than I have told you in their order, and more things than
I shall tell you now. Blind would I gladly be for my few remaining
years, if that night's horrors could be washed from these eyes for
ever. I have said so much, however, that in common candor I must
say one thing more. I have spoken of selfish savages. God help me
and forgive me! For by this time I was one myself.

In the long-boat we cannot have been less than thirty; the exact
number no man will ever know. But we shoved off without mischance;
the chief mate had the tiller; the third mate the boat-hook; and
six or eight oars were at work, in a fashion, as we plunged among
the great smooth sickening mounds and valleys of fathomless ink.

Scarcely were we clear when the foremast dropped down on the
fastenings, dashing the jib-boom into the water with its load of
demented human beings. The mainmast followed by the board before
we had doubled our distance from the wreck. Both trailed to port,
where we could not see them; and now the mizzen stood alone in sad
and solitary grandeur, her flapping idle sails lighted up by the
spreading conflagration, so that they were stamped very sharply
upon the black add starry sky. But the whole scene from the
long-boat was one of startling brilliancy and horror. The fire now
filled the entire waist of the vessel, and the noise of it was as
the rumble and roar of a volcano. As for the light, I declare that
it put many a star clean out, and dimmed the radiance of all the
rest, as it flooded the sea for miles around, and a sea of molten
glass reflected it. My gorge rose at the long, low billows-sleek
as black satin - lifting and dipping in this ghastly glare. I
preferred to keep my eyes upon the little ship burning like a tar
barrel as the picture grew. But presently I thanked God aloud:
there was the gig swimming like a beetle over the bloodshot rollers
in our wake.

In our unspeakable gladness at being quit of the ship, some minutes
passed before we discovered that the long-boat was slowly filling.
The water was at our ankles before a man of us cried out, so fast
were our eyes to the poor lost Lady Jermyn. Then all at once the
ghastly fact dawned upon us; and I think it was the mate himself
who burst out crying like a child. I never ascertained, however,
for I had kicked off my shoes and was busy baling with them. Others
were hunting for the leak. But the mischief was as subtle as it
was mortal - as though a plank had started from end to end. Within
and without the waters rose equally - then lay an instant level with
our gunwales - then swamped us, oh! so slowly, that I thought we
were never going to sink. It was like getting inch by inch into
your tub; I can feel it now, creeping, crawling up my back. "It's
coming! 0 Christ!" muttered one as it came; to me it was a downright
relief to be carried under at last.

But then, thank God, I have always been a strong swimmer. The water
was warm and buoyant, and I came up like a cork, as I knew I should.
I shook the drops from my face, and there were the sweet stars once
more; for many an eye they had gone Out for ever; and there the
burning wreck.

A man floundered near me, in a splutter of phosphorescence. I tried
to help him, and in an instant he had me wildly round the neck. In
the end I shook him off, poor devil, to his death. And he was the
last I tried to aid: have I not said already what I was become?

In a little an oar floated my way: I threw my arms across it and
gripped it with my chin as I swam. It relieved me greatly. Up and
down I rode among the oily black hillocks; I was down when there
was a sudden flare as though the sun had risen, and I saw still a
few heads bobbing and a few arms waving frantically around me. At
the same instant a terrific detonation split the ears; and when I
rose on the next bald billow, where the ship lay burning a few
seconds before, there remained but a red-hot spine that hissed and
dwindled for another minute, and then left a blackness through which
every star shone with redoubled brilliance.

And now right and left splashed falling missiles; a new source of
danger or of temporary respite; to me, by a merciful Providence, it
proved the latter.

Some heavy thing fell with a mighty splash right in front of me.
A few more yards, and my brains had floated with the spume. As it
was, the oar was dashed from under my armpits; in another moment
they had found a more solid resting-place.

It was a hen-coop, and it floated bars upwards like a boat. In
this calm it might float for days. I climbed upon the bars-and the
whole cage rolled over on top of me.

Coming to the surface, I found to my joy that the hen-coop had
righted itself; so now I climbed up again, but this time very
slowly and gingerly; the balance was undisturbed, and I stretched
myself cautiously along the bars on my stomach. A good idea
immediately occurred to me. I had jumped as a matter of course
into the flannels which one naturally wears in the tropics. To
their lightness I already owed my life, but the common cricket-belt
which was part of the costume was the thing to which I owe it most
of all. Loosening this belt a little, as I tucked my toes
tenaciously under the endmost bar, I undid and passed the two ends
under one of the middle bars, fastening the clasp upon the other
side. If I capsized now, well, we might go to the bottom together;
otherwise the hen-coop and I should not part company in a hurry;
and I thought, I felt, that she would float.

Worn out as I was, and comparatively secure for the moment, I will
not say that I slept; but my eyes closed, and every fibre rested,
as I rose and slid with the smooth, long swell. Whether I did
indeed hear voices, curses, cries, I cannot say positively to this
day. I only know that I raised my head and looked sharply all ways
but the way I durst not look for fear of an upset. And, again, I
thought I saw first a tiny flame, and then a tinier glow; and as my
head drooped, and my eyes closed again, I say I thought I smelt
tobacco; but this, of course, was my imagination supplying all the
links from one.



Remember (if indeed there be any need to remind you) that it is a
flagrant landsman who is telling you this tale. Nothing know I of
seamanship, save what one could not avoid picking up on the round
voyage of the Lady Jermyn, never to be completed on this globe. I
may be told that I have burned that devoted vessel as nothing ever
burned on land or sea. I answer that I write of what I saw, and
that is not altered by a miscalled spar or a misunderstood manouvre.
But now I am aboard a craft I handle for myself, and must make shift
to handle a second time with this frail pen.

The hen-coop was some six feet long, by eighteen or twenty inches
in breadth and depth. It was simply a long box with bars in lieu
of a lid; but it was very strongly built.

I recognized it as one of two which had stood lashed against either
rail of the Lady Jermyn's poop; there the bars had risen at right
angles to the deck; now they lay horizontal, a gridiron six feet
long-and my bed. And as each particular bar left its own stripe
across my wearied body, and yet its own comfort in my quivering
heart, another day broke over the face of the waters, and over me.

Discipline, what there was of it originally, had been the very
first thing to perish aboard our ill-starred ship; the officers, I
am afraid, were not much better than poor Ready made them out
(thanks to Bendigo and Ballarat), and little had been done in true
ship-shape style all night. All hands had taken their spell at
everything as the fancy seized them; not a bell had been struck from
first to last; and I can only conjecture that the fire raged four or
five hours, from the fact that it was midnight by my watch when I
left it on my cabin drawers, and that the final extinction of the
smouldering keel was so soon followed by the first deep hint of dawn.
The rest took place with the trite rapidity of the equatorial
latitudes. It had been my foolish way to pooh-pooh the old saying
that there is no twilight in the tropics. I saw more truth in it
as I lay lonely on this heaving waste.

The stars were out; the sea was silver; the sun was up.

And oh! the awful glory of that sunrise! It was terrific; it was
sickening; my senses swam. Sunlit billows smooth and sinister,
without a crest, without a sound; miles and miles of them as I
rose; an oily grave among them as I fell. Hill after hill of horror,
valley after valley of despair! The face of the waters in petty but
eternal unrest; and now the sun must shine to set it smiling, to
show me its cruel ceaseless mouthings, to reveal all but the
ghastlier horrors underneath.

How deep was it? I fell to wondering! Not that it makes any
difference whether you drown in one fathom or in ten thousand,
whether you fall from a balloon or from the attic window. But the
greater depth or distance is the worse to contemplate; and I was as
a man hanging by his hands so high above the world, that his dangling
feet cover countries, continents; a man who must fall very soon, and
wonders how long he will be falling, falling; and how far his soul
will bear his body company.

In time I became more accustomed to the sun upon this heaving void;
less frightened, as a child is frightened, by the mere picture. And
I have still the impression that, as hour followed hour since the
falling of the wind, the nauseous swell in part subsided. I seemed
less often on an eminence or in a pit; my glassy azure dales had
gentler slopes, or a distemper was melting from my eyes.

At least I know that I had now less work to keep my frail ship trim,
though this also may have come by use and practice. In the beginning
one or other of my legs had been for ever trailing in the sea, to
keep the hen-coop from rolling over the other way; in fact, as I
understand they steer the toboggan in Canada, so I my little bark.
Now the necessity for this was gradually decreasing; whatever the
cause, it was the greatest mercy the day had brought me yet. With
less strain on the attention, however, there was more upon the mind.
No longer forced to exert some muscle twice or thrice a minute, I
had time to feel very faint, and yet time to think. My soul flew
homing to its proper prison. I was no longer any unit at unequal
strife with the elements; instincts common to my kind were no longer
my only stimulus. I was my poor self again; it was my own little
life, and no other, that I wanted to go on living;, and yet I felt
vaguely there was some special thing I wished to live for, something
that had not been very long in my ken; something that had perhaps
nerved and strengthened me all these hours. What, then, could it
be? I could not think.

For moments or for minutes I wondered stupidly, dazed as I was.
Then I remembered - and the tears gushed to my eyes. How could I
ever have forgotten? I deserved it all, all, all! To think that
many a time we must have sat together on this very coop! I kissed
its blistering edge at the thought, and my tears ran afresh, as
though they never would stop.

Ah! how I thought of her as that cruel day's most cruel sun
climbed higher and higher in the flawless flaming vault. A
pocket-handkerchief of all things had remained in my trousers pocket
through fire and water; I knotted it on the old childish plan, and
kept it ever drenched upon the head that had its own fever to endure
as well. Eva Denison! Eva Denison! I was talking to her in the
past, I was talking to her in the future, and oh! how different
were the words, the tone! Yes, I hated myself for having forgotten
her; but I hated God for having given her back to my tortured brain;
it made life so many thousandfold more sweet, and death so many
thousandfold more bitter.

She was saved in the gig. Sweet Jesus, thanks for that! But I - I
was dying a lingering death in mid-ocean; she would never know how
I loved her, I, who could only lecture her when I had her at my side.

Dying? No - no - not yet! I must live - live - live - to tell my
darling how I had loved her all the time. So I forced myself from
my lethargy of despair and grief; and this thought, the sweetest
thought of all my life, may or may not have been my unrealized
stimulus ere now; it was in very deed my most conscious and perpetual
spur henceforth until the end.

>From this onward, while my sense stood by me, I was practical,
resourceful, alert. It was now high-noon, and I had eaten nothing
since dinner the night before. How clearly I saw the long saloon
table, only laid, however, abaft the mast; the glittering glass,
the cool white napery, the poor old dried dessert in the green
dishes! Earlier, this had occupied my mind an hour; now I dismissed
it in a moment; there was Eva, I must live for her; there must be
ways of living at least a day or two without sustenance, and I must
think of them.

So I undid that belt of mine which fastened me to my gridiron, and
I straddled my craft with a sudden keen eye for sharks, of which I
never once had thought until now. Then I tightened the belt about
my hollow body, and just sat there with the problem. The past hour
I had been wholly unobservant; the inner eye had had its turn; but
that was over now, and I sat as upright as possible, seeking
greedily for a sail. Of course I saw none. Had we indeed been off
our course before the fire broke out? Had we burned to cinders
aside and apart from the regular track of ships? Then, though my
present valiant mood might ignore the adverse chances, they were as
one hundred to a single chance of deliverance. Our burning had
brought no ship to our succor; and how should I, a mere speck amid
the waves, bring one to mine?

Moreover, I was all but motionless; I was barely drifting at all.
This I saw from a few objects which were floating around me now at
noon; they had been with me when the high sun rose. One was, I
think, the very oar which had been my first support; another was a
sailor's cap; but another, which floated nearer, was new to me,
as though it had come to the surface while my eyes were turned
inwards. And this was clearly the case; for the thing was a drowned
and bloated corpse.

It fascinated me, though not with extraordinary horror; it came too
late to do that. I thought I recognized the man's back. I fancied
it was the mate who had taken charge of the long-boat. Was I then
the single survivor of those thirty souls? I was still watching my
poor lost com rade, when that happened to him against which even I
was not proof. Through the deep translucent blue beneath me a slim
shape glided; three smaller fish led the way; they dallied an instant
a fathom under my feet, which were snatched up, with what haste you
may imagine; then on they went to surer prey.

He turned over; his dreadful face stared upwards; it was the chief
officer, sure enough. Then he clove the water with a rush, his
dead hand waved, the last of him to disappear; and I had a new
horror to think over for my sins. His poor fingers were all broken
and beaten to a pulp.

The voices of the night came back to me - the curses and the cries.
Yes, I must have heard them. In memory now I recognized the voice
of the chief mate, but there again came in the assisted imagination.
Yet I was not so sure of this as before. I thought of Santos and
his horrible heavy cane. Good God! she was in the power of that!
I must live for Eva indeed; must save myself to save and protect my
innocent and helpless girl.

Again I was a man; stronger than ever was the stimulus now, louder
than ever the call on every drop of true man's blood in my perishing
frame. It should not perish! It should not!

Yet my throat was parched; my lips were caked; my frame was hollow.
Very weak I was already; without sustenance I should surely die.
But as yet I was far enough from death, or I had done disdaining
the means of life that all this time lay ready to my hand. A number
of dead fowls imparted ballast to my little craft.

Yet I could not look at them in all these hours; or I could look, but
that was all. So I must sit up one hour more, and keep a sharper eye
than ever for the tiniest glimmer of a sail. To what end, I often
asked myself? I might see them; they would never see me.

Then my eyes would fail, and "you squeamish fool!" I said at
intervals, until my tongue failed to articulate; it had swollen
so in my mouth. Flying fish skimmed the water like thick spray;
petrels were so few that I could count them; another shark swam
round me for an hour. In sudden panic I dashed my knuckles on
the wooden bars, to get at a duck to give the monster for a sop.
My knuckles bled. I held them to my mouth. My cleaving tongue
wanted more. The duck went to the shark; a few minutes more and
I had made my own vile meal as well.



The sun declined; my shadow broadened on die waters; and now I felt
that if my cockle-shell could live a little longer, why, so could I.

I had got at the fowls without further hurt. Some of the bars took
out, I discovered how. And now very carefully I got my legs in, and
knelt; but the change of posture was not worth the risk one ran for
it; there was too much danger of capsizing, and failing to free
oneself before she filled and sank.

With much caution I began breaking the bars, one by one; it was hard
enough, weak as I was; my thighs were of more service than my hands.

But at last I could sit, the grating only covering me from the knees
downwards. And the relief of that outweighed all the danger, which,
as I discovered to my untold joy, was now much less than it had been
before. I was better ballast than the fowls.

These I had attached to the lashings which had been blown asunder by
the explosion; at one end of the coop the ring-bolt had been torn
clean out, but at the other it was the cordage that had parted. To
the frayed ends I tied my fowls by the legs, with the most foolish
pride in my own cunning. Do you not see? It would keep them fresh
for my use, and it was a trick I had read of in no book; it was all
my own.

So evening fell and found me hopeful and even puffed up; but yet,
no sail.

Now, however, I could lie back, and use had given me a strange sense
of safety; besides, I think I knew, I hope I felt, that the hen-coop
was in other Hands than mine.

All is reaction in the heart of man; light follows darkness nowhere
more surely than in that hidden self, and now at sunset it was my
heart's high-noon. Deep peace pervaded me as I lay outstretched in
my narrow rocking bed, as it might be in my coffin; a trust in my
Maker's will to save me if that were for the best, a trust in His
final wisdom and loving-kindness, even though this night should be
my last on earth. For myself I was resigned, and for others I must
trust Him no less. Who was I to constitute myself the protector of
the helpless, when He was in His Heaven? Such was my sunset mood;
it lasted a few minutes, and then, without radically changing, it
became more objective.

The west was a broadening blaze of yellow and purple and red. I
cannot describe it to you. If you have seen the sun set in the
tropics, you would despise my description; and, if not, I for one
could never make you see it. Suffice it that a petrel wheeled
somewhere between deepening carmine and paling blue, and it took
my thoughts off at an earthy tangent. I thanked God there were no
big sea-birds in these latitudes; no molly-hawks, no albatrosses,
no Cape-hens. I thought of an albatross that I had caught going
out. Its beak and talons were at the bottom with the charred
remains of the Lady Jermyn. But I could see them still, could feel
them shrewdly in my mind's flesh; and so to the old superstition,
strangely justified by my case; and so to the poem which I, with my
special experience, not unnaturally consider the greatest poem ever

But I did not know it then as I do now - and how the lines eluded
me! I seemed to see them in the book, yet I could not read the

"Water, water, everywhere,
Nor any drop to drink."

That, of course, came first (incorrectly); and it reminded me of
my thirst, which the blood of the fowls had so very partially
appeased. I see now that it is lucky I could recall but little
more. Experience is less terrible than realization, and that
poem makes me realize what I went through as memory cannot. It
has verses which would have driven me mad. On the other hand, the
exhaustive mental search for them distracted my thoughts until the
stars were back in the sky; and now I had a new occupation, saying
to myself all the poetry I could remember, especially that of the
sea; for I was a bookish fellow even then. But I never was anything
of a scholar. It is odd therefore, that the one apposite passage
which recurred to me in its entirety was in hexameters and

Me miserum, quanti montes volvuntur aquarum!
Jam jam tacturos sidera summa putes.
Quantae diducto subsidunt aequore valles!
Jam jam tacturas Tartara nigra putes.
Quocunque adspicio, nihil est nisi pontus et aether;
Fluctibus hic tumidis, nubibus ille minax....

More there was of it in my head; but this much was an accurate
statement of my case; and yet less so now (I was thankful to
reflect) than in the morning, when every wave was indeed a mountain,
and its trough a Tartarus. I had learnt the lines at school; nay,
they had formed my very earliest piece of Latin repetition. And how
sharply I saw the room I said them in, the man I said them to, ever
since my friend! I figured him even now hearing Ovid rep., the same
passage in the same room. And I lay saying it on a hen-coop in the
middle of the Atlantic Ocean!

At last I fell into a deep sleep, a long unconscious holiday of the
soul, undefiled by any dream.

They say that our dreaming is done as we slowly wake; then was I out
of the way of it that night, for a sudden violent rocking awoke me
in one horrid instant. I made it worse by the way I started to a
sitting posture. I had shipped some water. I was shipping more.
Yet all around the sea was glassy; whence then the commotion? As
my ship came trim again, and I saw that my hour was not yet, the
cause occurred to me; and my heart turned so sick that it was minutes
before I had the courage to test my theory.

It was the true one.

A shark had been at my trailing fowls; had taken the bunch of them
together, dragging the legs from my loose fastenings. Lucky they
had been no stronger! Else had I been dragged down to perdition too.

Lucky, did I say? The refinement of cruelty rather; for now I had
neither meat nor drink; my throat was a kiln; my tongue a flame;
and another day at hand.

The stars were out; the sea was silver; the sun was up!

. . . . .

Hours passed.

I was waiting now for my delirium.

It came in bits.

I was a child. I was playing on the lawn at home. I was back on
the blazing sea.

I was a schoolboy saying my Ovid; then back once more.

The hen-coop was the Lady Jermyn. I was at Eva Denison's side.
They were marrying us on board. The ship's bell was ringing for us;
a guitar in the background burlesqued the Wedding March under skinny
fingers; the air was poisoned by a million cigarettes, they raised
a pall of smoke above the mastheads, they set fire to the ship;
smoke and flame covered the sea from rim to rim, smoke and flame
filled the universe; the sea dried up, and I was left lying in its
bed, lying in my coffin, with red-hot teeth, because the sun blazed
right above them, and my withered lips were drawn back from them
for ever.

So once more I came back to my living death; too weak now to carry
a finger to the salt water and back to my mouth; too weak to think
of Eva; too weak to pray any longer for the end, to trouble or to
care any more.

Only so tired.

. . . . .

Death has no more terrors for me. I have supped the last horror of
the worst death a man can die. You shall hear now for what I was
delivered; you shall read of my reward.

My floating coffin was many things in turn; a railway carriage, a
pleasure boat on the Thames, a hammock under the trees; last of all
it was the upper berth in a not very sweet-smelling cabin, with a
clatter of knives and forks near at hand, and a very strong odor of
onions in the Irish stew.

My hand crawled to my head; both felt a wondrous weight; and my
head was covered with bristles no longer than those on my chin, only
less stubborn.

"Where am I?" I feebly asked.

The knives and forks clattered on, and presently I burst out crying
because they had not heard me, and I knew that I could never make
them hear. Well, they heard my sobs, and a huge fellow came with
his mouth full, and smelling like a pickle bottle.

"Where am I?"

"Aboard the brig Eliza, Liverpool, homeward bound; glad to see them
eyes open."

"Have I been here long?"

"Matter o' ten days."

Where did you find me

Floating in a hen-coop; thought you was a dead 'un."

"Do you know what ship?"

"Do we know? No, that's what you've got to tell us!"

"I can't," I sighed, too weak to wag my head upon the pillow.

The man went to my cabin door.

"Here's a go," said he; "forgotten the name of his blessed ship, he
has. Where's that there paper, Mr. Bowles? There's just a chance
it may be the same."

"I've got it, sir."

"Well, fetch it along, and come you in, Mr. Bowles; likely you may
think o' somethin'."

A reddish, hook-nosed man, with a jaunty, wicked look, came and
smiled upon me in the friendliest fashion; the smell of onions
became more than I knew how to endure.

"Ever hear of the ship Lady Jermyn?" asked the first corner, winking
at the other.

I thought very hard, the name did sound familiar; but no, I could
not honestly say that I had beard it before.

The captain looked at his mate.

"It was a thousand to one," said he; "still we may as well try him
with the other names. Ever heard of Cap'n Harris, mister?"

"Not that I know of."

"Of Saunderson-stooard?"


"Or Crookes-quartermaster."


"Nor yet of Ready - a passenger?"


"It's no use goin' on," said the captain folding up the paper.

"None whatever, sir," said the mate

"Ready! Ready!" I repeated. "I do seem to have heard that name
before. Won't you give me another chance ?"

The paper was unfolded with a shrug.

"There was another passenger of the name of San-Santos. Dutchman,
seemin'ly. Ever heard o' him?"

My disappointment was keen. I could not say that I had. Yet I
would not swear that I had not.

"Oh, won't you? Well, there's only one more chance. Ever heard of
Miss Eva Denison - "

"By God, yes! Have you?"

I was sitting bolt upright in my bunk. The skipper's beard dropped
upon his chest.

"Bless my soul! The last name o' the lot, too!"

"Have you heard of her ?" I reiterated.

"Wait a bit, my lad! Not so fast. Lie down again and tell me who
she was."

"Who she was?" I screamed. "I want to know where she is!"

"I can't hardly say," said the captain awkwardly. "We found the
gig o' the Lady Jermyn the week arter we found you, bein' becalmed
like; there wasn't no lady aboard her, though."

"Was there anybody?"

"Two dead 'uns - an' this here paper."

"Let me see it!"

The skipper hesitated.

"Hadn't you better wait a bit?"

"No, no; for Christ's sake let me see the worst; do you think I
can't read it in your face?"

I could - I did. I made that plain to them, and at last I had the
paper smoothed out upon my knees. It was a short statement of the
last sufferings of those who had escaped in the gig, and there was
nothing in it that I did not now expect. They had buried Ready
first - then my darling - then her step-father. The rest expected
to follow fast enough. It was all written plainly, on a sheet of
the log-book, in different trembling hands. Captain Harris had
gone next; and two had been discovered dead.

How long I studied that bit of crumpled paper, with the salt spray
still sparkling on it faintly, God alone knows. All at once a
peal of nightmare laughter rattled through the cabin. My deliverers
started back. The laugh was mine.



A few weeks later I landed in England, I, who no longer desired to
set foot on any land again.

At nine-and-twenty I was gaunt and gray; my nerves were shattered,
my heart was broken; and my face showed it without let or hindrance
from the spirit that was broken too. Pride, will, courage, and
endurance, all these had expired in my long and lonely battle with
the sea. They had kept me alive-for this. And now they left me
naked to mine enemies.

For every hand seemed raised against me, though in reality it was
the hand of fellowship that the world stretched out, and the other
was the reading of a jaundiced eye. I could not help it: there was
a poison in my veins that made me all ingratitude and perversity.
The world welcomed me back, and I returned the compliment by sulking
like the recaptured runaway I was at heart. The world showed a
sudden interest in me; so I took no further interest in the world,
but, on the contrary, resented its attentions with unreasonable
warmth and obduracy; and my would-be friends I regarded as my very
worst enemies. The majority, I feel sure, meant but well and
kindly by the poor survivor. But the survivor could not forget that
his name was still in the newspapers, nor blink the fact that he was
an unworthy hero of the passing hour. And he suffered enough from
brazenly meddlesome and self-seeking folk, from impudent and
inquisitive intruders, to justify some suspicion of old acquaintances
suddenly styling themselves old friends, and of distant connections
newly and unduly eager to claim relationship. Many I misjudged, and
have long known it. On the whole, however, I wonder at that attitude
of mine as little as I approve of it.

If I had distinguished myself in any other way, it would have been
a different thing. It was the fussy, sentimental, inconsiderate
interest in one thrown into purely accidental and necessarily
painful prominence - the vulgarization of an unspeakable tragedy
- that my soul abhorred. I confess that I regarded it from my own
unique and selfish point of view. What was a thrilling matter to
the world was a torturing memory to me. The quintessence of the
torture was, moreover, my own secret. It was not the loss of the
Lady Jermyn that I could not bear to speak about; it was my own
loss; but the one involved the other. My loss apart, however, it
was plain enough to dwell upon experiences so terrible and yet so
recent as those which I had lived to tell. I did what I considered
my duty to the public, but I certainly did no more. My reticence
was rebuked in the papers that made the most of me, but would fain
have made more. And yet I do not think that I was anything but
docile with those who had a manifest right to question me; to the
owners, and to other interested persons, with whom I was confronted
on one pretext or another, I told my tale as fully and as freely as
I have told it here, though each telling hurt more than the last.
That was necessary and unavoidable; it was the private intrusions
which I resented with all the spleen the sea had left me in exchange
for the qualities it had taken away.

Relatives I had as few as misanthropist could desire; but from
self-congratulation on the fact, on first landing, I soon came to
keen regret. They at least would have sheltered me from spies and
busybodies; they at least would have secured the peace and privacy
of one who was no hero in fact or spirit, whose noblest deed was a
piece of self preservation which he wished undone with all his

Self-consciousness no doubt multiplied my flattering assailants.
I have said that my nerves were shattered. I may have imagined
much and exaggerated the rest. Yet what truth there was in my
suspicions you shall duly see. I felt sure that I was followed
in the street, and my every movement dogged by those to whom I
would not condescend to turn and look. Meanwhile, I had not
the courage to go near my club, and the Temple was a place where
I was accosted in every court, effusively congratulated on the
marvellous preservation of my stale spoilt life, and invited right
and left to spin my yarn over a quiet pipe! Well, perhaps such
invitations were not so common as they have grown in my memory;
nor must you confuse my then feelings on all these matters with
those which I entertain as I write. I have grown older, and, I
hope, something kindlier and wiser since then. Yet to this day I
cannot blame myself for abandoning my chambers and avoiding my club.

For a temporary asylum I pitched upon a small, quiet, empty,
private hotel which I knew of in Charterhouse Square. Instantly
the room next mine became occupied.

All the first night I imagined I heard voices talking about me in
that room next door. It was becoming a disease with me. Either
I was being dogged, watched, followed, day and night, indoors and
out, or I was the victim of a very ominous hallucination. That
night I never closed an eye nor lowered my light. In the morning
I took a four-wheel cab and drove straight to Harley Street; and,
upon my soul, as I stood on the specialist's door-step, I could
have sworn I saw the occupant of the room next mine dash by me in
a hansom!

"Ah!" said the specialist; "so you cannot sleep; you hear voices;
you fancy you are being followed in the street. You don't think
these fancies spring entirely from the imagination? Not entirely
- just so. And you keep looking behind you, as though somebody
were at your elbow; and you prefer to sit with your back close to
the wall. Just so - just so. Distressing symptoms, to be sure,
but - but hardly to be wondered at in a man who has come through
your nervous strain." A keen professional light glittered in his
eyes. "And almost commonplace," he added, smiling, "compared with
the hallucinations you must have suffered from on that hen-coop!
Ah, my dear sir, the psychological interest of your case is very

"It may be," said I, brusquely. "But I come to you to get that
hen-coop out of my head, not to be reminded of it. Everybody asks
me about the damned thing, and you follow everybody else. I wish
it and I were at the bottom of the sea together!"

This speech had the effect of really interesting the doctor in my
present condition, which was indeed one of chronic irritation and
extreme excitability, alternating with fits of the very blackest
despair. Instead of offending my gentleman I had put him on his
mettle, and for half an hour he honored me with the most exhaustive
inquisition ever elicited from a medical man. His panacea was
somewhat in the nature of an anti-climax, but at least it had the
merits of simplicity and of common sense. A change of air - perfect
quiet - say a cottage in the country - not too near the sea. And
he shook my hand kindly when I left.

"Keep up your heart, my dear sir," said he. "Keep up your courage
and your heart."

"My heart!" I cried. "It's at the bottom of the Atlantic Ocean."

He was the first to whom I had said as much. He was a stranger.
What did it matter? And, oh, it was so true - so true.

Every day and all day I was thinking of my love; every hour and all
hours she was before me with her sunny hair and young, young face.
Her wistful eyes were gazing into mine continually. Their
wistfulness I had never realized at the time; but now I did; and I
saw it for what it seemed always to have been, the soft, sad,
yearning look of one fated to die young. So young - so young! And
I might live to be an old man, mourning her.

That I should never love again I knew full well. This time there
was no mistake. I have implied, I believe, that it was for another
woman I fled originally to the diggings. Well, that one was still
unmarried, and when the papers were full of me she wrote me a letter
which I now believe to have been merely kind. At the time I was all
uncharitableness; but words of mine would fail to tell you how cold
this letter left me; it was as a candle lighted in the full blaze
of the sun.

With all my bitterness, however, you must not suppose that I had
quite lost the feelings which had inspired me at sunset on the
lonely ocean, while my mind still held good. I had been too near
my Maker ever to lose those feelings altogether. They were with
me in the better moments of these my worst days. I trusted His
wisdom still. There was a reason for everything; there were reasons
for all this. I alone had been saved out of all those souls who
sailed from Melbourne in the Lady Jermyn. Why should I have been
the favored one; I with my broken heart and now lonely life? Some
great inscrutable reason there must be; at my worst I did not deny
that. But neither did I puzzle my sick brain with the reason. I
just waited for it to be revealed to me, if it were God's will
ever to reveal it. And that I conceive to be the one spirit in
which a man may contemplate, with equal sanity and reverence, the
mysteries and the miseries of his life.



The night after I consulted the specialist I was quite determined
to sleep. I had laid in a bundle of the daily papers. No country
cottage was advertised to let but I knew of it by evening, and about
all the likely ones I had already written. The scheme occupied my
thoughts. Trout-fishing was a desideratum. I would take my
rod and plenty of books, would live simply and frugally, and it
should make a new man of me by Christmas. It was now October. I
went to sleep thinking of autumn tints against an autumn sunset.
It must have been very early, certainly not later than ten o'clock;
the previous night I had not slept at all.

Now, this private hotel of mine was a very old fashioned house, dark
and dingy all day long, with heavy old chandeliers and black old oak,
and dead flowers in broken flower-pots surrounding a grimy grass-plot
in the rear. On this latter my bedroom window looked; and never am
I likely to forget the vile music of the cats throughout my first
long wakeful night there. The second night they actually woke me;
doubtless they had been busy long enough, but it was all of a sudden
that I heard them, and lay listening for more, wide awake in an
instant. My window had been very softly opened, and the draught
fanned my forehead as I held my breath.

A faint light glimmered through a ground-glass pane over the door;
and was dimly reflected by the toilet mirror, in its usual place
against the window. This mirror I saw moved, and next moment I had
bounded from bed.

The mirror fell with a horrid clatter: the toilet-table followed it
with a worse: the thief had gone as he had come ere my toes halted
aching amid the debris.

A useless little balcony - stone slab and iron railing - jutted out
from my window. I thought I saw a hand on the railing, another
on the slab, then both together on the lower level for one instant
before they disappeared. There was a dull yet springy thud on the
grass below. Then no more noise but the distant thunder of the
traffic, and the one that woke me, until the window next mine was
thrown up.

"What the devil's up?"

The voice was rich, cheery, light-hearted, agreeable; all that my
own was not as I answered "Nothing!" for this was not the first time
my next-door neighbor had tried to scrape acquaintance with me.

"But surely, sir, I heard the very dickens of a row?"

"You may have done."

"I was afraid some one had broken into your room!"

"As a matter of fact," said I, put to shame by the undiminished
good-humor of my neighbor, "some one did; but he's gone now, so
let him be."

"Gone? Not he! He's getting over that wall. After him - after
him!" And the head disappeared from the window next mine.

I rushed into the corridor, and was just in time to intercept a
singularly handsome young fellow, at whom I had hardly taken the
trouble to look until now. He was in full evening dress, and his
face was radiant with the spirit of mischief and adventure.

"For God's sake, sir," I whispered, "let this matter rest. I shall
have to come forward if you persist, and Heaven knows I have been
before the public quite enough!"

His dark eyes questioned me an instant, then fell as though he would
not disguise that he recollected and understood . I liked him for
his good taste. I liked him for his tacit sympathy, and better
still for the amusing disappointment in his gallant, young face.

"I am sorry to have robbed you of a pleasant chase," said I. "At
one time I should have been the first to join you. But, to tell you
the truth, I've had enough excitement lately to last me for my life."

"I can believe that," he answered, with his fine eyes full upon me.
How strangely I had misjudged him! I saw no vulgar curiosity in his
flattering gaze, but rather that very sympathy of which I stood in
need. I offered him my hand.

"It is very good of you to give in," I said. "No one else has heard
a thing, you see. I shall look for another opportunity of thanking
you to-morrow."

"No, no!" cried he, "thanks be hanged, but - but, I say, if I
promise you not to bore you about things - won't you drink a glass
of brandy-and-water in my room before you turn in again?"

Brandy-and-water being the very thing I needed, and this young man
pleasing me more andmore, I said that I would join him with all my
heart, and returned to my room for my dressing-gown and slippers.
To find them, however, I had to light my candles, when the first
thing I saw was the havoc my marauder had left behind him. The
mirror was cracked across; the dressing-table had lost a leg; and
both lay flat, with my brushes and shaving-table, and the foolish
toilet crockery which no one uses (but I should have to replace)
strewn upon the carpet. But one thing I found that had not been
there before: under the window lay a formidable sheath-knife without
its sheath. I picked it up with something of a thrill, which did
not lessen when I felt its edge. The thing was diabolically sharp.
I took it with me to show my neighbor, whom I found giving his order
to the boots; it seemed that it was barely midnight, and that he had
only just come in when the clatter took place in my room.

"Hillo!" he cried, when the man was gone, and I produced my trophy.
"Why, what the mischief have you got there?"

"My caller's card," said I. "He left it behind him. Feel the edge."

I have seldom seen a more indignant face than the one which my new
acquaintance bent over the weapon, as he held it to the light, and
ran his finger along the blade. He could have not frowned more
heavily if he had recognized the knife.

"The villains!" he muttered. "The damned villains!"

"Villains?" I queried. "Did you see more than one of them, then?"

"Didn't you?" he asked quickly. "Yes, yes, to be sure! There was
at least one other beggar skulking down below." He stood looking at
me, the knife in his hand, though mine was held out for it. "Don't
you think, Mr. Cole, that it's our duty to hand this over to the
police? I - I've heard of other cases about these Inns of Court.
There's evidently a gang of them, and this knife might convict the
lot; there's no saying; anyway I think the police should have it.
If you like I'll take it to Scotland Yard myself, and hand it over
without mentioning your name."

"Oh, if you keep my name out of it," said I, "and say nothing about
it here in the hotel, you may do what you like, and welcome! It's
the proper course, no doubt; only I've had publicity enough, and
would sooner have felt that blade in my body than set my name going
again in the newspapers."

"I understand," he said, with his well-bred sympathy, which never
went a shade too far; and he dropped the weapon into a drawer, as
the boots entered with the tray. In a minute he had brewed two
steaming jorums of spirits-and-water; as he handed me one, I feared
he was going to drink my health, or toast my luck; but no, he was
the one man I had met who seemed, as he said, to "understand."
Nevertheless, he had his toast.

"Here's confusion to the criminal classes in general," he cried;
"but death and damnation to the owners of that knife!"

And we clinked tumblers across the little oval table in the middle
of the room. It was more of a sitting-room than mine; a bright
fire was burning in the grate, and my companion insisted on my
sitting over it in the arm-chair, while for himself he fetched the
one from his bedside, and drew up the table so that our glasses
should be handy. He then produced a handsome cigar-case admirably
stocked, and we smoked and sipped in the cosiest fashion, though
without exchanging many words.

You may imagine my pleasure in the society of a youth, equally
charming in looks, manners and address, who had not one word to say
to me about the Lady Jermyn or my hen-coop. It was unique. Yet
such, I suppose, was my native contrariety, that I felt I could have
spoken of the catastrophe to this very boy with less reluctance than
to any other creature whom I had encountered since my deliverance.
He seemed so full of silent sympathy: his consideration for my
feelings was so marked and yet so unobtrusive. I have called him a
boy. I am apt to write as the old man I have grown, though I do
believe I felt older then than now. In any case my young friend
was some years my junior. I afterwards found out that he was

I have also called him handsome. He was the handsomest man that I
have ever met, had the frankest face, the finest eyes, the brightest
smile. Yet his bronzed forehead was low, and his mouth rather
impudent and bold than truly strong. And there was a touch of
foppery about him, in the enormous white tie and the much-cherished
whiskers of the fifties, which was only redeemed by that other touch
of devilry that he had shown me in the corridor. By the rich brown
of his complexion, as well as by a certain sort of swagger in his
walk, I should have said that he was a naval officer ashore, had he
not told me who he was of his own accord.

"By the way," he said, "I ought to give you my name. It's Rattray,
of one of the many Kirby Halls in this country. My one's down in

"I suppose there's no need to tell my name?" said I, less sadly, I
daresay, than I had ever yet alluded to the tragedy which I alone
survived. It was an unnecessary allusion, too, as a reference to
the foregoing conversation will show.

"Well, no!" said he, in his frank fashion; "I can't honestly say
there is."

We took a few puffs, he watching the fire, and I his firelit face.

"It must seem strange to you to be sitting with the only man who
lived to tell the tale!"

The egotism of this speech was not wholly gratuitous. I thought
it did seem strange to him: that a needless constraint was put upon
him by excessive consideration for my feelings. I desired to set
him at his ease as he had set me at mine. On the contrary, he
seemed quite startled by my remark.

"It is strange," he said, with a shudder, followed by the biggest
sip of brandy-and-water he had taken yet. "It must have been
horrible - horrible!" he added to himself, his dark eyes staring
into the fire.

"Ah!" said I, "it was even more horrible than you suppose or can
ever imagine."

I was not thinking of myself, nor of my love, nor of any particular
incident of the fire that still went on burning in my brain. My
tone was doubtless confidential, but I was meditating no special
confidence when my companion drew one with his next words. These,
however, came after a pause, in which my eyes had fallen from his
face, but in which I heard him emptying his glass.

"What do you mean?" he whispered. "That there were other
circumstances - things which haven't got into the papers?"

"God knows there were," I answered, my face in my hands; and, my
grief brought home to me, there I sat with it in the presence of
that stranger, without compunction and without shame.

He sprang up and paced the room. His tact made me realize my
weakness, and I was struggling to overcome it when he surprised me
by suddenly stopping and laying a rather tremulous hand upon my

"You - It wouldn't do you any good to speak of those circumstances,
I suppose?" he faltered.

"No: not now: no good at all."

"Forgive me," he said, resuming his walk. "I had no business - I
felt so sorry - I cannot tell you how I sympathize! And yet - I
wonder if you will always feel so?"

"No saying how I shall feel when I am a man again," said I. "You
see what I am at present." And, pulling myself together, I rose to
find my new friend quite agitated in his turn.

"I wish we had some more brandy," he sighed. "I'm afraid it's too
late to get any now."

"And I'm glad of it," said I. "A man in my state ought not to look
at spirits, or he may never look past them again. Thank goodness,
there are other medicines. Only this morning I consulted the best
man on nerves in London. I wish I'd gone to him long ago."

"Harley Street, was it?"


"Saw you on his doorstep, by Jove!" cried Rattray at once. "I was
driving over to Hampstead, and I thought it was you. Well, what's
the prescription?"

In my satisfaction at finding that he had not been dogging me
intentionally (though I had forgotten the incident till he reminded
me of it), I answered his question with unusual fulness.

"I should go abroad," said Rattray. "But then, I always am abroad;
it's only the other day I got back from South America, and I shall
up anchor again before this filthy English winter sets in.

Was he a sailor after all, or only a well-to-do wanderer on the face
of the earth? He now mentioned that he was only in England for a
few weeks, to have a look at his estate, and so forth; after which
he plunged into more or less enthusiastic advocacy of this or that
foreign resort, as opposed to the English cottage upon which I told
him I had set my heart.

He was now, however, less spontaneous, I thought, than earlier in
the night. His voice had lost its hearty ring, and he seemed
preoccupied, as if talking of one matter while he thought upon
another. Yet he would not let me go; and presently he confirmed my
suspicion, no less than my first impression of his delightful
frankness and cordiality, by candidly telling me what was on his mind.

"If you really want a cottage in the country," said he, "and the most
absolute peace and quiet to be got in this world, I know of the very
hing on my land in Lancashire. It would drive me mad in a week; but
if you really care for that sort of thing - "

"An occupied cottage?" I interrupted.

"Yes; a couple rent it from me, very decent people of the name of
Braithwaite. The man is out all day, and won't bother you when he's
in; he's not like other people, poor chap. But the woman s all there,
and would do her best for you in a humble, simple, wholesome sort
of way."

"You think they would take me in?"

"They have taken other men - artists as a rule."

"Then it's a picturesque country?"

"Oh, it's that if it's nothing else; but not a town for miles, mind
you, and hardly a village worthy the name."

"Any fishing?"

"Yes - trout - small but plenty of 'em - in a beck running close
behind the cottage."

"Come," cried I, "this sounds delightful! Shall you be up there?"

"Only for a day or two," was the reply. "I shan't trouble you,
Mr. Cole."

"My dear sir, that wasn't my meaning at all. I'n only sorry I
shall not see something of you on your own heath. I can't thank
you enough for your kind suggestion. When do you suppose the
Braithwaites could do with me?"

His charming smile rebuked my impatience.

"We must first see whether they can do with you at all," said he.
"I sincerely hope they can; but this is their time of year for
tourists, though perhaps a little late. I'll tell you what I'll do.
As a matter of fact, I'm going down there to-morrow, and I've got
to telegraph to my place in any case to tell them when to meet me.
I'll send the telegram first thing, and I'll make them send one back
to say whether there's room in the cottage or not."

I thanked him warmly, but asked if the cottage was close to Kirby
Hall, and whether this would not be giving a deal of trouble at the
other end; whereupon he mischievously misunderstood me a second
time, saying the cottage and the hall were not even in sight of each
other, and I really had no intrusion to fear, as he was a lonely
bachelor like myself, and would only be up there four or five days
at the most. So I made my appreciation of his society plainer than
ever to him; for indeed I had found a more refreshing pleasure in
it already than I had hoped to derive from mortal man again; and we
parted, at three o'clock in the morning, like old fast friends.

"Only don't expect too much, my dear Mr. Cole," were his last words
to me. "My own place is as ancient and as tumble-down as most ruins
that you pay to see over. And I'm never there myself because - I
tell you frankly - I hate it like poison!"



My delight in the society of this young Squire Rattray (as I soon
was to hear him styled) had been such as to make me almost forget
the sinister incident which had brought us together. When I
returned to my room, however, there were the open window and the

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