Picnic Supper--Sentries--Sylvanus' Silence--Coristine and
Bigglethorpe Hear Sounds--Invaders Repelled--Fire and
Explosions--Victims Walled In--Water Retreat in the Rain--The
Constable Secures Mark Davis--Walk Home in the Rain--Bangs and
Matilda--Into Dry Clothes--Miss Carmichael's Mistake--A Reef in Mr.
Bangs--Ben has no Clothes--Three Young Gentlemen in a Bad Way.
Mr. Bangs had no fewer than eight men under his command, Bigglethorpe
and the two Richards at the water, and Coristine and the veteran, the
two Pilgrims and Rufus, up above. The latter tired themselves out, under
the detective's direction, looking for an opening in the ground, but
found none, nor anything that in the least resembled one. Some of the
searchers wondered why the chimney in Rawdon's house was so
unnecessarily large and strong, but no examination about its base
revealed any connection between it and an underground passage. The
detective, in conference with Mr. Terry and the lawyer, decided on four
sentries, namely one each at the house and the lake, as already set, one
at the road looking towards the entrance, and the other half way between
the lake and the house, to keep up the connection. Some bread and meat
and a pot of tea, with dishes, were sent down to the three men on the
shore by the hands of Timotheus, but they rejected the cold meat, having
already made a fire, and broiled the bass caught by Mr. Bigglethorpe.
They had a very jolly time, telling fish stories, till about eight
o'clock, and the fisherman of Beaver River was in wonderful spirits over
the discovery of a new fishing ground. If those lakes had only contained
brook trout he would move his store to the Lakes Settlement; as it was,
he thought of setting up a branch establishment, and getting a partner
to occupy the two places of business alternately with him. The Richards
boys were pleased to think that their new acquaintance was likely to be
a permanent one, and made Mr. Bigglethorpe many sincere offers of
assistance in his fishing, and subordinate commercial, ventures. At
eight Mr. Bangs came down the hill, and posted one of the Richards as
sentry, while the fisherman indulged in his evening smoke, preparatory
to turning in under the skiff with his friend Bill. "I went that fire
put out, gentlemen," said the detective, "net now, but say efter ten
o'clock, as it might help the enemy to spy us out," to which Bill
Richards replied: "All right, cap'n; she'll be dead black afore ten."
Rufus was placed on the hill side to communicate between the distant
posts; Timotheus overlooked the encampment; and Sylvanus was given the
station on the road. Mr. Bangs walked about nervously, and the lawyer
and Mr. Terry, bringing some clean coverlets out of the boarding-house,
spread them on the chip-covered ground, and lay down to smoke their
pipes and talk of many things. "Oi tuk to yeez, sorr," said the veteran
with warmth, "soon as Oi mit ye in the smokin' carr, and to think what a
dale av loife we've seen since, an' here's you an' me, savin' yer
prisince, as thick as thaves."
Nothing of any moment occurred till within a quarter of ten, when
Sylvanus saw two figures suddenly start up close by him on the right. At
first, he thought of challenging them, but seeing one was a woman, and
remembering the going over the Squire gave him about capturing Tryphosa,
he resolved to await their arrival. Both figures greeted him joyfully by
his name, for it was his two proteges, the crazy woman and her son, who
had escaped the constable and lain concealed until darkness veiled their
movements. "Has Steevy woke up yet?" she asked the sentinel, quietly.
"Not as I know on," responded the elder Pilgrim.
"Then we will slip quietly into the house, and get some supper for
Monty, and go to bed. It's tiresome walking about all day," she
continued.
"Don't you two go fer to make no noise, 'cos they's sentries out as
might charlinge yer with their guns," remarked the compassionate guard.
"No," she whispered back; "we will be still as little mice, won't we,
Monty? Good night, Sylvanus!" The boy added, "Good night, Sylvy!" and
the sentinel returned the salutation, and muttered to himself: "Pore
souls, the sight on 'em breaks me all up."
Sylvanus should have reported these arrivals, when the detective came
to relieve him, and put Mr. Terry in his place, but he did not. He had
forgotten all about them, and was wondering if that "kicked-out-of
service old ramrod, the corpular, was foolin' round about Trypheeny."
Coristine relieved Timotheus; Bill Richards, Rufus; and Mr.
Bigglethorpe, Harry Richards. The relieved men went to sleep on the
quilts and under the skiff. Mr. Bangs came up every quarter of an hour
to the lawyer, and asked if he had heard a noise about the house, to
which the sentinel replied in the affirmative every time; whereupon the
detective would take a lamp and search the building from top to bottom
without any result. Once, after such a noise, that sounded like some
heavy article being dragged along, Coristine thought he heard the words:
"Keep quiet, Tilly," and, "Take it hoff," but he was not sure. The night
was cloudy and dark, and the mosquitoes' buzzing sometimes had a human
sound, while the snoring of the Pilgrims, and the restless moving of the
horses, brought confusion to the ear, which sought to verify suspected
articulations. Had he known that Matilda Nagle was about the house, he
would not have let Bangs rest until the mystery was solved. He did not
know; and, being very tired and sleepy, was inclined to distrust the
evidence of his senses and lay it to the charge of imagination.
Down by the water's edge Mr. Bigglethorpe sat on a stone in front of the
carved out block, thinking of the best fly for bass, and of a great
fishing party to the lakes that should include Mr. Bulky. Standing up to
stretch his legs and facing the block of limestone, he thought he saw a
narrow line of light along the left perpendicular incision. Moving over,
he saw the same perpendicular line on the right. Just then the clouds
drifted off the moon, and he convinced himself that the light lines were
reflections from the sheen that glimmered over the lake. He also thought
he heard a whining noise, such as a sick person or a child might make,
and then a rough voice saying: "Stow that now!" but Richards, like the
two Pilgrims above, was snoring, and Harry had a slight cold in his
head. "What a stoopid, superstitious being I should become," said the
fisherman to himself, "if I were out here long all alone." But, hark!
the sound of paddles softly dipping came from the left, and at once the
sentry lay down behind the upturned skiff, and, gun in hand, listened.
He poked Richards with his foot, and, as he awoke, enjoined silence.
Richards crawled out, and quietly replaced the boat in its original
position. There were now two on guard instead of one. The boat entered
the lake. It was the scow, Richards' scow, and Harry was indignant.
There were five men in it, and they were talking in a low tone.
"Quite sure them blarsted Squire folks has all gone home, Pete?"
"Sartin, I seen 'em, the hull gang's scattered and skee-daddled, parsons
an' all."
"Where's the blarsted light, then?"
"Seems to me I kin see long, thin streaks. O Lawr, boys, Rodden must ha'
been hard put, when he drapped the block into the hole. It's shet up
tight. Hev ye got the chisel and mallet?"
"They're all right."
"Then less git ashore and drap the block out, though it's an orful pity
to lose it in the drink."
"Carn't we git the blarsted thing back to its place agin?"
"Onpossible; wild horses couldn't do it."
Harry whispered to Bigglethorpe: "What'll we do?" and the fisherman
answered: "Our duty is to fire, but we weren't told to kill anybody.
Don't you fire till I reload."
Then Bigglethorpe called out: "Surrender in the Queen's name," and fired
above the scow. Two or three pistol shots rattled over the sentries'
heads, and flattened themselves on the rock behind. "All ready!" said
the storekeeper, and Harry let fly his duck shot into the middle of the
crowd, who paddled vigorously from the shore. Bill Richards, having
alarmed the upper sentries by the discharge of his gun, came running
down, with the Pilgrims and Rufus, led by the detective, not far behind
him. "Shove out the skiff," called Bigglethorpe. The Richards shoved it
off, and Bill rowed, when the two sentries got on board. "Go it, Bill,
after the old tub," cried Harry; "we'll soon catch up." The Rawdon gang
worked hard to get to the narrows, but found it hopeless. "Give it to
them," shouted Bangs from the shore; and in response, the guns rang out
again, while Bill strained every muscle to the utmost. The punt
grounded on the shore above the narrows, and four of the men jumped out
into the water and fled up the bank, firing their pistols as they
retired. The punt was captured, and brought back to the guarded beach,
with a wounded man and some tools in the bottom. Only by swimming, or by
a long detour of very many miles, could the four fugitives find their
way back to the shore they had sought in vain.
The wounded man was taken out of the punt and laid on the beach. "Is he
dead?" asked Bigglethorpe. "No," answered the detective, feeling the
head of the victim, and inspecting him by the aid of matches struck by
the smoker Sylvanus; "it's a good thing for him thet yore two gens were
louded with deck shot end thet they sketter sow, else he'd a been a dead
men. He's got a few pellets in the beck of his head, jest eneugh to sten
the scoundrel for a few minutes. Ah, he's hed a creck owver the top of
his head with a cleb, the colonel's werk, very likely."
"Do you want him kept?" enquired Mr. Bigglethorpe, as sentry.
"Oh, dear me, yes; he's Rawdon's chief men. I wouldn't lose him fer a
hendred dollars. Rufus, do you mind blowing his brains out if he
attempts to escaype?"
The good-natured Rufus said he didn't mind watching the prisoner, but he
imagined clubbing would be kinder than blowing out his brains.
"All right!" answered the detective, "all right, so long as you keep him
safely."
So Mr. Bangs went back to the house, followed by Sylvanus, Timotheus and
Bill Richards, the last of whom resumed his post, namely the trunk on
which Pierre Lajeunesse had rested.
When the encampment was reached, Mr. Bangs asked Coristine if he had
been smoking on guard or lighting matches, but he had not. He asked Mr.
Terry the same question, which the old soldier almost took as an insult.
"An' is it to me ye come, axin' av Oi shmoke on guarrd, an' shpind my
toime loightin' matches loike a choild? Oi've sane sarvice, sorr, and
nobody knows betther fwhat his juty is."
"I sincerely beg your pardon, Mr. Terry. Please excuse my enxiety; I
smell fire."
"Don't mintion it, sorr, betune us. Faix, an' it's foire I shmill an'
moighty sthrong, too."
The detective came back to the front of the house, and saw the fire that
had broken forth in a moment, and was flaming in every room of basement
and upper storey, a fire too rapidly advanced to be got under, even had
the means been at hand.
"Quick, Sylvanus, Timotheus, get out the horses and any other live
stock," he cried; but the lawyer had been before him, and the two
Pilgrims and he were already leading the frightened animals past the
house and on to the road, where they turned their heads outward and
drove them along. Forgetting their watch, Mr. Terry and Bangs himself
helped, until every living creature, as they thought, was safely away on
the road to the Lake Settlement. Then, two figures, that the guilty
Sylvanus knew, came out of the door of the boarding house, and the
flames leaped out after them. The woman came up to Coristine, and said:
"I know you; you helped to carry poor Steevy, who is not awake yet. He
said it was cold down there, so Monty and I have made a fire to keep him
warm." The lawyer thought she meant that her dead brother was cold. As
to the fire, when he saw Monty, it did not astonish him; but how came
they both there through the guard?
The frame buildings, their light clapboards dried by the summer sun,
burned furiously, and the flames roared in the rising wind. The sheds
and stables caught; the fire ran over the ground, in spite of the dew,
catching in shrubs and fallen timber, and even climbing up living trees.
Back the beholders were driven, as far as Bill Richards' post, by the
terrible glare and heat of the conflagration. Leaving Bigglethorpe on
sentry, and Rufus over the prisoner, Harry came running up to learn what
was the matter, and to tell of noises like human voices and hammer blows
behind the slab of rock. Then, as the fire in the house burned down to
the ground, there was an explosion that seemed to shake the earth, and a
column of fire sprang up the standing chimney, side by side with another
less lofty and more diffused from the right of the building. Report
after report followed, and the whole party, half terror-stricken,
descended to the beach. Rufus, with Bigglethorpe's help, had
considerately transferred his prisoner to the punt, and guarded him
there. The store-keeper, taking chisel and mallet in hand, was striking
off chip after chip of rock, in answer to muffled cries from within; and
now the big rock had moved half an inch. Still the brave man worked away
amid the continued explosions, and in spite of the advancing fire. The
block continued to slide, and Bigglethorpe cried: "Take the boats out of
the way, and get back from me, or you will all be crushed in a minute."
The punt was out of danger, but Bill Richards, with a single movement,
shoved off the skiff, and, kneeling on her stern, sent her far out into
the lake. Then he rowed the boat rapidly back into a place of safety.
The slab was still sliding, and had cleared the rock out of which it had
been cut by an inch. A human hand was thrust out, a dumpy, beringed
hand, bleeding with the effort; a most audible voice cried "For God's
sake, 'urry!" and then there came a perfect Babel of explosions, and the
gallant deliverer was forcibly drawn out of a fierce river of liquid
fire that streamed down into the lake, and burned even out on the water.
The fisherman was badly burnt, hair, beard and eyelashes almost singed
off; but still he thought of rescue. "Fire at that miserable little chip
that holds it," he cried; "fire, since you can't hit it otherwise. Oh,
for an asbestos suit, and I would have styed." They fired pistol and gun
with no effect, till the lawyer, out in the skiff with Bill, got his
rifle sighted to the point in the blue flame, where he thought the
preventing ridge ought to be. He fired at close range, the ball hit the
rock projection, and at once the great block slid away into the lake,
with a splash that damped the flames with a column of spray, and
revealed an awful corridor of fire. No living creature was there, but
the detective, dipping his feet in the lake, took a boat hook out of the
returning skiff, and then, standing in the flames, hauled out two
charred masses, and extinguished them in the shallow water by the shore.
Mr. Terry came running down and crying: "Out on the wather wid yeez,
ivery mother's son av yeez; the foire's spreadin' an' the threes is
fallin'; fer yer loife, min." Mr. Bangs, still in command, asked:--
"How many will the skiff howld, Bill?"
"Seven, anyway," replied the Richards of that name.
"Mr. Coristine and Mr. Terry take commend and choose crew."
"Come, Matilda and Monty," said the lawyer.
"Come on, Sylvanus, Timotheus, Rufus," cried Mr. Terry.
"I'll row," said the Irishman.
"And me, too," added Sylvanus.
"Look after my prisoner, Mr. Bangs," cried Rufus; and the skiff went out
to sea.
Bill transferred himself to the scow, with his brother Harry and Mr.
Bigglethorpe. The detective lifted the two charred masses to the
opposite side of the middle thwart from that against which the prisoner
lay. Then, Bill and Bigglethorpe having taken the bow, he and Harry took
the stern, and the scow followed the skiff. For a time the two boats
stood stock still, fascinated by the awful scene. The explosions were
over, but the forest was blazing fiercely, and up towards the
smouldering buildings, but underground, blazed a vault of blue fire that
reached up to the standing brick chimney of Rawdon's house. Hundreds of
animals were in the water around them, squirrels and snakes and
muskrats, even mice, swimming for dear life. Then, pitter, patter, came
the rain, hissing on the flames. It fell more heavily; and the lawyer,
having doffed his coat to row, threw it over the woman's shoulders,
while Mr. Terry put that of Sylvanus about the boy. "Lead on, Mr.
Coristine," cried the detective; and the skiff shot through the narrows,
with the punt hard after it. The rain fell in torrents and drenched the
occupants of both vessels; but those whose faces were towards the stern
could see the bush-fire still raging. "The rain'll stop it spreadin',"
Bill called out cheerfully, and the lawyer rejoiced, because the fire
was on Miss Du Plessis' land. Long was the journey, tired were the
rowers and paddlers, and draggled was the crew, or rather draggled were
the crews, that reached the Richards' homestead. The prisoner was awake
by this time, had been so all along since he was deposited in the punt,
and a paddle had splashed his face. When walked ashore, he had made a
dash for liberty, but Mr. Bangs had brought him up short. "Yore in too
great a herry, Merk Devis," he had said; "we went you, my men, and we'll
hev you, dead or alive." So Mark Davis, since that was the name of
Wilkinson's dissipated farmer, had to fall into line and march to the
Richards' place. There the party found Maguffin and the constable.
The colonel's servant had been much closer to the conflagration, but,
having seen no sign of any person there, nothing but a number of
startled horses, and the fire having taken possession of the sides of
the masked road, he had retired to the nearest house. He at once
enquired after the safety of Mr. Terry and the lawyer, and, finding that
they and all the rest of the party were safe, rode back at his utmost
speed to report. The constable, rejoiced at seeing his prisoners again,
was about to rearrest them, when Coristine and Sylvanus interposed, the
latter threatening to thrash the pipe-clay out of the pensioner's "old
putrified jints" if he touched the boy. The Crew meant petrified, but
the insult was no less offensive to the corporal on account of the
mistake. As a private individual in the Squire's kitchen, Mr. Rigby was
disposed to peace and unwilling to engage in a contest with big-boned
Sylvanus, but, as a constable on duty, he was prepared to face any
number of law-breakers and to fight them to the death. Drawing his
baton, he advanced, and only the commands of his legal superior, Mr.
Bangs, backed by the expostulations of the pseudo sergeant-major Terry,
induced him to refrain from recapturing his former prisoners, and from
adding to them the profane Pilgrim who had been guilty of interfering
with an officer in the discharge of his duty. Finally he was mollified
by being put in possession of a really great criminal, Mark Davis, whom
he at once searched and deprived of various articles, including a
revolver, all the chambers of which were fortunately empty. Then,
producing his own revolver, the corporal gave it to his prisoner to
smell, remarking that, if he tried any nonsense, he would have a taste
of it that he would remember. Mrs. Richards was busy reducing the
inflammation of Mr. Bigglethorpe's burns. She insisted that he should go
no farther that night, and the whole Richards family, which had greatly
taken to the fisherman, combined to hold him an honoured prisoner. Mr.
Bigglethorpe consented to remain, and the Bridesdale contingent bade him
and his hosts good night. The constable went first with his prisoner,
followed by Matilda Nagle, between the lawyer and the detective. Monty
came next, clinging to Sylvanus and Mr. Terry, while Timotheus and Rufus
brought up the rear. Mrs. Richards had furnished the woman and her boy
with two shiny waterproofs, called by the young Richards gum coats, so
that Coristine and Sylvanus got back their contributions to the wardrobe
of the insane, but, save for the look of the thing, they would have been
better without them, since they only added a clammy burden to thoroughly
water-soaked bodies.
Still the rain fell in torrents. It trickled in many rills off the
penthouses of the pedestrians' headgear; from the lapels of coats and
from waistcoats it streamed down, concentrating itself upon soggy knees.
Broad sheets, like the flow of a water-cart, radiated from coat tails of
every description; and rivers descending trouser-legs, turned boots and
shoes into lakes, which sodden stockinged feet pumped out in returning
fountains. Happily there was no necessity for using gun or pistol, since
these weapons shared in the general pervading moisture. Yet the corporal
marched erect, with his left hand on his prisoner's shoulder. Poor
Matilda was cheerful, though shivering, and, turning round to her boy,
said; "It is a good thing, Monty, that we lit the fire when we did, for
it would be very hard to light one now;" to which the lad answered, "I
hain't a goin' to light no more fires no more." Sylvanus and the veteran
had been telling him what a bad thing it was to set houses on fire, and
the hypnotized boy, freed apparently from the mesmeric bond by the death
of his unnatural father, responded to the counsels of his new friends.
The influence lasted longer with Matilda, for as, in spite of the
absorbing rain, her companions were able to make a study of her talk,
they observed that it was controlled by one or two overmastering ideas,
which were evidently the imposition of a superior will. In his
dog-Latin, which he presumed the poor woman could not understand, Mr.
Bangs said to the lawyer: "_Oportet dicere ad Doctorem dehypnotizere
illem feminem._" To this elegant sentence Mr. Coristine briefly
answered, "_Etiam_," but soon afterwards he asked: "Where did you pick
up your Latin, Mr. Bangs."
"I wes at school, you know where, with pore Nesh; _mulier nescit
nomen_. We both took to Letin, because we could talk without being
understood by the common crowd. You find velgar criminals thet know some
French, German, Spenish or Portegese, bet none thet know Letin. In
dealing with higher class criminals we used our own gibberish or
artificial shibboleth."
"A sort of Volapuk?"
"Exectly; pore Nesh was ohfelly clever et it."
"I am going to kill Mr. Nash as soon as I can find him," interrupted the
woman, in an amiable tone of voice, as if she proposed to discharge some
pleasant duty.
The men shuddered, and Mr. Bangs said: "You know, my dear Matilda, what
the Bible says, Thou shelt not kill. You surely would not kemmit the sin
of merder?"
"I am not to mind what the Bible says, or what Steevy says, or what
clergymen or any other people say. I am only to do what he says, and I
must."
"Did he tell you to light thet fire?"
"Not that fire, but the other said it was cold down there."
"Why did he not come up?"
"Because I covered the trap over with the big stones, and Monty helped
me."
"Surely he didn't tell you to dreg the stones on to the trep?"
"Yes, he did, but not then. It was before, when Flower wanted to get up,
and crawl away and tell, because he thought he was going to die."
"Was Flower down there with him?"
"Yes; that's why Monty and I put the big stones on the trap."
"Flower was hert, wesn't he, shot in the beck, I think?"
"Yes; he crawled in all the way on his hands and knees, and I helped his
wife to tie him up, till the doctor came, the morning that I found
Steevy."
"How do you know thet Stephen wes esleep?"
"He told me."
"_Deminus Coristinus, mulier non est responsibilis pro suis ectionibus.
Facit et credit omnia qua mendet enimel mertuus._"
"_Eheu domine!_" replied the lawyer; "_sic est vita dolorosa!_"
Bridesdale was all lit up, and the front door was open to receive the
soaked wayfarers, but no one could be induced to enter it. Mr. Terry
asked Honoria to leave his dry suit and a pair of shoes at the kitchen,
when he would take them to the carriage house, and change there. The
lawyer and the detective had no dry suit, so Mrs. Carruthers brought
them some of her husband's clothes, and two umbrellas, under which they
carried their bundles, wrapped in bath towels, to the place the veteran
had chosen. While the three drawing-room guests stripped, rubbed
themselves down with the grateful towels, and put on their dry attire,
the kitchen filled up with the humid and steaming Pilgrims, Rufus, the
idiot boy, and his mother. Constable Rigby lodged his prisoner on some
straw in an empty stall in the stable, and, producing a pair of
handcuffs, which he had left there, secured him, fastening also a stall
chain round one of his legs with a padlock. The constable was severe,
but he had lost two prisoners the previous day, had been abused by
Sylvanus Pilgrim, and was very wet and tired. To the credit of Sylvanus
be it said, that he came out with Ben Toner's clothes, and lent them to
his elderly rival, and actually carried the corporal's wet garments into
the kitchens, there to hang with a large assortment of others, drying
before the two stoves, in full blast for the purpose. The gum coats had
fairly protected the clothes of Matilda and Monty, but their feet needed
reclothing, and it took some time to dry their heads. Maguffin had taken
off his wet things, and was asleep in the loft bed, keeping one ear open
for the safekeeping of the colonel's horses. Tryphena and Tryphosa were
both up; and into their hands Rufus consigned the dripping habiliments
of their two admirers as well as his own, his fraternal relation
allowing him to appear before the ladies of the kitchen in a long white
garment with frills that had never been constructed for a man. "Guess it
ain't the last time you'll have to dry them clothes, gals," said the
sportive Rufus, skipping along in his frilled surplice, when Tryphena
chased him out of the apartment with a sounding smack between the
shoulders. Tryphena hesitated to send the mad woman into the room in
which Serlizer was sleeping, not knowing the nature of their relations
at the Select Encampment. Matilda, however, evidenced no intention of
retiring, or feeling of drowsiness. She talked, with the brightness and
cheerfulness of other days, and in a gentle, pleasant voice, but on
strange wild themes that terrified the two young women. Monty looked at
the fire and then at Tryphosa, saying: "I hain't a goin' to light no
more fires no more." "Why?" asked Tryphosa, and the answer came, which
revealed a genuine working of the intellect: "'Cos Sylvy says hit's
wicked." His mother turned, and said: "Monty, you must not mind what
Sylvanus says or anybody else; you must mind what he says."
The boy looked his mother full in the face, and replied in a very
decided tone, "Hi'm blowed hif I do!"
In the forepart of the house, only the ladies were up. The doctor and
the colonel, the captain and the Squire, slept the sleep of tired men
with good consciences, and the wounded dominie was enjoying a beautiful
succession of rose-coloured dreams, culminating in a service, at which a
tall soldierly man in appropriate costume gave away into his hand that
of a very elegant and accomplished lady, saying, as he did so, "Can I do
less for the heroic saver of her uncle's life?" Mr. Terry's appearance,
on entering to salute his daughter, exacted no remark. The lawyer looked
somewhat bucolic, but highly respectable. But poor little Mr. Bangs was
buried in clothing, and tripped on his overflowing trowser legs, as he
vainly strove to put his right hand outside of its coatsleeve, for the
purpose of shaking hands with the company. Mrs. Carmichael took pity on
him, and turned back his cuffs, and, his hands being thus of use to him,
he employed them to do the same with the skirts of his trousers. The
usually polite veteran took Coristine to a corner of the room, and,
between violent coughs of suppressed laughter, said: "Och, Misther
Coristine, it's the dumb aguey I'll be havin' iv his clawthes is not
droied soon. It's Bangs by name he is and bangs by natur'. Shure, this
bangs Banagher, an' Banagher bangs the world." The young ladies had not
yet entered the apartment, and the three night-watchers were busy
relating to the three matrons the terrible events of the night. The
lawyer was sitting with his back to the door, conversing with Mrs.
Carruthers, when Miss Carmichael came tripping in, followed by Miss Du
Plessis and Miss Halbert. The lawyer's hair was brown, and so was her
uncle's. The coat was the Squire's, and the white collar above it. So
she slipped softly up to the back of the chair, took the brown head
between her hands, and administered a salute on the forehead, with the
words: "Why, Uncle John!--," then suddenly turned and fled, amid the
laughter of the veteran and his daughter, and the amused blushes and
smiles of her mother. The other young ladies came forward and joined in
the conversation, but Miss Carmichael did not show her face until the
family was summoned for prayers. The colonel came down in his usual
urbane smiling way, saying that he had taken the liberty of looking in
upon his dear friend and prisoner, and was rejoiced to find that he had
spent a good night. The captain could be heard descending the staircase,
and telling somebody that he was becalmed again with a spell of foul
weather. The somebody was the Squire, who insisted that thieves had been
through his wardrobe, and then eagerly asked for news from the
encampment. All were shocked beyond measure when they heard of the
terrible tragedy. "I wished the man no good," said the Squire, with a
regretful expression on his manly face, "but, if he had been ten times
the deep dyed villain he was, I couldn't have dreamt of such an awful
fate for him." The captain remarked that in the midst of life we are in
death, that the ways of Providence are mysterious, and that where a man
makes his bed he must lie down, all of which he considered to be good
Scripture and appropriate to the occasion. "Yoah fohce met with no moah
casualties, I hope, Captain Bangs? I do not see our fishing friend, Mr.
Bigglethorpe; is he safe, suh?" These questions led to an account of the
fisherman's heroic attempt to release the self-imprisoned occupants of
the underground passage, of his wounds, and of the subsequent exploits
of the lawyer and the detective. Coristine escaped upstairs to put
himself in shape for breakfast, and to visit his wounded friend. He
found that gentleman progressing very favourably, and perfectly
satisfied with his accommodation.
After morning prayers, conducted by the Squire with unusual solemnity,
the lawyer asked Miss Carmichael if she alone would not shake hands with
him, making no allusion to any previous encounter. She complied, with a
blush, and seemed pleased to infer that the Captain, above all, had not
heard of her mistake. The two had no time for explanations, however, as,
at the moment, Messrs. Errol and Perrowne, who had been told there was a
fire out towards the Lake Settlement, came in to learn about it, and
were compelled to sit down and add something substantial to their early
cup of coffee. They reported the rain almost over, and the fire, so far
as they could judge from the distance, the next thing to extinguished.
Once more the trays were in requisition for the invalids, and again the
colonel and Mr. Perrowne acted as aids to Miss Du Plessis and Miss
Halbert. Just as soon as he could draw her attention away from the
minister, Coristine remarked to Miss Carmichael: "I have the worst luck
of any man; I never get sick or wounded or any other trouble that needs
nursing." The young lady said in a peremptory manner, "Show me your
hands;" and the lawyer had to exhibit two not very presentable paws. She
turned them palms up, and shuddered at the scorched, blistered and
scratched appearance of them. "Where are Mr. Errol's gloves I put on
you?"
"In the pocket of my wet coat in the kitchen."
"Why did you dare to take them off when I put them on?"
"Because I was like the cat in the proverb, not that I was after mice
you know, but I couldn't fire in gloves."
"Well, your firing is done now, and I shall expect you to come to me in
the workroom, immediately after breakfast, to have these gloves put on
again. Do you hear me, sir?"
"Yes."
"And what else? Do you mean to obey?"
"Oh, yes, Miss Carmichael, of course, always, with the greatest joy in
the world."
"Nobody asked you, sir, to obey always."
"I beg your pardon, Miss Carmichael, I'm afraid I'm a little confused."
"Then I hope you will not put me to confusion, as you did this morning."
"I'm awfully sorry," said the mendacious lawyer, "but it was the coat
and collar, you know." Then most illogically, he added, "I'd like to
wear this coat and this collar all the time."
"No, you would not; they are not at all becoming to you. Oh, do look at
poor Mr. Bangs!"
The detective's sleeves were turned back, thanks to Mrs. Carmichael,
but, as he sat at breakfast, the voluminous coat sagged over his
shoulder, and down came the eclipsing sleeve over his coffee cup. When
he righted matters with his left hand, the coat slewed round to the
other side, knocked his fork out of his hand, and fell with violence on
his omelet. The Captain looked at him, and bawled: "I say, mate, you've
got to have a reef took in your back topsel. You don't mind a bit of
reef tackle in the back of your coat, do you, John?" The Squire did not
object; so Miss Carmichael was despatched to the sewing room for two
large pins, and she and the Captain between them pinched up the back of
the coat longitudinally to the proper distance, and pinned the detective
up a little more than was necessary.
"Whey," asked he of his nautical ally, "em I consistent es a cherecter
in bowth phases of my berrowed cowt?"
"I know," chuckled the Captain; "'cause then you had too much slack on
your pins, and now you've got too much pins in your slack, haw! haw!"
"Try egain."
Coristine ventured, "Because then your hands were in your cuffies, but
now your coffee's in your hand." This was hooted down as perfectly
inadmissible, Miss Carmichael asking him how he dared to make such an
exhibition of himself. Mr. Errol was wrestling with something like
Toulouse and Toulon, but could not conquer it. Then the detective said:
"If the ledies will be kind eneugh not to listen, I should enswer,
Before I wes loose in my hebits, end now I em tight."
Of course the Captain applauded, but the lawyer's reprover remarked to
him that she did not think that last at all a nice word. He agreed with
her that it was abominable, that no language was strong enough to
reprobate it, and then they left the table.
There was trouble in the kitchen. Timotheus and Maguffin had each a
Sunday suit of clothes, which they had donned. Sylvanus and Rufus having
special claims on Tryphena, she had put their wet garments in a
favourable place, and, being quite dry, handed them in to her befrilled
brother, early in the morning, through a half open doorway. The
constable, attired in the garb presented to him by Sylvanus, having
fastened his prisoner securely with a second stall chain, entered the
house, and politely but stiffly wished the cook and housemaid "Good
morning." Breakfast was ready, and then the trouble began. Ben had no
clothes, and the boys enjoyed the joke. The company was again a large
one, for Serlizer and Matilda Nagle were added to the feminine part of
it, and the constable and the boy brought its male members up to six,
exclusive of the prostrate Ben. Mr. Terry had temporarily deserted the
kitchen. Mr. Toner's voice could be heard three doors off calling for
Sylvanus, Timotheus, Rufus, Mr. Rigby and Mr. Maguffin. These people
were all smilingly deaf, enjoying their hot breakfast. Then, in despair,
he called Serlizer.
"What's the racket, Ben?"
"My close is sto-ul, Serlizer."
"They's some duds hangin' up here and in the back kitchen to dry. Praps
yourn's there."
"No, Serlizer, myuns never got wayt. You don't think I was sech a blame
fooul as to go out in that there raiun do you?"
"Didn't know but what yer might."
"Whey's them close, anyway?"
"I don't know nuthun 'bout yer clothes. Most men as ain't marrd looks
after they own clothes."
"Is that you Ben?" asked the more refined voice of Tryphena, in a tone
of surprise.
"Yaas, Trypheeny, that's jest who it is. Saay, ken you tayl me what's
come o' my close?"
"They are here, Ben, close to the table;" whereupon all the company
glanced at Mr. Rigby, and choked.
"Cayn't you take 'em off what they're on, and saynd one of the boys in
with 'em, Trypheeny?"
The cook coloured up, and laughter could no longer be restrained. The
constable laughed, and the contagion spread to Matilda and her boy.
"Dod rot it?" cried Mr. Toner, indignantly; "what are you fools and
eejuts a screechin' and yellin' at? Gimme my close, or, s'haylp me,
I'll come right out and bust some low down loafer's thinkin' mill."
"Now, be quiet, Ben," answered Tryphena, "and I will send Rufus in with
your breakfast. You shall have your clothes when they are ready."
So, Rufus took in a plentiful breakfast to his friend Toner, who sat up
in the big bed to enjoy it. "I'm powerful sorry for you, Ben," remarked
the Baby. "You don't think Serlizer could ha' come in and taken your
clothes out into the rain, do you?"
"Hev they been out in the rain, Rufus?"
"Why yes, didn't you know that much? If it hadn't been for the
constable, they might ha' been out there yet. I'd say thank ye to him if
I was you, Ben."
"Consterble Rigby!" shouted Toner.
"At your service, sir," replied the pensioner.
"I'm awful obligated to you, consterble, fer bringin' in my wayt close."
"Do not speak of it, sir," replied Mr. Rigby, with a large piece of
toast apparently in his mouth; "I am proud to do you a service, sir."
Ben was a big man, and somewhat erratic in his ways, so the constable
retired, and came back in his own garb, which he had carried out with
him. "I think, Miss Hill," he said, "that Mr. Toner's clothes are now
dry enough for him to wear them with safety. What do you think, Miss
Newcome?"
"Guess we kin take them off now," answered Serlizer.
"Serlizer," growled Ben, "you're an old cat, a desprit spiteful
chessacat, to go skylarkin' on yer own feller as never did yer no harm.
Gerlong with yer!"
Rufus came in for the breakfast things, and deposited Ben's clothes on
the bed. "It wasn't Serlizer, Ben, sure; If I was you I'd try the
nigger. Them darkies are always up to tricks."
Mr. Toner got into his clothes, resolved to have it out with somebody,
even if Rufus himself should prove to be the traitor. When, a few
minutes later, Mr. Terry, smoking his morning pipe, foregathered with
Ben in the stable yard, and asked him what he was after now, the answer
he gave was: "Lookin' araound fer somebody to whayul!" to which the
veteran replied: "Bin, my lad, it's aisy talkin'."
When the men were out of the kitchen, Mrs. Carruthers and her
sister-in-law came in to see the mad woman and her boy. The boy they
knew already, and had always been kind to, giving him toys and other
little presents, as well as occasional food and shelter. They were much
taken with the mother's quiet manners, and, having heard that she had
been a milliner, invited her to join them in the workroom. But, when
they unitedly arrived at the door of that apartment, they speedily
retired to the parlour, and there engaged in conversation. Mrs. Du
Plessis was upstairs, with the colonel to play propriety, sponging the
dominie's face and hands, and brushing his hair, as if he were her own
son. Every now and again Colonel Morton came up to the bedside, saying:
"Be kind to him, my deah Tehesa, and remembeh that he saved the life of
yoah poah sistah Cecilia's widowah." So the stately Spanish lady shook
up the wounded man's pillows, while the colonel put his arm around him
and held him up; and then, as he sank back again, she asked. "Are you
strong enough to have Cecile come up and read to you?" Wilkinson, sly
dog, as the Captain called him, said it was too much trouble to put Miss
Du Plessis to; but his objections were overruled. Soon a beatific vision
came once more on the scene, and Wordsworth was enthroned as the king of
poets. Miss Halbert and Mr. Perrowne were in the garden, and the
clergyman had a rose in his button hole which he had not plucked
himself. If he had not been in holy orders, he would have thought Miss
Fanny was awfully jolly. Then he said to himself, that holy orders don't
hinder a man being a man, and Miss Fanny was, really was, awfully jolly,
and boarding in the houses of uncultivated farmers was an awful bore.
But this was nothing to what was going on in the studiously avoided work
room. The lawyer's hands were being washed, because a voice from an
arch-looking face said that he was a big baby, and didn't know how to
wash himself. It was quite a big baby in size and aspect that was soaped
and glycerined, and had some other stuff rubbed into his hands by other
pretty hands, one of which wore the victim's ring. Corry felt that he
could stand it, even to the putting on of the minister's gloves. When
she had finished her work, the hospital nurse said, "that silly little
Marjorie, angry because Cecile would not allow her to read fairy
stories to Mr. Wilkinson, surrendered you to me."
"O Marjorie, my darlin', and would you throw your lovely self away on a
poor, stupid, worthless thing like me?"