APOTHEOSIS.
At this point my pen falters. The order of events would require us
now to travel back to Troy with Miss Marty and the Doctor and break
the news to the town. But have you the heart for it? Not I.
I tell you that I never now pass the Ferry Slip on the shore facing
Troy, on a summer's evening when the sun slants over the hill and the
smoke of the town rises through shadow into the bright air through
which the rooks are winging homeward--I never rest on my oars to
watch the horse-boat unmooring, the women up the street filling their
pitchers at the water-shute, the strawberry-gatherers at work in
their cliff gardens; but I see again Boutigo's van descend the hill
and two passengers in black alight from it upon the shore--Miss Marty
and the Doctor, charged with their terrible message. I see them
stand on the slip and shade their eyes as they look across to the
town glassed in the evening tide, I see beneath the shade of her palm
Miss Marty's lips tremble with the words that are to shatter that
happy picture of repose, brutally, violently, as a stone crashing
into a mirror. In the ferry-boat she trembles from head to foot,
between fear and a fever to speak and have it over. . . .
But the town would not believe. Nay, even when Town Crier Bonaday,
dropping tears into his paste-pot, affixed the placard to the door of
the Town Hall, the town would not believe. Men and women gathered at
his back, read the words stupidly, looked into each other's faces and
shook their heads. Two or three gazed skyward.
"The Major gone? No, no . . . there must be some mistake. He would
come back--to-morrow, perhaps--and bring light and laughter back with
him. It was long since the town had enjoyed a good laugh, and here
were all the makings of a rare one."
But the days passed and brought no tidings.
Miss Marty had drawn down the blinds in the Major's house, in token
of mourning and to shut out prying eyes: for during the first day or
two small crowds had collected in front and hung about the garden
gate to stare pathetically up at the windows. They meant no harm:
always when Cai Tamblyn or Scipio stepped out to remonstrate, they
moved away quietly.
They were stunned. They could not believe.
On the third day the Town Council met and elected Dr. Hansombody
Deputy-Mayor, "during the temporary absence of one whose permanent
loss this Council for the present declines to contemplate."
That same evening the Doctor called a public meeting, and in a
careful speech, interrupted here and there by emotion, told the
burgesses all there was to tell. "My friends," he concluded, "With a
sad and sorry heart I lay these few facts, these poor shreds of
evidence, before you. Oppressed as I am by the shadow of calamity, I
refuse to consider it as more than a shadow, soon under Providence to
be lifted from us. You, the witnesses of our daily intimacy, will
understand with what emotion I take up the sceptre which has fallen
from my friend's hand, with what diffidence I shall wield it, with
what impatience I shall expect the hour which restores it to his
strong grasp. In the words of Shakespeare"--here the Doctor
consulted his note-book--"he was indeed a man:"
"'Take him for all in all
We shall not look upon his like again.'"
"Of my own instance, ladies and gentlemen, I made bold to bid fifty
pounds for his recovery, feeling confident that Troy would endorse
the offer. Nor did I mistake. This morning the Corporation by
unanimous vote has guaranteed the sum. I have now the melancholy
privilege of proposing from this chair that a house-to-house canvass
be made throughout the town with the object of doubling this
guarantee." (Murmurs of approval from all parts of the hall.)
The Vicar seconded. He would remind his audience that in the
thirteenth century Richard, Earl of Cornwall, afterwards King of the
Romans, had the misfortune to fall into the hands of the Saracens who
held him at ransom: and that by the promptness with which the
Cornishmen of those days, rich and poor together, made voluntary
contribution and discharged the price, they earned their coat-of-arms
of fifteen gold coins upon a sable ground, as well as their proud
motto "One and All." It had been said (I forget if in my hearing),
that the days of chivalry were past. Here was an opportunity to
disprove it and declare that the spirit of their ancestors survived
and animated the Cornishmen of to-day. (A Voice--"How about the
Millennium?") He would pass over that interruption with the contempt
it deserved. They were not met to bandy personalities, but as
citizens united in the face of calamity by affection for their common
borough. As stars upon the night, as the gold coins on their Duchy's
sable shield, so might their free-will offerings spell hope upon the
dark ground of present desolation. He, for his part, was ready to
subscribe one guinea--yes, and more if necessary.
Although the Chairman had deprecated cheering, the audience broke
into loud applause as the Vicar resumed his seat. The town had taken
fire. Resolving itself into Committee, the meeting then and there
nominated fifty collectors, all volunteers. Nor did the movement end
here. Under the leadership of Miss Pescod the ladies of Troy devoted
each a favourite article of personal adornment to be coined at need
into money for the Major's redemption. (I myself possess a brooch
which, left by my great-grandmother to her daughter upon this
condition, to this day is known in the family as the Major's Cameo.)
In six days the guarantee fund ran up to eleven hundred pounds, of
which at least one-third might be accounted good money. In Troy we
allow, by habit, some margin for enthusiasm.
A new placard was issued at once, and the reward increased to one
hundred and fifty pounds.
For ten days this handsome offer evoked no more response than the
previous one. For ten days yet all trace of the Major vanished at
the edge of Mr. Basket's fish-pond.
"It would almost seem," said Miss Sally Tregentil, discussing the
mystery for the hundredth time with Miss Pescod, "as if from that
fatal brink he had soared into the regions of the unknown and scaled,
as the expression goes, the empyrean."
"If that's the case," remarked Miss Pescod practically, "twice the
money won't bring him back."
On the 2nd of July the Chief Constable wrote to Dr. Hansombody that
he had discovered a clue. A doorkeeper of the Theatre Royal reported
(and was corroborated by the man in charge of the ticket-office) that
on the night of May 2nd, at about 10.30, a rough-looking fellow had
presented himself, dripping-wet, at the doors and demanded, in a
state of agitation, apparently the result of drink, to see Mr.
Basket, who occupied a reserved seat in the house; further, that
falling in with two sailors, who bought a ticket for him, the man had
mounted the gallery stairs in their company, and this was the last
seen of him by either of the deponents.
The Doctor posted to Plymouth, carrying with him the only extant
portrait of the Major--a miniature taken at the age of twenty-five;
called on Mr. Basket, haled him off to the Chief Constable's office,
and there by appointment examined the two witnesses. The men stuck
to their story, but swore positively that the fellow they had seen
bore no resemblance to the portrait.
"If you ask _me_," added the doorkeeper with conviction, "he was a
dam sight more likely to have been his murderer. He looked it,
anyhow."
The Doctor and Mr. Basket returned to the latter's house in deeper
perplexity than ever.
"The evidence," began Mr. Basket, lighting his pipe after dinner,
"vague as it is, points more decidedly than before to foul play.
We have been assuming that our poor friend, whether by accident or
design, found himself in my fish-pond."
"He would hardly have walked into it on purpose," said the Doctor.
"It is at least highly improbable. Well, here we have another man
who comes running to the theatre wet through--also, we will assume,
from an immersion in the fish-pond. We will suppose that he plunged
into it to the rescue and having brought his burden safe to shore,
ran to the theatre to inform me of the accident. At once we are
confronted with half a dozen serious difficulties. To begin with,
why, having asked for me, did he disappear?"
"Press-gang," the Doctor suggested.
"Granted. But why, having an urgent message to deliver, did he
proceed to take a ticket for the gallery in company with two sailors,
apparently strangers to him? Again, this explanation does not even
touch the crucial question, which is--How came our friend to
disappear?"
The Doctor shook his head.
"On the other hand," Mr. Basket continued, "if we take the darker
view, that this man had entered the fish-pond not for purposes of
rescue, but--dreadful thought--to hold the victim under water, why
should he have exposed himself to detection by coming to the theatre?
Why, in fine, should he desire to communicate at all with me?"
"Perhaps," suggested Mrs. Basket, who had been listening while she
knitted, "his conscience pricked him."
"My dear Maria!" began her husband testily. But at this moment the
house rang with an alarm upon the front-door bell.
The poor lady stood up fluttering, white in the face.
"You must answer it, Elihu! I couldn't, not if you was to offer me
twice the reward at this moment--and him standing there, perhaps, or
his ghost, like Peter out of prison!"
But their visitor proved to be the Chief Constable himself. He, too,
was pale with excitement, and he held in his hand a copy of the
Sherborne _Mercury_.
"Your friend--" he began.
"Well?"
"He is dead. The mystery is not, indeed, explained, but the issue of
it appears too certain. I was walking along old Town Street when the
Sherborne Rider came along. He gave me my copy, and see here!"--The
Chief Constable spread the paper under the lamp and pointed to this
paragraph:
"_Operations off Boulogne_. By advices received from Admiral
Lord Keith, the first experiment made with the new engines of
destruction (of which so much was hoped) against the vessels
moored off Boulogne pier, has not resulted in an unqualified
success. On the 15th ult. one of these catamarans, as they are
called, was launched against the foe from the _Vesuvius_ bomb.
The machinery had been set in motion, and the bomb's boat,
having towed it into range, was preparing to return to the ship,
when a shot from the shore batteries, falling close,
precipitated our gallant fellows into the water. We are happy
to add that they were all picked up by the boats of the squadron
with the exception of one seaman, recently shipped at Plymouth.
His name is given as Hymen; and the Captain of the _Vesuvius_
reports that he joined as a volunteer.
"We need hardly remind our readers that the name of Hymen has
figured prominently for a fortnight past in our advertisement
columns. If this gallant but unfortunate man should prove to be
none other than Solomon Hymen, Esquire, Chief Magistrate of
Troy, Cornwall, whose recent mysterious disappearance has cast a
gloom over the small borough, we commiserate our friends in the
West while envying them this exemplar of an unselfish
patriotism. _Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori_."
Troy required no further evidence. To those of us indeed who had
known the man--who, to borrow the words of a later poet, had lived in
his mild and magnificent eye--the news carried its own verification.
Precisely how--in what circumstances--he had volunteered, we might
never elucidate: but the act itself, when we came to consider it, was
of a piece with his character. He had left us in chagrin, betrayed
by our unworthiness, nursing a wound deeper than any personal spite.
Summarily, by a stroke, in the simplicity of his greatness, he had at
once rebuked us and restored our pride. Perishing, he had left us an
imperishable boast; an example to which, though our own conscience
might accuse us, we could point, and saying "This was a Son of Troy,"
silence detraction for ever. Need I add that we made the most of it?
Mayor-choosing Day came round, and Dr. Hansombody, elected by the
unanimous vote of his fellow-councillors, attained to one of the twin
summits of his ambition and was indued as Chief Magistrate with robe
and chain. Six weeks later the town heard, at first incredulously,
that he and Miss Marty were betrothed. The nuptials, it was
announced, would be celebrated next June, on the decent expiry of a
year of mourning.
Miss Sally Tregentil, on hearing the news, opined the Doctor's
conduct to be quixotic--a self-immolation, almost, upon the altar of
friendship.
Miss Pescod, for her part, believed that he was after the woman's
money. This unworthy suspicion the Doctor was fortunately able to
rebut, and in the most public manner. After the wedding (a quiet
one) he and his bride spent a short honeymoon at Sidmouth and
returned but to announce their departure on a more distant journey.
The Major's death being by this time, in legal phrase, "presumed,"
the Court of Canterbury had allowed Miss Marty to take out letters of
administration. It behoved her now to travel up to London, interview
proctors, and prove the will, executed (as the reader will remember)
on the eve of that fatal First of May and confided to Lawyer Chinn's
keeping. The town having subscribed for and purchased a pair of
silver candelabra as a homecoming gift, the Mayor and Mayoress had no
sooner returned and been welcomed with firing off cannon and pealing
of bells than a day was fixed and a public meeting called for the
presentation--a ceremony performed by the Vicar in brief but
felicitous terms. The Doctor made a suitable speech of
acknowledgment, and then, after waiting until the applause had
subsided, lifted a hand.
"My friends," he said, "before we disperse I am charged to tell you
that my wife and I contemplate another journey, and almost
immediately. You may think how sad that errand is for us when I tell
you that we go to prove the late Major Hymen's will. But I dare to
hope you will understand that our feelings are not wholly tinged with
gloom when you hear the provisions of that document, which I will now
ask my friend Mr. Chinn to read aloud to you."
And this is the substance of what Lawyer Chinn read:
To his kinswoman Miss Martha Hymen, the Major left a life
interest in the sum of five thousand pounds, invested in
Government stock.
To his faithful servant Scipio Johnston the sum of one hundred
and fifty pounds. To his servant Caius Tamblyn, fifty pounds.
To each member of the Corporation of the Borough of Troy holding
office at the time of his death, five pounds to buy a mourning
ring.
To the Town Clerk the same, and to Mr. Jago, Town Constable, the
same.
To the Honourable and Gallant Corps of the Troy Volunteer
Artillery, nineteen guineas, to purchase two standards, to be
borne by them on all occasions of ceremony.
To the Vicar and Churchwardens, two hundred pounds, the interest
to be distributed annually among the poor of the Parish, on
Easter Day.
To the Feoffees and Governors of the Free Grammar School, a like
sum to be spent in renovating the building, and a further sum of
one thousand pounds to be invested for the maintenance, clothing
and education of ten poor boys of the Borough.
To the Vicar and Dr. Hansombody, his executors, fifty pounds
apiece.
And lastly, the residue of his estate (some four thousand
pounds), together with the five thousand pounds reverting on his
kinswoman's death, to the Mayor and Corporation, to build and
endow a Hospital for the relief of the sick; the same to be
known as the Hymen Hospital, 'in the hope that the name of one
who left no heirs may yet be preserved a while by the continuity
of human suffering.'
At the conclusion of Lawyer Chinn's reading it is not too much to say
that all his audience caught their breaths. They had known the Major
to be a great man: but not till now--not perhaps until that last
solemn sentence fell on their ears--had they understood his
greatness.
I have heard that the silence which followed was broken by a sob.
Certainly the meeting dispersed in choking silence.
At length Troy realised its loss.
From that moment the figure, hitherto remembered in the clear
outlines of affection, begun to grow, loom, expand, in the mists of
awe. It ceased to be familiar, having put on greatness. Men began
to tell how, on that last fatal expedition, the Major had turned
single-handed and held a whole squadron of Dragoons at bay.
In his garden, by the brink of the fish-pond, Mr. Basket reared a
stone with the following inscription:
ATTEND
O PASSER BY!
ON THIS
SPOT AS NEARLY AS CAN BE ASCERTAINED
SOLOMON HYMEN, ESQUIRE
SEVEN TIMES MAYOR OF TROY
IN CORNWALL
RELINQUISHED HIS HONOURS
FOR HIS COUNTRY'S NEED
AND RESOLUTELY SACRIFICED
EASE, FRIENDSHIP, FAME
TO EMBARK HIS SOLE MANHOOD
IN HER DEFENCE
AMID THE SURROUNDING MEMORIALS
OF GREECE AND ROME
CHALLENGING
THE SEVEREST VIRTUES OF ANTIQUITY
WITH A BRITON'S RESOLUTION