surely give me a choomer"--this being a kiss in Romany talk.
"I'll give you one on the ear-hole," she cried.
"Then I will wrestle with you," said I. "If you should chance to put me
down, I will do penance by teaching you the Armenian alphabet--the very
word alphabet, as you will perceive, shows us that our letters came from
Greece. If, on the other hand, I should chance to put you down, you will
give me a choomer."
I had got so far, and she was climbing the stile with some pretence of
getting away from me, when there came a van along the road, belonging,
as I discovered, to a baker in Swinehurst. The horse, which was of a
brown colour, was such as is bred in the New Forest, being somewhat
under fifteen hands and of a hairy, ill-kempt variety. As I know less
than the master about horses, I will say no more of this horse, save to
repeat that its colour was brown--nor indeed had the horse nor the
horse's colour anything to do with my narrative. I might add, however,
that it could either be taken as a small horse or as a large pony, being
somewhat tall for the one, but undersized for the other. I have now said
enough about this horse, which has nothing to do with my story, and I
will turn my attention to the driver.
This was a man with a broad, florid face and brown side-whiskers. He was
of a stout build and had rounded shoulders, with a small mole of a
reddish colour over his left eyebrow. His jacket was of velveteen, and
he had large, iron-shod boots, which were perched upon the splashboard
in front of him. He pulled up the van as he came up to the stile near
which I was standing with the maiden who had come from the dingle, and
in a civil fashion he asked me if I could oblige him with a light for
his pipe. Then, as I drew a matchbox from my pocket, he threw his reins
over the splashboard, and removing his large, iron-shod boots he
descended on to the road. He was a burly man, but inclined to fat and
scant of breath. It seemed to me that it was a chance for one of those
wayside boxing adventures which were so common in the olden times. It
was my intention that I should fight the man, and that the maiden from
the dingle standing by me should tell me when to use my right or my
left, as the case might be, picking me up also in case I should be so
unfortunate as to be knocked down by the man with the iron-shod boots
and the small mole of a reddish colour over his left eyebrow.
"Do you use Long Melford?" I asked.
He looked at me in some surprise, and said that any mixture was good
enough for him.
"By Long Melford," said I, "I do not mean, as you seem to think, some
form of tobacco, but I mean that art and science of boxing which was
held in such high esteem by our ancestors, that some famous professors
of it, such as the great Gully, have been elected to the highest offices
of the State. There were men of the highest character amongst the
bruisers of England, of whom I would particularly mention Tom of
Hereford, better known as Tom Spring, though his father's name, as I
have been given to understand, was Winter. This, however, has nothing to
do with the matter in hand, which is that you must fight me."
The man with the florid face seemed very much surprised at my words, so
that I cannot think that adventures of this sort were as common as I had
been led by the master to expect.
"Fight!" said he. "What about?"
"It is a good old English custom," said I, "by which we may determine
which is the better man."
"I've nothing against you," said he.
"Nor I against you," I answered. "So that we will fight for love, which
was an expression much used in olden days. It is narrated by Harold
Sygvynson that among the Danes it was usual to do so even with
battle-axes, as is told in his second set of runes. Therefore you will
take off your coat and fight." As I spoke, I stripped off my own.
The man's face was less florid than before. "I'm not going to fight,"
said he.
"Indeed you are," I answered, "and this young woman will doubtless do
you the service to hold your coat."
"You're clean balmy," said Henrietta.
"Besides," said I, "if you will not fight me for love, perhaps you will
fight me for this," and I held out a sovereign. "Will you hold his
coat?" I said to Henrietta.
"I'll hold the thick 'un," said she.
"No, you don't," said the man, and put the sovereign into the pocket of
his trousers, which were of a corduroy material. "Now," said he, "what
am I do to earn this?"
"Fight," said I.
"How do you do it?" he asked.
"Put up your hands," I answered.
He put them up as I had said, and stood there in a sheepish manner with
no idea of anything further. It seemed to me that if I could make him
angry he would do better, so I knocked off his hat, which was black and
hard, of the kind which is called billy-cock.
"Heh, guv'nor!" he cried, "what are you up to?"
"That was to make you angry," said I.
"Well, I am angry," said he.
"Then here is your hat," said I, "and afterwards we shall fight."
I turned as I spoke to pick up his hat, which had rolled behind where I
was standing. As I stooped to reach it, I received such a blow that I
could neither rise erect nor yet sit down. This blow which I received as
I stooped for his billy-cock hat was not from his fist, but from his
iron-shod boot, the same which I had observed upon the splashboard.
Being unable either to rise erect or yet to sit down, I leaned upon the
oaken bar of the stile and groaned loudly on account of the pain of the
blow which I had received. Even the screaming horror had given me less
pain than this blow from the iron-shod boot. When at last I was able to
stand erect, I found that the florid-faced man had driven away with his
cart, which could no longer be seen. The maiden from the dingle was
standing at the other side of the stile, and a ragged man was running
across the field from the direction of the fire.
"Why did you not warn me, Henrietta?" I asked.
"I hadn't time," said she. "Why were you such a chump as to turn your
back on him like that?"
The ragged man had reached us, where I stood talking to Henrietta by the
stile. I will not try to write his conversation as he said it, because I
have observed that the master never condescends to dialect, but prefers
by a word introduced here and there to show the fashion of a man's
speech. I will only say that the man from the dingle spoke as did the
Anglo-Saxons who were wont, as is clearly shown by the venerable Bede,
to call their leaders 'Enjist and 'Orsa, two words which in their proper
meaning signify a horse and a mare.
"What did he hit you for?" asked the man from the dingle. He was
exceedingly ragged, with a powerful frame, a lean brown face, and an
oaken cudgel in his hand. His voice was very hoarse and rough, as is the
case with those who live in the open air. "The bloke hit you," said he.
"What did the bloke hit you for?"
"He asked him to," said Henrietta.
"Asked him to--asked him what?"
"Why, he asked him to hit him. Gave him a thick 'un to do it."
The ragged man seemed surprised. "See here, guv'nor," said he. "If
you're collectin', I could let you have one half-price."
"He took me unawares," said I.
"What else would the bloke do when you bashed his hat?" said the maiden
from the dingle.
By this time I was able to straighten myself up by the aid of the oaken
bar which formed the top of the stile. Having quoted a few lines of the
Chinese poet Lo-tun-an to the effect that, however hard a knock might
be, it might always conceivably be harder, I looked about for my coat,
but could by no means find it.
"Henrietta," I said, "what have you done with my coat?"
"Look here, guv'nor," said the man from the dingle, "not so much
Henrietta, if it's the same to you. This woman's my wife. Who are you to
call her Henrietta?"
I assured the man from the dingle that I had meant no disrespect to his
wife. "I had thought she was a mort," said I; "but the ria of a Romany
chal is always sacred to me."
"Clean balmy," said the woman.
"Some other day," said I, "I may visit you in your camp in the dingle
and read you the master's book about the Romanys."
"What's Romanys?" asked the man.
_Myself._ Romanys are gipsies.
_The Man._ We ain't gipsies.
_Myself._ What are you then?
_The Man._ We are hoppers.
_Myself_ (to Henrietta). Then how did you understand all I have said to
you about gipsies?
_Henrietta._ I didn't.
I again asked for my coat, but it was clear now that before offering to
fight the florid-faced man with the mole over his left eyebrow I must
have hung my coat upon the splashboard of his van. I therefore recited a
verse from Ferideddin-Atar, the Persian poet, which signifies that it is
more important to preserve your skin than your clothes, and bidding
farewell to the man from the dingle and his wife I returned into the old
English village of Swinehurst, where I was able to buy a second-hand
coat, which enabled me to make my way to the station, where I should
start for London. I could not but remark with some surprise that I was
followed to the station by many of the villagers, together with the man
with the shiny coat, and that other, the strange man, he who had slunk
behind the clock-case. From time to time I turned and approached them,
hoping to fall into conversation with them; but as I did so they would
break and hasten down the road. Only the village constable came on, and
he walked by my side and listened while I told him the history of
Hunyadi Janos and the events which occurred during the wars between that
hero, known also as Corvinus or the crow-like, and Mahommed the second,
he who captured Constantinople, better known as Byzantium, before the
Christian epoch. Together with the constable I entered the station, and
seating myself in a carriage I took paper from my pocket and I began to
write upon the paper all that had occurred to me, in order that I might
show that it was not easy in these days to follow the example of the
master. As I wrote, I heard the constable talk to the station-master, a
stout, middle-sized man with a red neck-tie, and tell him of my own
adventures in the old English village of Swinehurst.
"He is a gentleman too," said the constable, "and I doubt not that he
lives in a big house in London town."
"A very big house if every man had his rights," said the station-master,
and waving his hand he signalled that the train should proceed.
IV
THE MAN FROM ARCHANGEL
On the fourth day of March, in the year 1867, I being at that time in my
five-and-twentieth year, I wrote down the following words in my
note-book--the result of much mental perturbation and conflict:
"The solar system, amidst a countless number of other systems as large
as itself, rolls ever silently through space in the direction of the
constellation of Hercules. The great spheres of which it is composed
spin and spin through the eternal void ceaselessly and noiselessly. Of
these one of the smallest and most insignificant is that conglomeration
of solid and of liquid particles which we have named the earth. It
whirls onwards now as it has done before my birth, and will do after my
death--a revolving mystery, coming none know whence, and going none know
whither. Upon the outer crust of this moving mass crawl many mites, of
whom I, John M'Vittie, am one, helpless, impotent, being dragged
aimlessly through space. Yet such is the state of things amongst us that
the little energy and glimmering of reason which I possess is entirely
taken up with the labours which are necessary in order to procure
certain metallic discs, wherewith I may purchase the chemical elements
necessary to build up my ever-wasting tissues, and keep a roof over me
to shelter me from the inclemency of the weather. I thus have no thought
to expend upon the vital questions which surround me on every side. Yet,
miserable entity as I am, I can still at times feel some degree of
happiness, and am even--save the mark!--puffed up occasionally with a
sense of my own importance."
These words, as I have said, I wrote down in my note-book, and they
reflected accurately the thoughts which I found rooted far down in my
soul, ever present and unaffected by the passing emotions of the hour.
At last, however, came a time when my uncle, M'Vittie of Glencairn,
died--the same who was at one time chairman of committees of the House
of Commons. He divided his great wealth among his many nephews, and I
found myself with sufficient to provide amply for my wants during the
remainder of my life, and became at the same time the owner of a bleak
tract of land upon the coast of Caithness, which I think the old man
must have bestowed upon me in derision, for it was sandy and valueless,
and he had ever a grim sense of humour. Up to this time I had been an
attorney in a midland town in England. Now I saw that I could put my
thoughts into effect, and, leaving all petty and sordid aims, could
elevate my mind by the study of the secrets of nature. My departure from
my English home was somewhat accelerated by the fact that I had nearly
slain a man in a quarrel, for my temper was fiery, and I was apt to
forget my own strength when enraged. There was no legal action taken in
the matter, but the papers yelped at me, and folk looked askance when I
met them. It ended by my cursing them and their vile, smoke-polluted
town, and hurrying to my northern possession, where I might at last find
peace and an opportunity for solitary study and contemplation. I
borrowed from my capital before I went, and so was able to take with me
a choice collection of the most modern philosophical instruments and
books, together with chemicals and such other things as I might need in
my retirement.
The land which I had inherited was a narrow strip, consisting mostly of
sand, and extending for rather over two miles round the coast of Mansie
Bay, in Caithness. Upon this strip there had been a rambling, grey-stone
building--when erected or wherefore none could tell me--and this I had
repaired, so that it made a dwelling quite good enough for one of my
simple tastes. One room was my laboratory, another my sitting-room, and
in a third, just under the sloping roof, I slung the hammock in which I
always slept. There were three other rooms, but I left them vacant,
except one which was given over to the old crone who kept house for me.
Save the Youngs and the M'Leods, who were fisher-folk living round at
the other side of Fergus Ness, there were no other people for many miles
in each direction. In front of the house was the great bay, behind it
were two long barren hills, capped by other loftier ones beyond. There
was a glen between the hills, and when the wind was from the land it
used to sweep down this with a melancholy sough and whisper among the
branches of the fir-trees beneath my attic window.
I dislike my fellow-mortals. Justice compels me to add that they appear
for the most part to dislike me. I hate their little crawling ways,
their conventionalities, their deceits, their narrow rights and wrongs.
They take offence at my brusque outspokenness, my disregard for their
social laws, my impatience of all constraint. Among my books and my
drugs in my lonely den at Mansie I could let the great drove of the
human race pass onwards with their politics and inventions and
tittle-tattle, and I remained behind stagnant and happy. Not stagnant
either, for I was working in my own little groove, and making progress.
I have reason to believe that Dalton's atomic theory is founded upon
error, and I know that mercury is not an element.
During the day I was busy with my distillations and analyses. Often I
forgot my meals, and when old Madge summoned me to my tea I found my
dinner lying untouched upon the table. At night I read Bacon, Descartes,
Spinoza, Kant--all those who have pried into what is unknowable. They
are all fruitless and empty, barren of result, but prodigal of
polysyllables, reminding me of men who, while digging for gold, have
turned up many worms, and then exhibit then exultantly as being what
they sought. At times a restless spirit would come upon me, and I would
walk thirty and forty miles without rest or breaking fast. On these
occasions, when I used to stalk through the country villages, gaunt,
unshaven, and dishevelled, the mothers would rush into the road and drag
their children indoors, and the rustics would swarm out of their
pot-houses to gaze at me. I believe that I was known far and wide as the
"mad laird o' Mansie." It was rarely, however, that I made these raids
into the country, for I usually took my exercise upon my own beach,
where I soothed my spirit with strong black tobacco, and made the ocean
my friend and my confidant.
What companion is there like the great restless, throbbing sea? What
human mood is there which it does not match and sympathise with? There
are none so gay but that they may feel gayer when they listen to its
merry turmoil, and see the long green surges racing in, with the glint
of the sunbeams in their sparkling crests. But when the grey waves toss
their heads in anger, and the wind screams above them, goading them on
to madder and more tumultuous efforts, then the darkest-minded of men
feels that there is a melancholy principle in Nature which is as gloomy
as his own thoughts. When it was calm in the Bay of Mansie the surface
would be as clear and bright as a sheet of silver, broken only at one
spot some little way from the shore, where a long black line projected
out of the water looking like the jagged back of some sleeping monster.
This was the top of the dangerous ridge of rocks known to the fishermen
as the "ragged reef o' Mansie." When the wind blew from the east the
waves would break upon it like thunder, and the spray would be tossed
far over my house and up to the hills behind. The bay itself was a bold
and noble one, but too much exposed to the northern and eastern gales,
and too much dreaded for its reef, to be much used by mariners. There
was something of romance about this lonely spot. I have lain in my boat
upon a calm day, and peering over the edge I have seen far down the
flickering, ghostly forms of great fish--fish, as it seemed to me, such
as naturalist never knew, and which my imagination transformed into the
genii of that desolate bay. Once, as I stood by the brink of the waters
upon a quiet night, a great cry, as of a woman in hopeless grief, rose
from the bosom of the deep, and swelled out upon the still air, now
sinking and now rising, for a space of thirty seconds. This I heard with
my own ears.
In this strange spot, with the eternal hills behind me and the eternal
sea in front, I worked and brooded for more than two years unpestered by
my fellow men. By degrees I had trained my old servant into habits of
silence, so that she now rarely opened her lips, though I doubt not that
when twice a year she visited her relations in Wick, her tongue during
those few days made up for its enforced rest. I had come almost to
forget that I was a member of the human family, and to live entirely
with the dead whose books I pored over, when a sudden incident occurred
which threw all my thoughts into a new channel.
Three rough days in June had been succeeded by one calm and peaceful
one. There was not a breath of air that evening. The sun sank down in
the west behind a line of purple clouds, and the smooth surface of the
bay was gashed with scarlet streaks. Along the beach the pools left by
the tide showed up like gouts of blood against the yellow sand, as if
some wounded giant had toilfully passed that way, and had left these red
traces of his grievous hurt behind him. As the darkness closed in,
certain ragged clouds which had lain low on the eastern horizon
coalesced and formed a great irregular cumulus. The glass was still low,
and I knew that there was mischief brewing. About nine o'clock a dull
moaning sound came up from the sea, as from a creature, who, much
harassed, learns that the hour of suffering has come round again. At ten
a sharp breeze sprang up from the eastward. At eleven it had increased
to a gale, and by midnight the most furious storm was raging which I
ever remember upon that weather-beaten coast.
As I went to bed the shingle and seaweed were pattering up against my
attic window, and the wind was screaming as though every gust were a
lost soul. By that time the sounds of the tempest had become a lullaby
to me. I knew that the grey walls of the old house would buffet it out,
and for what occurred in the world outside I had small concern. Old
Madge was usually as callous to such things as I was myself. It was a
surprise to me when, about three in the morning, I was awoke by the
sound of a great knocking at my door and excited cries in the wheezy
voice of my housekeeper. I sprang out of my hammock, and roughly
demanded of her what was the matter.
"Eh, maister, maister!" she screamed in her hateful dialect. "Come doun,
mun; come doun! There's a muckle ship gaun ashore on the reef, and the
puir folks are a' yammerin' and ca'in' for help--and I doobt they'll a'
be drooned. Oh, Maister M'Vittie, come doun!"
"Hold your tongue, you hag!" I shouted back in a passion. "What is it to
you whether they are drowned or not? Get back to your bed and leave me
alone." I turned in again and drew the blankets over me. "Those men out
there," I said to myself, "have already gone through half the horrors of
death. If they be saved they will but have to go through the same once
more in the space of a few brief years. It is best therefore that they
should pass away now, since they have suffered that anticipation which
is more than the pain of dissolution." With this thought in my mind I
endeavoured to compose myself to sleep once more, for that philosophy
which had taught me to consider death as a small and trivial incident in
man's eternal and ever-changing career, had also broken me of much
curiosity concerning worldly matters. On this occasion I found, however,
that the old leaven still fermented strongly in my soul. I tossed from
side to side for some minutes endeavouring to beat down the impulses of
the moment by the rules of conduct which I had framed during months of
thought. Then I heard a dull roar amid the wild shriek of the gale, and
I knew that it was the sound of a signal-gun. Driven by an
uncontrollable impulse, I rose, dressed, and having lit my pipe, walked
out on to the beach.