Scene II.

On the Site of Rome.

Four Years Later.

_Enter Romulus and Remus lovingly, with their arms round each other's

necks_.

_Rom_.

Good old Remus, ain't I fond of you!

Oh, what a brick you are! I love you so!

_Rem_.

I never knew a chap I liked like Romly,

So gentle, kind, good-looking, bold and comly.

_Rom_.

You make me blush, my Remy; _you're_ the brick,

Through thick and thin I vow to you I'll stick.

_Rem_.

Thank you. Suppose, to mark our vows,

We raise a monument or build a house.

_Rom_.

Why, while we're at it, let us build a city,

The greatest in the world!

List to my ditty:

(_Sings_).

This is the town that Romulus and Remus built.

These are the walls that go round the town that Romulus and Remus built.

These are the boys that built the walls that go round the town that

Romulus and Remus built.

These are the poets who sing of the boys that built the walls that go

round the town that Romulus and Remus built.

These are the scholars who read the poets who sing of the boys who built

the walls that go round the town that Romulus and Remus built.

These are the schoolboys who learn from the scholars who read the poets

who sing of the boys who built the walls that go round the town that

Romulus and Remus built.

This is the book which is read by the schoolboys who learn from the

scholars who read the poets who sing of the boys who built the walls

that go round the town that Romulus and Remus built.

_Rem_.

Bravo, Romly. Let's start work at once.

You build the walls, I'll manage the finance.

_Enter Chorus of Boys derisively_.

Remus and Romulus built up a wall.

Romulus and Remus, mind you don't fall.

(_Strophe_) Romulus and Remus, nice pair of

schemers,

How does your city grow?

Bricks and cabbages, sticks and rubbishes,

And mud pies all anyhow.

1. The author is not quite sure what strophe and antistrophe mean, but

they appear to come in tragically here.

2. Rubbishes is apparently the nearest rhyme to cabbages which the

chorus can lay hands on for the moment.

(_Antistrophe_)

Hee-haw, Remus can saw,

Romulus tries to make plaster.

They shall have a penny a day,

What a pity they cannot work faster!

_Rom. (throwing stones_).

Aroint thee! Hold your row! Shut up! Go home.

Don't interfere with men who are building Rome.

_Rem. (sings_).

'Mid damp clay and sandy chalk, and blue slate and loam,

Be it ever so Roman, there'll be no town like Rome.

So all do your worst, we care not who come,

There's no town like Rome, there's no town like Rome.

Rome! Rome! Great, great Rome!

There's no town like Rome, there's no town like Rome.

_Chorus, disgusted_.

How do these busy little lads

Delight to toil and fag,

And swagger like a pair of cads,

And boast and crow and brag.

(_Exeunt with their noses in the air_.)

_Rom_.

Thank goodness they are gone. Now, old chap, to work.

Sit up! you're getting lazy. Come, don't shirk.

_Rem. (turning red_).

I getting lazy! Like your awful cheek!

I've done more in a day than you in a week.

_Rom_.

Ha, ha! ho, he! My! that's a pretty joke.

Look what I've done. _You've_ hardly done a stroke.

_Rem_.

If that's your tune, you're free to do it all.

_Your_ work, indeed! Do you call _this_ a wall?

I'd hop it on one foot. Ho, ho! A pretty town.

A puff of wind would blow your rampart down.

_Rom_.

Hop it, you ass? I'd like to see you try.

I promise you shall know the reason why.

_Rem. (laughing_).

Stupid old Romulus

Sat on a tumulus

Trying to build a town,

There came this young brother,

One foot over t'other,

And knocked his precious wall down.

Hurroo! here goes! stand clear! this for your wall!

What care I if from now to Christmas Day you bawl?

(_Hops over the wall, knocking off the top course_.)

Missed it! Hard luck! I'll try again! Stand by!

I guess I ought to clear what's barely three feet high.

_Rom. (aside_).

I've stood this long enough! The time has come

When I or Remus, single-handed, must build Rome.

Ho! stay thy impious foot, thou scoffing mule,

Or I will slay thee! Cease to play the fool!

_Rem. (sings_).

Over the city wall, over the city wall,

See how we bump, hop, skip, and jump,

Over the city wall.

(_Jumps again_)

_Rom. (picking up a scaffolding-pole_).

Thy doom is sealed!

I said I'd kill thee! Ha!

'Tis thy last jump! Thou hoppest never more!

(_Knocks him on the head.)

Rem_.

I've overdone it! Now I'm slain! Alas!

I do repent that I have played the ass!

(_Dies_.)

_Rom. (sings_).

Remus he would a-fooling go

(Heigh-ho! says Romly),

Whether his brother could stand it or no,

With a Romly, Remy, Roman, and Grecian.

(Heigh-ho! says Romulus Romly.)

_Enter She-wolf suddenly_.

_Wolf_.

Hullo, my lad! I've caught you then at last!

I've waited twenty years to break my fast.

It's hungry work. But now I've got you.

Come. Don't kick, 'twill hurt the more. Fe, fi, fo, fum!

1. A classical quotation having special reference to the anticipation

of

a good square meal.

_Rom_.

Oh, please it wasn't me! See, there's my brother,

He's far more on his bones than me, my dear stepmother!

_Wolf (perceiving Remits_).

Humph! I may want you both.

But if you wish

I'll start on Remus for my opening dish.

_Rom_.

Do, gentle step-dame; then when he is done,

Come back and claim your sole surviving son.

_Wolf_.

Agreed! But lest you should forget your promise, dear,

I'll take, if you'll allow, my first course here.

I shan't be long; and as your turn comes next,

Don't keep me waiting--I should be so vexed.

(_Proceeds to devour Remus with relish_.)

_Rom. (aside_).

Ah, ha, old glutton! Ha, not much you don't!

If I can help it, dine off me you won't.

(_Stabs the wolf from behind_.)

_Wolf_.

Alack, I die, my banquet, half untasted!

To think of so much dainty dinner wasted!

_Rom. (dances and sings_) -

Who killed old Remus?

I, said his brother, likewise his step-mother,

I killed old Remus.

Who saw him fall?

Not a man-jack saw him drop on his back;

None saw him fall. Who's all right now?

I, says the Roman; I'm rid of my foeman,

I'm all right now.

_Enter Chorus (with a band and flags_).

Great Romulus, we're glad to see you licked him

(Sing hey the jolly Roman and his ma);

We're jolly glad you punched his head and kicked him

(Sing hey the jolly Roman that you are).

Then hail to you, great Roman!

We yield to you or no man,

(Sing hey the jolly Roman and his ma).

We beg you'll let us help you build the city

(Sing hey the jolly city that he rears);

We'll be your loyal subjects; show us pity

(Sing hey the jolly city and three cheers).

Then hail the jolly city,

To you we chant our ditty,

(Sing hey the jolly city and three cheers).

_Rom_.

Friends, thank you one and all; excuse my tear,

Domestic trouble makes me feel so queer;

But if you like, to celebrate this day

I sing you here one final roundelay.

(_Sings_.)

When Romulus from Tiber's stream escaped,

His infant footsteps to the woodland shaped,

He sort of vowed, if ever he grew big,

He would the walls of a great city dig.

This was his object; here he takes his stand,

Romans ever, ever, ever I'll command.

_Chorus (all going)_--

Rule, old Roma, Roma rule the land,

Romans ever, ever, ever he'll command.

(_Exeunt omnes_.)

CHAPTER SEVEN.

A NIGHT WITH THE CROWNED HEADS.

Sub-Chapter I.

THE ARREST.

It was a ferociously hot day at the beginning of the summer vac. I, as

in duty bound, had been spending my first day as a well-conducted, newly

broken-up schoolboy should.

Being fully impressed with the importance of combining self-improvement

with all my recreations, I had been in the morning to the Zoo, where I

had eaten buns with the elephant, cracked jokes and nuts with the

monkeys, prodded the hippopotamus, got a rise out of the grizzly, made

the lions roar, had a row with the chimpanzee, and generally enjoyed

myself.

Then I had done the Tower. This only took ten minutes, as the place was

horribly slow, and fellows looked after you wherever you went.

After that I had had a turn at the circus, to study the habits of the

horse in a state of nature. I should have liked this more if the clown

had not been such a muff. He wasn't half up to his business, and

consequently the place was not as improving as it ought to have been.

So I shook off the dust of it from my feet, and, after laying some

apples and other things aboard, took an omnibus to Madame Tussaud's,

where I knew I should see some fellows of my acquaintance, and be able

to improve my mind in good company.

You must know I had pulled off the third history prize in our division

last term, and therefore felt more or less friendly disposed to the

kings and queens generally, and was even a little curious to see what

they looked like, now that I was supposed to know more about them than

most fellows do.

To tell the truth, although I had several times been to Madame Tussaud's

before, I had invariably cut these grand people and devoted myself to

another part of the establishment, which boys are usually supposed to

understand better. Even on the present occasion it was necessary to pay

a visit to those regions, since several celebrated historical figures

were kept down there, which I felt I must on no account miss seeing.

But after I had thoroughly explored that portion, making the

acquaintance of all the new-comers, putting my head into the guillotine,

taking a turn in the condemned cell, sitting in Napoleon's carriage, and

otherwise informing myself concerning the seamy side of human nature, I

determined to be virtuous and devote at least half an hour to the study

of the royalties in the Great Hall.

The enterprise was not to be undertaken without refreshment. I

therefore took a preliminary excursion to the ground floor, where the

historical costumes are kept, and, close beside them, the ices, buns,

Victoria sandwiches, ginger-beer, Turkish delight, lemon squashes, and

other wholesome aids to historical research. Here I dallied a little--

just long enough to repair the ravages of nature--and then, feeling very

much as Little Jack Horner did after he had partaken of refreshment, I

mounted once more the marble stairs and set myself to do the crowned

heads.

I set myself literally, for it occurred to me I could do their Majesties

just as well sitting as standing. And, as the afternoon was hot, and

the sofa near the door was comfortable, and as, moreover, I was slightly

oppressed with my study of the costumes downstairs, and considerably

soothed by the strains of Madame Tussaud's orchestra, it so fell out

that, just as I was nodding how-do-you-do to William the Conqueror, I

dropped asleep.

How long I slept I must leave it to those of my readers who have come

through the same exertions of mind and body to guess. I had never

intended to exceed a short forty winks, because I was aware that only

half an hour was left before the time for closing arrived. But when I

awoke it was with a start, to find that the place was silent, dark, and

deserted. The music had gone, the shuffling of footsteps on the stairs

had ceased, the hum of voices had died away. All was so quiet that my

own breathing sounded loud and noisy.

I rubbed my eyes and looked round. Yes, I was on the same seat, but not

a soul was left in the place--only I--I and the wax figures.

The lights were out, all except one solitary gas-jet over the door of

the Chamber of Horrors, which sent a flickering gleam my way, and danced

weirdly in and out among the motionless images around me. It was not a

comfortable position to be in, and I confess I did not like it. Of

course a wax image in the dark is the same as a wax image in the day.

Still, thought I, I would sooner be outside, and--

What was it made me stop short, and sit up in my seat, petrified, and

with the blood curdling in my veins?

My eyes, while I meditated, had turned towards William the Conqueror, to

whom, as I have already said, I had been in the act of nodding in a

friendly way when I dropped asleep.

To my horror, I now perceived that he was, in a most unmistakable

manner, nodding at me! Yes, by the feeble light I could see, not only

his head move, but even his eyes too! I was helpless and speechless. I

could no more move, or call out, or take my eyes off him, than if I had

been a wax figure myself.

Presently I saw his hands move slowly to the arms of his chair, and

then, keeping his eyes still on me, he rose to his feet. I could hear

the clank of the sword against his greaves as he stepped off his

platform on to the floor of the hall and advanced a step towards me.

Then, as I sat quaking there, I felt his eyes upon mine, and knew that

he was staring at me from head to toe.

By a superhuman effort I dug my fingers into the plush of the sofa, and

ejaculated a frantic "Oh!"

The cry resounded fearfully through the building, and seemed to wake

echoes which certainly had nothing in common with my voice. It was as

if every one in the place had suddenly caught sight of me at the same

moment and was giving vent to his or her astonishment.

I had better have remained silent! For, as I gave one scared look

round, I saw King John lay down his pen, and, rising hastily, walk

towards me. He scowled viciously at me, and then, as I collapsed in a

heap on to the floor, I saw him turn inquiringly to William the

Conqueror.

Whatever the question he asked was, William answered it in the

affirmative, whereupon John turned round to the rest of the company, and

beckoned with his hand.

Instantly William Rufus, Henry the First, Stephen, Matilda, Henry the

Second, and Richard Coeur de Lion, came forward. William the Second

turned me over with his foot, and stooped down to look at my face.

"That's him!" said he.

"That's he, you mean," said Henry Beauclerk.

"I mean nothing of the kind," said Rufus. "I mean him. So now, old

lampreys!"

"They were _not_ lampreys," said Henry sulkily; "they were oysters."

"Yes, yes," said Matilda. "But what business has _he_ here?"

"Him?" said Rufus doggedly.

"You'd better ask him," said Stephen, with a sneer. "The chances are

he'll want to know what business _you_ have here."

"I'm as much an empress as you," said Matilda, spitefully.

"I know that; which means you're no empress at all."

"Look here," said Henry the Second, "don't you cheek me, Steevie. She

let you have it pretty hot, you know."

"Hot? I like that," said Stephen. "It was cold enough that day she

made tracks in the snow. I've had rheumatism ever since."

"By the way," said Henry the Second, "I can put you up to a capital cure

for rheumatism. Tried it myself. It was after that _little_ affair

about Beckett, you know. I was a good deal run down; and I got a fellow

to touch me up on the shoulder with a cat. You've no notion how it

picks a fellow up. Quite my own notion, too. Come, and I'll give you a

dose."

"Don't mind the governor." said Richard; "he will have his joke. Did

you ever read the _Talisman_, Tilly?--jolly story!--all about yours

truly. You can get it for 4 pence ha'penny. I say, what's to be done

with this chap, Johnny? He's a little like Arthur of Brittany, isn't

he? Suppose, just to keep your hand in--"

Here John turned very red, and got into a towering rage, and threatened

to tear up the Magna Charta to spite them all. Whereat they all

laughed.

All this time I lay, bewildered and speechless, on the floor. It was a

long time before they could bring their minds to decide what was to be

done with me; and, indeed, I began half to hope they had forgotten me in

their own squabbles, when a great burly form pushed his way into the

group, and asked what all the noise was about.

"As if I haven't noise enough in my place with all my six wives talking

at the same time," said he, "without your row. What is it? Can't you

settle it and be done?"

William Rufus turned me over again with his foot.

"That thing's the matter," said he.

King Hal stooped down, with his hands on his knees, and stared at me.

Then he gave a low whistle.

"Whew!" said he. "That's a catch and a half. Where did you get him?"

"Here, a quarter of an hour ago," said William the Conqueror. "It was

me nobbled him."

"Not me--_I_," said Henry the First.

"You!" exclaimed the Conqueror. "Why, what do you expect if you tell

lies like that?"

"I didn't mean I got him," explained Henry. "I meant you should say it

was _I_."

"I shan't say it was you, when it was me," said William. "I'm not given

to that style of thing, I can tell you."

"No, no," began Henry again. "What I mean is, that instead of saying it

was _me_--"

"Who said it was you? I said it was me."

"Yes, and that's where you make a mistake. You should say--"

"Look here," said Henry the Eighth, "suppose you settle that outside.

The thing is--whoever nobbled him, as William says--hadn't we better

give him a cold chop, now we've got him?"

"Better try him first," said John. "I make a strong point of that in

Magna Charta, you know."

"Much easier to take the chop first," said Henry.

"I prefer stakes myself," said Queen Mary, joining the party.

"Well, well, any way you like," said King Hal; "anything for a quiet

life. The ladies are worrying me to give them a day out, and an Old

Bailey trial will be a nice variety for them. Only, let's have it done

in proper state, if we have it at all. I suppose you'd like me to be

judge, eh?"

Nobody seemed particularly pleased at this proposal; and Richard said--

"You'd better ask Elizabeth, hadn't you?"

"Oh, good gracious, no!" exclaimed Henry in alarm. "Don't say a word

about it to her, or there'll be a terrible rumpus. I assure you I have

studied law all my life. Come along. Bring him downstairs and let's

begin. Here, Teddy," cried he to a nice-looking boy not far off, who

must have been Edward the Fifth. "Here, Teddy, run and tell Catherine,

and Annie, and Janie, and Annie Cleeves, and Kitty Howard, and Kitty

Parr--let's see, is that all?" said he, counting them over on his

fingers; "yes, six--tell 'em all to hurry up, and not to let Elizabeth

see them, whatever they do. Oh, and you can tell all the lot of

Majesties after Johnny here they'd better come, too. Come, look alive,

my lad."

"All, very well," said Teddy; "how am I to look alive after the way I've

been served? Besides, I can never remember all their names."

"Well, look them up in the catalogue--they're all down there. Tell

them, the big dock downstairs. And if we're lucky and get the job over

in time, I don't mind standing treat all round in the refreshment-room

afterwards. That will fetch them, I fancy; eh, what?"

Sub-Chapter II.

THE TRIAL.

The room suddenly grew dim and silent again, and I began to think that

after all I had been only dreaming. But when I lifted my head and

looked round, the place of the kings was empty. There was William the

Conqueror's footstool where he had upset it; and there lay the pen and

ink on the floor under King John's chair. As for the big group in the

middle, not a soul was left there except Chaucer and William Caxton, who

had taken possession of the two easiest chairs, and were deep in a game

of chess.

As I picked myself slowly up off the floor, I became aware of the gleam

of a lantern approaching me, and heard a footstep coming down the hall.

It was too dark to see who it was till he was close up; then, with a

gasp, I recognised Marwood, the hangman!

"Oh," said he pleasantly, "you're the young party, are you? Come, cheer

up. You've got to be tried first. The fact is, they couldn't find the

regular police, and asked me to step up for you. Come, my lad," said

he, proceeding to pinion me with the cord in his hand, "this will brace

you up wonderfully. You may depend on me to do the job neatly. I've

just invented a new noose, and have been wanting a light weight to try

it on, so you're in luck. Come along, and don't keep them waiting."

And he proceeded to conduct me to the Chamber of Horrors. As we passed

along the hall, one or two of the figures nodded to us; and Oliver

Cromwell requested in Marwood to let him know when his part of the

business was going to begin, as he should like to be present.

"I don't care about the trial, you know," said he. "Seen plenty of that

sort of thing. But I'd like to see how you do your job, you know; so

don't forget." And he slipped a shilling into Marwood's hand.

"You've no idea of the civility I receive from some of these gentlemen,"

said the latter to me with emotion. "Little drops of kindness like this

always touch me. You shall have a little drop too, my boy, presently."

I tried feebly to laugh at the joke; but I couldn't, whereupon he got

very sulky, and bundled me down the stairs without another word.

By the dim light of a few candles placed about the room I could see that

the Chamber of Horrors was packed by a dense crowd of sightseers, who

occupied seats on the floor of the court, and sat impatiently whispering

together, expecting my arrival.

As I stumbled up the steps of the Old Bailey dock (where room had been

made for me between Burke and Hare) the usual thrill of sensation passed

round the court. I could see Henry the Eighth and his wives opposite me

in the small dock, while the other crowned heads jostled one another on

the platform of the guillotine. There, too, was the old hermit peeping

out through the bars of his cage, and the warder in charge of the

condemned cell was sweeping his place out and changing the sheets on the

bed.

"Now then," said Henry the Eighth, when all the bustle had subsided,

"wire in, somebody! Let's begin."

"You'd better get a jury first," said King John. "That's one of the

first things I insist upon in Magna Charta."

"Order in the court!" cried Henry, "and Magna Charta be bothered! I

shall do as I like!"

"Do have a jury, love," said Catherine Parr; "it's _such_ fun when they

come in with their verdict!"

"Oh, all right; have it your own way. I should have thought, though, I

could come in with a verdict as well as they. Now then, you there!"

said he, addressing the convicts round me, "answer to your names."

And he proceeded to call the names out from the catalogue.

When a dozen had answered, Anne of Cleeves said, "That's enough, Henry

dear; we've got twelve."

"Oh, have we?" said he. "You can have more if you like, you know;

there's plenty left."

The ladies, however, decided that a dozen was enough, and the trial

began.

"Prisoner at the bar," said Edward the Black Prince, who was acting as

usher, "are you guilty or not guilty?"

"What's the use of asking him that," said Henry the Eighth, "when

everybody knows, eh?"

John here began to explain that he had arranged the matter in Magna

Charta, whereupon the judge exclaimed--

"Oh, gracious! if we're to have that up every two minutes I'll adjourn

the court! Now, you there!" said he to me; "why don't you answer?"

I tried in dumb show to explain that I was not aware what I was being

tried for; but as no one saw the point of my answer, I tremblingly

pleaded "Not guilty."

"Oh," said Henry, growing very red in the face, "all right! Now,

somebody, let's have the indictment!"

To my horror, I suddenly saw reflected on a screen, in large characters,

at the far end of the room, my recent examination paper, with all my

answers appended thereto! As I staggered back in terror, Henry laughed.

"Too late now," said he; "you've said `Not guilty', so you've got to be

tried--got to be tried. Eh, what? Now start away; begin at the top.

What's that he says about Alfred the Great? Where is Alf, by the way?"

"Oh," said Edward the Third, "he can't come. The fact is, they've taken

him and dressed him up as a French General, and he's so awfully busy, he

says, you'd better let his part of the thing slide."

"All serene!" replied Henry. "Lucky job for you, prisoner. I know what

a rage he'd be in over that toast-and-muffin story you've been telling

about him. He'd have done you brown, my boy, I can promise you! Never

mind. Now let's go on to the next. Read it out, Nigger."

Edward the Black Prince, who answered to this genial pet name,

accordingly read--

"`William the Conqueror was a cruel tyrant. He made many homes

desolate, and wrote Doomsday Book in the year 1087.'"

"There!" cried the Conqueror, coming to the rail of the guillotine and

striking it in a passion with his gauntlet; "what do you think of that?

_I_ wrote Doomsday Book! It's a lie. My lords and gentlemen of the

jury, I can stand anything else, but when he says I wrote Doomsday Book,

I say it's a lie, and I hope to see him hung!"

"Hanged," suggested Henry the First.

"All right, all right," said Henry the Eighth, "keep cool, and you shall

see him hung, and Henry shall see him hanged. We'll oblige all parties.

So you mean to say, Willie, you never did such a thing?"

"No, never; I hope I know my place better," said the Conqueror; "and I'm

surprised at you for asking such a question."

"Got that all down, Nigger?" asked the judge.

"Yes. Forge ahead!" said the Black Prince. "Now we come to the next,

`William the Second, surnamed Rufus, shot in the New Forest, by Walter

Tyrrell.'"

"Eh?" shouted Rufus, pushing his father aside, and coming to the front.

"What's that? Me shot by Walter? Me--"

"Do say _I_," suggested Henry the First.

The Red King rounded on him at once.

"Oh!" he cried, "it was you, then, was it? You're the one that did it!

I guessed as much! I knew you were at the bottom of it all along. What

do you think of that, my lords and gentlemen?"

"The thing is," drawled Edward the Second, "did Walter--"

"Order in the court!" cried Henry the Eighth. "Kindly allow me to

conduct my own case. All you've got to say, Rufus, is whether it's true

what he says, that Walter Tyrrell shot you?"

"Him!" cried Rufus. "He couldn't hit a haystack a yard off, if he

tried."

"Then he didn't do it? That's all right. Why couldn't you have said so

at once? All down, Nigger? That makes two lies. Now call up the

next."

"Henry the First, surnamed Beauclerk, never smiled again after his son

was lost, and died of a surfeit of lampreys," read the prince.

"Oh, those lampreys!" groaned Henry; "I am perfectly sick of them. I

assure you, my lords and gentlemen, they were no more lampreys--"

"No, not after you'd done supper," growled Rufus.

"In that case, William," retorted Beauclerk, "I should have said

`there,' and not `they.' But I do assure you, gentlemen, I never saw a

lamprey in my life; and as for smiling again," added he, in quite an

apologetic way, "I did it often, when nobody was by; _really I did_."

"Are you sure?" asked the judge. "Show us how you did it."

Whereupon Henry the First favoured the court with a fascinating leer,

which left no doubt on any one's mind that he had been falsely accused.

So two more lies were set down against me; and the Black Prince called

over the next.

"`Stephen usurped the throne on Henry's death.'"

"Quite right, quite right," said Matilda; "perfectly correct."

"`Matilda, after a civil war, in which her bad temper made her many

enemies--'"

"Oh you story!" exclaimed the empress. "Oh! you wicked young man!"

"Address the judge, please," said Henry the Eighth.

"Oh, you wicked young man," repeated the empress, turning to the bench;

"I'd like to scratch you, I would!"

"Don't do that," said Henry: "I get quite enough of that at home, I

assure you. Anyhow, Nigger can chalk it down a lie for you, eh?"

"And one for me, too, please," said Stephen. "How can a fellow usurp

what belongs to him?"

"Give it up," said Coeur de Lion. "Ask another."

"Silence in the court," cried the judge. "Put it down, Nigger, and for

mercy sake drive on, or we shall be here all night."

"`Henry the Second murdered Thomas a Becket, and was served right by

having a family of bad sons,'" read the usher.

"That's nice!" said Henry, advancing. "Bad sons, indeed! Never had a

better lot in all my life. Really, my lord, that ought to count for

four lies right off. The idea of calling my Johnny a bad boy. Why, my

lord, he was his father's own boy. You've only to look at him; and if

he was a bit of a romp, why, so were you and I in our day."

"Speak for yourself," said Henry the Eighth severely. "But what about

Becket?"

"Ah, well, there was a little accident, I believe, about him, and he got

hurt. But I assure you I never touched him; in fact, I was a hundred

miles away at the time. I'll prove an alibi if you like."

"No, no," said the judge; "that is quite sufficient. Chalk down two,

Nigger: one for Becket and one for the bad family. How many does that

come to?"

"That's eight," said the Black Prince. "All right. We only want two

more. Go on."

"`Richard the First, surnamed the Lion Heart, was the strongest and

bravest man in England, and won many glorious battles in the Holy

Land.'"

"Hullo, I say," said the judge. "That's pitching it just a little

strong, isn't it? What have you got to say to that, Dicky?"

"Seems pretty square," said Richard modestly. "He doesn't say what a

good dentist I was, though. My! the dozens I used to pull out; and--oh,

I say--look here, he says nothing about Blondel, and the tune I

composed. That's far more important than the Crusades. It was an

andante in F minor, you know, and--"

"That'll do, that'll do, Dicky. We've heard that before," interrupted

the judge. "Score him down half a lie, Nigger, and call up Johnny."

"`King John, surnamed Lackland, was a wicked king. He was forced to

yield to the barons, and he lost all his clothes in the Wash.'"

"Well, I never!" said John, foaming with rage; "if that isn't the

coolest bit of lying I ever heard! Here have I been and worn my fingers

to the bone writing Magna Charta and giving England all her liberties,

and he never once mentions it! My lord and gentlemen, I should like to

read you the document I hold in my hand, in order that you may judge--"

"What, eh? Read that thing?" exclaimed Henry the Eighth, in horror.

"You'd better try it on, that's all. Good gracious me, what next? I've

a good mind to commit you for contempt of court. The question is, were

you a wicked king? and did you lose your clothes in the Wash?"

"I am surprised and pained that your lordship should ask me either

question. When I assure you, my lord and gentlemen, that a more dutiful

son, a wiser monarch, a tenderer husband, and a more estimable man than

the humble individual who now addresses you, never drew--"

"Teeth," put in Richard I.

"No, breath," continued John. "And when I further tell you that I never

even sent my clothes to the wash, and therefore could not possibly have

lost them there, you will--"

"All right, pull up," said the judge. "That'll do. Keep the rest, my

boy. That makes ten and a half--more than we want. Now, then, the next

thing is, what sort of execution shall we have?"

"Oh, please," said the ladies, "_please_, Harry, darling, let the jury

go out and bring the verdict in. It will be such fun."

"Eh, what?" said Henry, "oh, bother the jury! Where are they? Clear

out, do you hear!" said he, addressing the twelve. "Go up to the

Napoleon room and talk it over, and stay till I send for you."

The jury obeyed, and I was left alone in the dock.

"Now," said the judge, evidently relieved, "let's have the execution."

"But we've not had the verdict yet," said Anne Boleyn.

"That'll do any time," said Henry. "Just as much fun to have it

afterwards. Besides, it's a wonderful saving of time to get the

execution over now, while we're waiting; and then we can go straight to

the refreshment-room. Eh, girls? Eh, what? Ah, I thought so."

"Oh, well," said Catherine of Aragon, "but _do_ put him in the condemned

cell for a minute or so, and then have him brought out, like they all

are, and--"

"_As_ they all are," said Henry the First. "Like is only used when--"

"Hold your tongue, you impertinent, forward young man!" said Catherine

in a rage. "There, now!" added she, beginning to cry, "I've forgotten

what I was going to say, all through you!"

"I think," said Henry the Eighth, waving his hand for silence, "he'd

better be hung. Marwood tells me it's a very pretty sight; and the

gallows are there quite handy. Besides," added he confidentially, "we

should have to tip him in any case, so we may as well let him have the

job, and get what we can for our money. What, eh?"

Every one approved of this, and the executioner was summoned.

Then, as I stood there, shivering in every limb, unable to speak, or

even to move, I was aware once more of the lantern coming towards me,

and of a hand laid heavily on my shoulder.

"Come, young gentleman," said the voice, "wake up--or you'll get locked

in. They're shutting the doors. Tumble up, and look sharp."

It was Madame Tussaud's porter; and I had been fast asleep, after all!

CHAPTER EIGHT.

A STORY OF THE CIVIL WARS.

Sub-Chapter I.

THE INTERRUPTED FEAST.

The Singletons were a small Lowland clan, or rather faction, for their

name does not appear in history as a clan. For all that, they were as

loyal to their king and as devoted to their chief as any clan in

Scotland, and when the time for sacrifice and hard blows came, the

Singletons, as every one knew, were ever to the front.

And it is only fair to say the Singletons were _always_ in the wars.

When they were not fighting the Roundheads they were fighting the

Campbells or the Frasers or the Macintoshes, or others of their

hereditary foes; or if none of these were obliging enough, or at liberty

to indulge them in their favourite pastime, then they made enemies for

themselves among the neighbouring clans, or else crossed over to Holland

to keep their hands in there till fortune favoured them once more at

home. The old castle, with its rambling towers, and walls, and

buttresses was a sort of rallying-point for all the pugnacious spirits

of the time, and its bluff walls showed many a scar and many a dint

where hostile guns had played upon them, not, you may be sure, without

reply.

The Singletons, in fact (and specially since the old laird had died),

thrived on fighting. At the present day they might, perhaps, have

passed as freebooters and outlaws, but during the troubled times of the

Commonwealth they were looked upon as a noble band of patriots, whose

swords were ever ready in the king's cause, and whose castle was as open

and hospitable to a friend as it was unyielding to a foe.

Such was the place within whose weather-beaten and war-beaten walls a

festive company was assembled one November afternoon in the year of our

Lord 16--.

For once in a way the Singletons were at peace. The king's cause was

for a time under a cloud, and the Campbells and the Frasers and the

Macintoshes were far too busy about their own affairs to come out of the

way to defy this small bulldog of a clan in the south. The Singletons

had serious thoughts of invading some place, or sacking some castle, or

making a raid across the border, just to pass the time. It was like

being out of work! They fretted and chafed in their fortress, and

nearly fell out among themselves, and very heartily wished some one

would give them a pretext for a fight. But no one did.

It was at least a diversion for them to celebrate the coming of age of

the young laird, and the event, which in times of war might have passed

scarcely heeded, now became one of mighty importance to these restless

Singletons.

They called together every man of the name who could easily be found

between the Solway and the Tay. They hoisted the old family ensign on

the castle walls, and by way of mischief some of them displayed the

pennant of the Macfies--another rival clan--below it. They drove in

twelve head of oxen, regardless of proprietorship, wherewith to make

good cheer at table, and they decked the grand old banqueting-hall with

branches and heather, till it was more like a bower than a room.

These and many other things the Singletons did by way of showing honour

to the occasion, and when that evening thirty of them sat round the

festive board, with the young chief at the head, and with pyramids of

beef and mutton and bread before them, their satisfaction and enthusiasm

reached its highest pitch.

"Here's luck to the Singleton!" shouted they, "root and branch, laird

and clan."

And amid cheers, prolonged and deafening, the health was honoured and

the banquet proceeded.

"Was ever luck like ours?" growled one youth to his neighbour. "Here

have we been six weeks idle, with never a knock."

"And it'll be six weeks longer before we get one again, I'm thinking,

unless the king's party gather," said his comrade. "We don't get our

fair share of fighting, Tam, that's what it is."

"May be the young laird will change all that. But, I say, Donald, I

have my doubts of it."

"What, of the young laird?" exclaimed the others.

"Ay, he's been brought up in a queer school in England, they tell me,

where it's considered ill-breeding to molest your neighbour."

"Do you say so? The barbarians! That would never do for us, Tam. But

of course the young laird taught them better?"

"They say they taught him worse, and that-- Well, never mind. What is

auld Geordie saying?"

Auld Geordie was on his feet, announcing with great glee that a convoy

of treasure, bound for Edinburgh, was on its way at that moment from

Newcastle, so he had heard, and would pass within three miles of

Singleton Towers.

"And it'll be ours, boys," cried the old man, turning to his comrades;

"and the young laird shall win his spurs upon it! What do you say?"

A shout was the only answer. The proposal was one after the Singletons'

own heart. Every one looked towards the young laird.

Singleton was a dark, mild-looking youth, old for his years, and up till

the present time a stranger to his clan. For, as has already been

hinted, he had but just returned from England, where his boyhood had

been spent, to celebrate his coming of age. Great things were expected

of him, not only as the head of the clan, but as the son of his brave

father, who had died twelve years ago; and since whose death the

Singletons had been leaderless. With a bold leader they might achieve

anything; and they now welcomed the presence of a chief once more in

their midst with all the hope and confidence of sons welcoming a father.

It was, therefore, with astonishment and dismay that they heard him

reply to auld Geordie's proposal--

"I did not know the Singletons were highwaymen!"

If the roof had fallen in it could not have caused greater

consternation. The Singletons looked aghast to hear such a speech from

their chief!

"Is the boy mad?" said one in a whisper.

"Or a coward?" said another.

"Or a fool?" said another.

"The laird's joking," said auld Geordie, in a coaxing voice; "and we are

glad to see ye so merry. But ye'll be in earnest to-morrow, I warrant,

with a score of troopers between you and a thousand pounds!"

"I'm in earnest now," replied young Singleton. "I'm no robber chief, I

tell you. The convoy shall go safe to Edinburgh, as far as we are

concerned. But, come now, Geordie, I want to hear something about this

old castle of mine, for you know I was scarcely in it since I was a

boy."

But it was easier to turn the talk than to turn the thoughts of his

clansmen. They experienced, all of them, a distinct disappointment at

this first exercise of authority on the part of their young laird; and

the cheeks of some of the younger among them actually coloured with

shame at the thought that a Singleton--the Singleton--should be lacking

(as they could not help thinking he was) in bravery. However, they said

nothing, but seemed to listen to auld Geordie, as he launched out into

an account of the old castle of Singleton Towers.

"It's a brave old place," said he. "Sir David Singleton it was who

built it here, on this arm of the sea, in the time of King Wallace. The

story goes that Wallace himself set the top stone of the great tower

with his own hands. Sir David did not live long to enjoy the

stronghold, as you have heard."

"How did he die? I never heard that," asked the young laird.

"Alas! it is a sad story, though a short one. Sir David had a son, and

that son was a coward--the first, and we hope the last, coward who ever

bore the name."

Here all looked hard at the youth, who, not noticing their meaning

glances, said--

"Amen, with all my heart! Go on."

"Well, this son grew up, like you, in England, and it was not till he

had reached man's estate that he came here. His father, a proud man,

and ambitious, rejoiced, as your father would have rejoiced this day, to

see a son in his place, ready, as he hoped, to carry on the brave

traditions of his name to a future generation. The youth was welcomed

home with great pomp and rejoicing, and for aught men could see he was a

worthy son of a worthy sire.

"But, alas! as the Bible says, `Pride comes before the fall.' A few

days after his home-coming, the news came that a party of English was

advancing on Singleton Towers. The old laird, nothing doubting, ordered

his son to take fifty men and meet the enemy, while he himself stayed

behind to guard this place.

"The lad obeyed, and marched forth. They met, he and the English, under

Brantor Hill yonder; and then appeared the real character of the boy.

At the first onset, before ever a blow was struck, he turned and fled,

no one knows whither.

"The old laird for long would not believe it; but when on all hands the

story was confirmed, and no news came of the lad, he sickened and

drooped. He shut himself up in the turret-room out there and never left

it except at night, when his one walk was on the east terrace, over this

very room.

"One night they missed the sound of his footsteps, and next morning he

was found dead in his little chamber--dead of a broken heart. And they

say that if ever again a coward should be the laird of Singleton, that

that old man will walk out there where he walked four centuries ago."

A dead silence followed the close of this story, and all eyes, by a sort

of common instinct, were turned towards the head of the table. At that

moment, apparently from the terrace outside, came a sound of footsteps;

and as they listened, every cheek grew suddenly pale, and a shudder

crept round the assembly. The silence, however, was broken by a laugh

from the young laird himself, who had been the only unmoved hearer of

this last mysterious sound.

"Why, there is my poor dog, Jupiter, out there! I had quite forgotten

him. Let him in, some one!"

No one stirred. The young chief looked round perplexed, and then rose

himself and went to the window and opened it. As he did so, a huge

shaggy mastiff bounded into the apartment, barking and capering for glee

at seeing once again his master and hearing his voice.

"Lie down, sir, quiet. Now, my men, what think you of this for a ghost?

Thanks, Geordie, for your story. I remember now, I heard it when a

child. Well, let's hope it will be a long while yet before Sir David's

ghost is put to the trouble of a midnight walk."

"Hist, my young master," said Tam; "it's ill jesting with the spirits."

"What, Tam! one would think, now, by the way you speak, you would not

dare to keep a solitary watch on the east terrace yourself."

"I'd dare anything," replied Tam, "but--"

"But you would rather not," replied Singleton, laughing.

That laugh roused the spirit of Tam, who, though superstitious, was

hardly a coward.

"I never said that," he cried; "and if needs be I would do it, even to-

night."

"_Even_ to-night!" repeated Singleton. "What does the man mean? _Even_

to-night! I've a good mind to order you to the watch to-night for

talking in riddles, sirrah!"

"The watch here has always been a double one since I can remember," put

in auld Geordie.

"To my mind, one man ought to be able to watch as well as two, for the

matter of that. And so, Tam, you mean you would be more comfortable

with a comrade on the east terrace to-night. Perhaps Sir David would

oblige you," he added, with a laugh.

The soldier flushed angrily.

"Ay, you may say that," he muttered, in an undertone; "it's more than

likely Sir David _will_ be walking to-night."

The boy caught these last words, and glanced quickly at the speaker.

The meaning of these mysterious utterances suddenly flashed upon him.

These men, then mistook him, their chief, their captain, for a coward!

A crimson flush suffused his face, a flush of shame and anger, as he

sprang to his feet.

At that instant, and before he could utter a word, a bugle sounded at

the gate, and there entered the hall a soldier whose appearance bore

every mark of desperate haste.

"Singleton," he cried, as he entered, "the king's friends are up!

Glencairn musters his men at daybreak at Scotsboro', and expects the

thirty men of the Singletons promised him, there and then!"

Here was a piece of news! The long-wished-for summons had come at last,

and the heart of each Singleton present beat high at the prospect of

battle! And yet in the midst of their elation a serious difficulty

presented itself.

"Thirty men!" said Geordie, looking round him. "Why there are but

thirty-one men here, counting the laird. Some must stay."

But the young laird, who had noticed the same thing, cried out promptly

to the messenger--

"Tell your general he shall have his thirty men before dawn," and with

that the soldier withdrew.

The joy of the Singletons now gave place to something like panic, as

they comprehended what the rash pledge of their young chief really

meant. It meant that thirty of them must go, and one must stay; and

what could one man do to defend a castle like Singleton Towers? The

elder soldiers were specially concerned.

"Call him back, Singleton," said Geordie. "You cannot leave this place

defenceless! Think of the peril! Ten men must stay, at the least."

"Who says `must' to me?" cried the young chief, impatiently. "Are the

Singletons to be word-breakers as well as highwaymen? Thirty men shall

go. Have we not promised?"

"But who will stay?" asked some one.

"Ah, that's it," cried another. "Who is to stay?"

Silence ensued on the question, and then--

"_I_ will stay," quietly replied Singleton.

"You! The laird!" shouted every one, in amazement. "That can never

be!"

"Why not?" inquired the youth. "Who is chief here, you or I?"

"But who is to lead us in battle?"

"Ah," said Singleton, "that is my duty, I know, but it is equally my

duty to stay here!"

"But it is certain peril, and you could do no good. Let one of us stay.

Let me stay with you," said Geordie.

"No, brave Geordie, you must go. It must never be said the Singletons

broke their word, even to save their castle. Take the thirty men to

Glencairn. If he permits ten to return, well and good. You will find

me here."

"But your place is at our head," said the men.

"And there I will be to-morrow. To-night I watch here; ay, and on the

east terrace with Sir David, Tam," he added, with a smile. "But come;

to horse there! You lose time. Bring out the guns! On with your

belts, men! Be brisk now! Take every man some bread and meat from the

table!"

And with these words the martial fire of the father blazed out in the

son, so that his men wondered more than ever how they could have

suspected him of faint-heartedness.

"Are you all equipped and mounted? Lower the drawbridge there! Open

the gate! Forward, men! and `Singleton for the king!'"

And waving his hand he bade them march forth, and watched them slowly

defile across the drawbridge and turn their horses' heads eastward.

The last man to cross was Tam.

"Heaven protect you," he said, humbly, "and forgive me for the insult I

put upon you." Then reining in his horse, he added, almost

beseechingly, "Once again, let me stay with you."

"Not I," replied young Singleton, gaily. "Forward, Tam, and to-morrow,

if you return, you shall hear how I fared."

Tam said nothing, but setting spurs to his horse, bounded across the

drawbridge and rejoined his comrades.

Singleton, having watched the troop as they slowly wended their way

among the trees of the wood till they were lost to sight, drew up the

bridge and closed and barred the great gate. Then, with a stout though

anxious heart, he turned and addressed himself to his solitary and

hazardous undertaking.

Sub-Chapter II.

THE NIGHT WATCH.

The young laird of Singleton turned slowly from the courtyard out of

which his men had just ridden, back into the castle.

Young as he was, and inexperienced, he knew enough of the state of his

country to feel that the task which he had imposed upon himself was one

of the greatest peril, not only to his own life, but to the ancestral

castle of his clan, for the country swarmed with freebooters and hostile

clans, on the look-out for any chance of plunder; and they, if only they

got wind of the unprotected state of Singleton Towers, would lose no

time, he knew, in striking a blow during the absence of the clan, which

might end in the loss of the old fortress for ever. Still, what else

could he have done? He was bound in honour to fulfil his pledge to the

royal cause by sending the thirty men, and as for himself, he had no

hesitation in deciding that, for this night at least, the post of duty,

if not of honour, was on the ramparts of his own castle, even though on

that account the Singletons must ride leaderless to the king's standard.

Besides, it must be confessed, there was a spice of adventure about the

undertaking which well accorded with his bold spirit; and as his

thoughts went back to the scene of the banquet and the suspicions

entertained there as to his own courage, it pleased him to reflect that,

whatever happened, a Singleton would never again be able to charge his

chief with cowardice.

It was nine o'clock and quite dark when he turned from the gateway out

of which his men had just sallied, and retraced his steps slowly into

the deserted castle. His solitary footsteps sounded weird and lonely

across the paved yard which a few minutes before had rung with the

clatter of horses and the bustle of preparation. Still more solitary

did they sound as he passed on his way through the deserted passages,

and found himself once more in the old banqueting-hall, where the feast

remained still on the board, and the empty chairs all round, just as the

clansmen had left them to obey the sudden and urgent order to march

forth.

But dreariest of all did they sound as, forcing open a small and long

disused door, which grated back on its hinges and groaned as he did so,

he stepped out on to the east terrace.

Before he did this, however, he took all the wise precautions necessary

to insure, as far as possible, the safety of the old castle, and in some

respects this was not a difficult task, for Singleton Towers stood at

the head of a narrow arm of the sea, which on three sides completely

surrounded it, leaving only the east side assailable by land.

On the sides of the sea the castle rose perpendicularly from the water,

the only entrance being by way of a creek, half cave, half boathouse,

the entrance to which could at pleasure be barred by a portcullis. This

precaution Singleton took, and had the satisfaction of feeling that on

its seaboard at least the castle was as secure as if a garrison of a

hundred men watched it.

On the land side, however, security was not so possible. The water was

continued in the form of a ditch twelve yards wide round this side also;

but it was a narrow protection at the best. The drawbridge which

spanned it was, as we have already seen, drawn up; and the great iron

gate connecting with the outside world, carefully barred and bolted.

Still, as Singleton looked down, he felt concerned to think how easily a

few bold men could swim the moat and assault the place. But he was in

for it now!

As auld Geordie had said, the guns of the castle were all loaded and

ready for action; and Singleton was relieved to see that one of these

was mounted on the turret over the great gate; and a further discovery

relieved him still more, and that was that the woods on this side were

so dense that, except along the narrow clearing through the trees, it

would hardly be possible for any number of troops, especially if they

brought artillery, to approach.

He therefore took advantage of the moonlight to point the gun carefully

so as exactly to cover the entrance to this narrow path, a precaution

which, as will be seen, stood him in good stead before the night was

out.

As to the other guns, there was one on the east terrace, rusty and old-

fashioned, but happily loaded; and there were others at various corners

and buttresses, all of which the young laird inspected and ascertained

to be ready for any emergency. He also placed muskets in readiness at

various points in case of need.

All these preparations occupied a long time in effecting, and it was not

till an hour had passed since the departure of his men that Singleton

felt able to take his place on the watch, and quietly await the result

of his venture.

He had scarcely done so, however, when it occurred to him that though

all the garrison had left the place, there was still plenty of armour in

the castle which might be used to good purpose. Why not set out helmets

on the ramparts, and pikes as well as guns? It was a good idea. He

hurried to the armoury, and quickly took from their places all the steel

helmets and pikes and plumes on which he could lay his hands. These he

artfully disposed on various parts of the battlements, so that to any

one below it would appear that instead of one man, twenty armed warriors

guarded the place.

"Who knows but these numskulls may serve me in good stead?" said the

youth to himself, laughing to think what excellent substitutes for a

living man an empty helmet with a spear-head beside it may be made to

appear. This little artifice being satisfactorily accomplished, and

lights set burning in various rooms of the castle still further to aid

the delusion, he returned once more to the east terrace and began his

solitary vigil.

The moon was up, and peeped occasionally from behind the drifting clouds

to light up the dark scene below. As Singleton peered down from his

lofty post, he could see the water sparkling below him, and catch the

distant lights here and there on wood and mountain. Not a sound was to

be heard but the moaning of the wind among the turrets and the distant

splash of the water against the south base of the castle. Not a moving

creature was to be seen, except the uneasy bats which flapped round now

and then over his head. Everything below was motionless and silent,

without one token of life, except, indeed, the distant light of a

beacon, which tinged the sky with a lurid glare, and added a weird

feature to the dark, solitary landscape.

Singleton, after a turn or two, was conscious of a half-dismal sensation

and a feeling of loneliness, which, as long as he had been busily

occupied, had not oppressed him. He paced quickly to and fro, whistling

to himself, and determined not to yield to the effects of his position.

He wondered how far his men were on their way by this time. Was old

Geordie riding at their head? Suppose they were attacked, how would

they come out of it? He wondered, too, if Tam was--

What was that?

A low groan from one corner of the terrace, and the clanking of a chain!

Singleton halted dead, and for a moment his heart was in his mouth.

Then he broke into a laugh.

"Jupiter again! That's the second time he has played ghost to-night!

Well, old doggie, you've woke up, have you, and you're going to keep me

company, eh?"

And then, as he resumed his march, he talked in a low voice to the dog,

who rose quietly from his corner, and with soft, stealthy tread

proceeded to accompany his master to and fro along the terrace.

Singleton was ashamed of himself for being as startled as he had been at

this incident.

"A pretty hero I shall make at this rate," said he; "if this is the

worst alarm I am to have to-night I shall get off easily, eh?"

Jupiter solemnly wagged his tail, and evidently considering he had done

enough in accompanying his master some twenty turns up and down, retired

quietly to his old corner, and once again composed himself to slumber.

Singleton walked on, halting now and then to make a careful scrutiny all

round, and continuing to whistle softly to himself all the time.

Somehow his mind continually found itself reverting to Geordie's story.

It was an old wife's tale, of course, but a queer one too. And this was

the very terrace on which the old warrior used to walk, and that little

turret-chamber there was his room! Ah! strange how the reflection of

the moon should make it appear as if there were a light in the room! If

he were not certain no light was there, he could have vowed that was

one. Bah! he wished Geordie had kept his story to himself, it made him

feel quite dismal.

Hark! A footstep!

He was certain he heard one, close at his side too. He stood still and

listened. Everything was silent. He moved on again. There! he heard

it distinctly! almost in step with his own. He looked up and down,

everywhere; and then Geordie's words rushed back on his memory, "If ever

again a coward should be laird of Singleton, that old man--"

Here he stepped forward, and again suddenly halted. The footstep that

time was as distinct as his own. Pooh! what if it was? He was not

going to be afraid of all the ghosts in Scotland! and he laughed out

loud by way of assuring himself of his nerve. But he had hardly done

so, when just above him sounded another laugh, mocking his own, and as

he stepped suddenly forward, the footsteps began again as clear as ever.

This was more than Singleton had bargained for; and he sat down on the

end of the gun in bewilderment and alarm. Had any one been there to see

his face it would have appeared a good deal paler than was its wont; and

it was certainly something more than the cold that made him shiver. He

sat perfectly still and listened. There was not a sound. He strained

his eyes on every hand. Nothing was visible through the darkness but

the silent terrace on which he watched. What could it be? As he sat

and wondered, the pike which had been resting carelessly across his knee

slipped and fell on to the stone pavement with a sudden clank, which was

instantly repeated overhead, just as the laugh and the footsteps had

been.

Of course it flashed upon Singleton then--an echo! nothing but a simple

echo among the nooks and crannies of the castle; and at a simple echo

his cheek had turned pale and his heart had stood still, and his hands

had actually trembled! He scorned himself bitterly for his cowardice;

and once more, relieved in mind and humbled in spirit, set out on his

night watch, determined this time that nothing, not even a score of

ghosts, should terrify him.

And now the night began to wear on. By this time the men must be very

near their rendezvous, for it was an hour past midnight, and the moon

was getting down towards the west. He wondered what other clans would

muster round the royal standard, and how soon the king's forces would be

likely to meet the enemy. This time to-morrow he would be with his men;

that is, provided the general permitted ten of them to return and

relieve guard here. Supposing no one came!

At that moment Jupiter gave a very low growl, which made his master stop

short in his march and listen with all his ears. For a long time not a

sound was audible, and then he fancied he could just detect the tramp of

a horse or horses in the far far distance. But that seemed to die away,

and again all was utterly silent.

But once more, just as he was starting again on his walk, Jupiter

growled, and this time rose to his feet and came to his master's side.

Yes, it was the sound of horses somewhere; more than one, too. With

straining ears and beating heart, the youth leant on his pike, and

listened. The sound grew more and more distinct, and presently he could

tell that, whoever they were, they were galloping. He ordered Jupiter

to lie down and be silent. They were in the wood, somewhere. Were they

bound for Singleton? Presently he was able to distinguish voices, and a

minute afterwards it seemed as if every sound had ceased.

He stepped quietly, followed by Jupiter, from the east terrace to the

rampart over the great gate, where he was able to command as full a view

as the uncertain light would allow of the glade through the frees which

led to the castle. But nothing could be seen. As he watched, the

sounds commenced again, and this time he fancied he could detect a

rumbling noise as of a cart accompanying the horsemen.

It was now easy to tell the meaning of all these sounds. A troop of

horsemen--he could not yet guess how many--were approaching Singleton

Towers; and bringing with them a gun!

The young laird's heart beat now in right earnest, but not with fear.

That had been left behind with the ghosts. He forgot everything but the

defence of his castle and the glory of his clan; and waited eagerly for

the time of action.

The cavalcade made a halt about halfway through the wood, and in the

still night air, with the light breeze carrying it, Singleton could hear

the sound of voices as in hurried consultation. Then a single horseman

approached; and before many minutes he could just discern in the dim

moonlight a form emerging from the wood and stealthily approaching the

castle.

"Let him come and spy," said Singleton, to himself.

"He will see the lights, and perhaps a few spear-heads on the walls--and

he'll report as much to his chief. Ah!"

At that moment the clouds cleared away from the moon and clearly

revealed the intruder. He was one of the Macfies, Singleton could see,

and fully armed. He dismounted at the border of the wood, and advanced

cautiously on foot to the edge of the moat. This he made no attempt to

cross, but made his observations from the far side.

Singleton, taking care not to be seen, crept back into the armoury, from

which he took a bugle. Bringing it out into the terrace, he sounded a

few shrill notes; and then instantly seizing a lantern, ran hurriedly to

and fro with it on various parts of the battlements. Then without

waiting a moment he took up a musket and fired it in the direction of

the scout, who, however, was by this time out of reach.

"There!" said Singleton, putting down his weapon; "that will satisfy

them we are on the alert, all of us, and ready for them! Perhaps they

will think better of it, and turn tail."

No! in a few minutes the sound of the advancing troop again rose in the

night. They came on at a trot, dragging their gun along with them.

Presently there was a gleam among the trees, and next moment some fifty

horsemen appeared in view, with a cannon in their midst, which, equally

to Singleton's satisfaction and surprise, they proceeded to get into

position at the very entrance to the wood.

It was on this spot, it will be remembered, that the young laird had

carefully levelled the gun that surmounted the great gate. Everything

depended now on the skill with which he had aimed it. He gave the foe a

minute or two to fix and point their weapon, and once more carefully

calculated the poise of his own. Then, just as they were proceeding to

load, and the horsemen were preparing to follow up the attack on the

gate, he applied the match, and with a mighty roar the piece discharged.

It was an anxious moment while the smoke slowly cleared away. When it

did he had the joy of beholding the enemy's gun on end and disabled, and

not only it, but at least three of the enemy themselves involved in the

same disaster.

He could not resist a triumphant cheer at this success, which was

promptly answered by a defiant shout from the enraged Macfies as they

set spurs to their horses and rushed towards the moat.

And now began the hard work of the night. For the foe thought nothing

of such a narrow obstacle as a simple ditch. Some swam it on horseback,

and some left their animals behind, but all--all except two whom

Singleton's trusty muskets had found out--crossed in safety. The raid

they made on the great gate was something terrific, and Singleton's

heart trembled within him as he heard it creak before their united

weight. But he worked away steadily at his post, always taking care not

to expose himself, yet never wasting a shot with a bad aim.

The enemy very soon quitted the gate, and took to the more formidable

work of attempting to scale the walls. And here Singleton's power was

tried to the utmost. For at one part the ground sloped a considerable

distance up one of the buttresses, which made the ascent from below

comparatively easy, and if only the Macfies had been suitably equipped

for an assault, they could not have failed to carry the place with ease.

But happily for Singleton, they had come very ill prepared, evidently

expecting to walk into a defenceless stronghold without a blow--and now

they were not only disappointed but disconcerted.

Yet there was no keeping them down eventually. In vain Singleton plied

his weapon with deadly effect; in vain he dislodged and hurled down upon

them one of the massive coping stones of the east terrace. As fast as

the foremost fell back dead or wounded, others swarmed up. It was well

for Singleton no attempt was made on any other part but this assailable

buttress, and even this was scaled at last.

The young laird had stepped back hurriedly to load his weapon, when he

suddenly saw a head appear above the battlements; and next moment a

fierce Lowlander sprang on to the terrace.

With the butt end of his weapon Singleton felled him, while at the same

moment Jupiter flew at the throat of the man next to him who was also

springing on to the wall.

It was a narrow escape indeed; and but for the dog, the castle might

after all have been lost. Once more the youth cleared the buttress, and

this time with such deadly effect, that the enemy halted a moment before

resuming the attack. This short breathing space was unutterably

valuable to Singleton, for it gave him time not only to load several

muskets, but to bring one of the smaller cannon in position so as to

almost cover the weak point.

This precaution, however, as it turned out, was not requisite; for just

as the enemy were returning with redoubled fierceness and determination

to the attack, there was a shout from the wood, and a cry of "Singleton

to the rescue!"

Well did the young chief know that cry. He was saved! In another

moment the Macfies had too much to do to defend themselves from the

sudden attack in the rear to think of renewing the assault, and the

youth knew well enough how to make good use of the interval. With a

loud cheer to his gallant clansmen, he kept up a dropping fire on the

enemy with musket and gun, until galled on both sides, they fairly took

to their heels and plunged once more into the moat.

How many came out of it and escaped, history does not record; but they

left of their number under the walls of Singleton Towers twenty men dead

or wounded.

It was a proud moment when the young laird flung open the great gate and

let his comrades in. The leader of the party was Tam, who had implored

the general of the king's forces, whom fortunately they had met on the

way to the rendezvous, to be allowed to return, if only for a few hours,

to share his young laird's peril. The request had been granted, and

with fifteen men the delighted Tam had spurred back to Singleton as fast

as their horses could carry them. Falling unexpectedly on the enemy's

rear they had brought about the panic which saved the castle and rescued

the young chief from his perilous position.

This was the first but by no means the last fight in which the young

laird of Singleton bore a part. He grew old in warfare, and ended his

days at last on the field of battle. But to the day of his death this

memorable Night-Watch on Singleton Towers was ever the achievement about

which he liked best to be reminded.

CHAPTER NINE.

RUN TO EARTH.

Sub-Chapter I.

ON THE TRAIL.

Michael McCrane had bolted!

There was not a shadow of a doubt about it. The moment I reached the

bank that eventful morning and saw the manager's desk open, and the tin

cash-box lying empty on the floor, I said at once to myself, "This is

McCrane's doing."

And as I and the messenger stood there, with dropped jaws, gaping at the

dismal scene, I hurriedly called up in my mind the incidents of the past

week, and, reading them in the light of this discovery, I was ready to

stake my reputation as a paying cashier that my fellow-clerk was a

robber and a fugitive.

McCrane had not been at our bank long; he had come to us from one of the

country branches, and, much to the disgust of some of us juniors, had

been placed over our heads as second paying cashier. I was third paying

cashier, and from the moment I set eyes on my new colleague and superior

I felt that mischief was in the wind.

A mysterious, silent man of twenty-six was Michael McCrane; so silent

was he, indeed, that were it not for an occasional "How will you take

it?"

"Not endorsed."

"Next desk," ejaculated in the course of his daily duties, any one might

have supposed him dumb. He held himself gloomily aloof from his fellow-

clerks. None of us knew where he lived, or how he lived. It was an

event to get a word out of him; wherever it was possible he answered by

signs or grimaces. He glided into his place in the morning like a

ghost, and like a ghost he glided out at night and vanished.

More than that, his personal appearance was unsatisfactory. He was

slovenly in figure and habits, with a stubbly beard and unkempt hair;

and although he had L150 a year his clothes were threadbare and shabby.

He seemed always hard up for money. He did not go out, as most of us

did, in the middle of the day to get lunch, but fortified himself with

bread and cheese, which he brought in his pocket, and partook of

mysteriously behind the lid of his desk.

Now and then I had come upon him while he was deeply engaged in writing

what appeared to be private letters, and I could not help noticing that

on each occasion when thus interrupted he coloured up guiltily and hid

his letter hastily away in his blotting-paper. And once or twice lately

mysterious parcels had been handed to him over the counter, which he had

received with a conscious air, hiding them away in his desk and carrying

them home under his coat at night.

I did not at all like these oddities, and, holding the position I did, I

had often debated with myself whether it was not my duty to take the

manager or head cashier into my confidence on the subject. And yet

there had never till now occurred anything definite to take hold of, nor

was it till this October morning, when I saw the manager's desk broken

and the empty cash-box on the floor, that it came over me that McCrane

was even a worse fellow than I had taken him for.

He had been most mysterious about his holidays this year. He was to

have taken them in May, among the first batch, but suddenly altered his

arrangements, giving no reason, and requesting to be allowed to go in

September. September came, and still he clung to his desk. Finally

another change was announced: McCrane would start for his fortnight's

holiday on the second Thursday of October.

These changes were all arranged so mysteriously, and with such an

unusual show of eagerness on McCrane's part, and as the time itself drew

near he exhibited such a mixture of self-satisfaction, concealment, and

uneasiness, that no one could fail to observe it. Add to this that

during the last day or two he had made more than one mistake in his

addition, and had once received a reprimand from the manager for

inattention, at which he vaguely smiled--and you will hardly wonder that

my first words on that eventful morning--the first of his long-expected

holiday--were--

"Michael McCrane has bolted!"

The manager when he arrived took the same view as I did.

"I don't like this, Samuels," said he; "not at all, Samuels."

When Mr Trong called any one by his name twice in one sentence it was a

certain sign that he meant what he said.

"How much was there in the box?" I inquired.

"L23 5 shillings 6 pence," said the manager, referring to his petty cash

account. "There was one five-pound note, but I do not know the number;

the rest was cash."

The messenger was called in and deposed that Mr McCrane had stayed the

previous evening half an hour after every one else, to wind up, as he

said. The witness stated that he heard him counting over some money,

and that when he left he had put out the gas in the office and given

him--the deponent--the key of his--the suspect's--own desk.

"Bring his book," said the manager.

I did so, and we examined it together. The last page had not been added

up, and two of the lines had not been filled out with the amounts in the

money column. Oddly enough, when the two cancelled cheques were looked

at they were found to amount to L21.

"We must go thoroughly into this," said the manager. "It looks worse

and worse. What's this?"

It was a torn piece of paper between two of the leaves of the book, part

of a memorandum in McCrane's handwriting. It read thus:

[A scrap of paper is illustrated here.]

"What do you make of that?" asked the manager. A light dawned on me.

"I wonder if it means Euston, 1:30? Perhaps he's going by that train."

The manager looked at me, then at the clock, and then went to his desk

and took up a Bradshaw.

"1:30 is the train for Rugby, Lancaster, Fleetwood. Samuels!"

"Sir," said I.

"You had better take a cab to Euston, you have just time. If he is

there stop him, or else follow him, and bring him back. If necessary,

get the police to help you, but if you can bring him back without, so

much the better. I'm afraid the L23 is not all; it may turn out to be a

big robbery when we go through his book. I must trust to your judgment.

Take some money with you, L20, in case of emergency. Be quick or you

will be late. Telegraph to me how you succeed."

It was a word and a blow. A quarter of an hour later my hansom dashed

into the yard at Euston just as the warning bell for the 1:30 train was

sounding.

"Where for, sir?" asked a porter. "Any luggage?"

I did not know where I was for, and I had no luggage.

I rushed on to the platform and looked anxiously up and down. It was a

scene of confusion. Groups of non-travellers round the carriage doors

were beginning to say a last good-bye to their friends inside. Porters

were hurling their last truck-loads of luggage into the vans; the guard

was a quarter of the way down the train looking at the tickets; the

newspaper boys were flitting about shouting noisily and inarticulately;

and the usual crowd of "just-in-times" were rushing headlong out of the

booking-office and hurling themselves at the crowded train.

I was at a loss what to do. It was impossible to say who was there and

who was not. McCrane might be there or he might not. What was the use

of my--

"Step inside if you're going," shouted a guard.

I saw a porter near the booking-office door advance towards the bell.

At the same moment I saw, or fancied I saw, at the window of a third-

class carriage a certain pale face appear momentarily, and, with an

anxious glance up at the clock, vanish again inside.

"Wait a second," I cried to the guard, "till I get a ticket."

"Not time now," I heard him say, as I dashed into the booking-office.

The clerk was shutting the window.

"Third single--anywhere--Fleetwood!" I shouted, flinging down a couple

of sovereigns.

I was vaguely aware of seizing the ticket, of hearing some one call

after me something about "change," of a whistle, the waving of a flag,

and a shout, "Stand away from the train." Next moment I was sprawling

on all fours on the knees of a carriage full of passengers; and before I

had time to look up the 1:30 train was outside Euston station.

It took me some time to recover from the perturbation of the start, and

still longer to overcome the bad impression which my entry had made on

my fellow-passengers.

Indeed I was made distinctly uncomfortable by the attitude which two, at

any rate, of these persons took up. One was a young man of the type

which I usually connect with detectives. The other was a rollicking

commercial traveller.

"You managed to do it, then?" said the latter to me when finally I had

shaken myself together and found a seat.

"Yes, just," said I.

The other man looked hard at me from behind a newspaper.

"Best to cut your sort of job fine," continued the commercial,

knowingly. "Awkward to meet a friend just when you're starting,

wouldn't it?" with a wink that he evidently meant to be funny.

I coloured up violently, and was aware that the other man had his eye on

me. I was being taken for a runaway!

"Worth my while to keep chummy with you," said the heartless man of the

road. "Start a little flush, don't you?"

I ignored this pointed inquiry.

"Not bank-notes, I hope--because they've an unkind way of stopping them.

Not but what you might get rid of one or two if you make haste. But

they're ugly things to track a chap out by, you know. Why, I knew a

young fellow, much your age and build, borrowed a whole sheaf of 'em and

went up north, and made up his mind he'd have a high old time. He did

slip through a fiver; but--would you believe it?--the next he tried on,

they were down on him like shooting stars, and he's another two years to

do on the mill before he can come another trip by the 1:30. They all

fancy this train."

This style of talk, much as it amused my fellow-passengers and

interested the man in the corner, made me feel in a most painful

position. My looks and blushes, I am aware, were most compromising; and

my condition generally, without luggage, without rug, without even a

newspaper, enveloped me in such an atmosphere of mystery and suspicion

that I half began to wonder whether I was not an absconding forger

myself.

Fortunately the train stopped at Willesden and I took advantage of the

halt to change my carriage, explaining clumsily that I should prefer a

carriage where I could sit with my face to the engine, whereat every one

smiled except myself and the man in the corner.

I tried hard to find an empty carriage; but the train was full and there

was no such luxury to be had. Besides, guards, porters, and station-

masters were all shouting to me to get inside somewhere, and a score of

heads attracted by the commotion appeared at the windows and added to my

discomfort. Finally I took refuge in a carriage which seemed less

crowded than the rest--having but two occupants.

Alas! to my horror and dismay I discovered when the train had started

that I had intruded myself on a palpably honeymoon couple, who glared at

me in such an unfriendly manner that for the next hour and a half,

without respite, I was constrained to stand with my head out of the

window. Even in the tunnels I had no encouragement to turn my head

round.

This was bad enough, but it would have been worse had it not happened

that, in craning my head and neck out of the window, I caught sight, in

the corner of the carriage--next to mine, of half of the back of a head

which I felt sure I knew. It belonged, in fact, to Michael McCrane, and

a partial turn of his face left no doubt on the matter. I had run my

man down already! I smiled to myself as I contemplated the unconscious

nape of that neck and recalled the gibes of the commercial traveller and

the uncomfortable stare of the man in the corner.

What should I do? The train would stop for two minutes at Bletchley,

and not again until we reached Rugby. Should I lay my hand on his

shoulder at the first place or the second?

I wished I could have dared to retire into my carriage and consult my

timetable about trains back. But the consciousness of the honeymoon

glare at my back glued me to the window. I must inquire at Bletchley

and act accordingly.

We were beginning to put on the break, and show other signs of coming to

a halt, when I was startled by seeing McCrane stand up and put his head

out of the window. I withdrew as hastily as I could; not daring, of

course, to retreat fully into the carriage, but turning my face in an

opposite direction, so as to conceal my identity. I could not guess

whether he had seen me or not, it had all occurred so quickly. If he

had, I might have need of all my strategy to run him to earth.

As the train pulled up I saw him lower his window, and, with anxious

face, make a sudden bolt across the platform.

That was enough for me. I darted out too, much to the satisfaction of

my fellow-travellers.

"When's the next train back to Euston?"

"Take your seats!" bawled the guard, ignoring me.

"When does the next train go to Euston?"

"There's a time-table there."

I went; keeping one eye on the train, another on the spot where my man

had vanished, and feeling a decided inconvenience from the lack of a

third with which to consult the complicated document before me. In a

rash moment I ventured to concentrate my whole attention on the

timetable. I had found Bletchley; and my finger, painfully tracing down

one of the long columns, was coming very near to the required latitude,

when I became aware of a whistle; of a figure, bun in hand, darting from

the refreshment-room to a carriage; of a loud puff from the engine.

I abandoned the time-table, and rushed in the same direction. Alas! the

train was in full motion; a porter was standing forbiddingly between me

and my carriage, and the honeymoon couple were blandly drawing down the

blinds in my very face! Worst of all, I saw the half-profile of Michael

McCrane, inflated with currant bun, vanish; and as the end carriage

whirled past me I received a friendly cheer from the commercial

traveller, and a particularly uncomfortable smile from his silent

companion in the corner.

I was left behind! The bird had flown out of my very hand; and there

was nothing now but to return in confusion and report my misfortunes at

the bank.

Stay! I could telegraph to detain my man at Rugby. Let me see. "To

Station Master, Rugby. Detain Michael McCrane--bank robbery--tall,

dark--third-class--left Euston 1:30--I follow--Samuels." How would that

do? I was pleased with the look of it; and, in the fullness of my

heart, consulted the station-master.

He eyed me unfavourably.

"Who are you?" he had the boldness to inquire.

"I'm from the bank."

"Oh!" he said; and added, "your best plan is to follow him in the

supplemental. It will be up in five minutes. He's sure to be bound for

Fleetwood, and you'll catch him on the steamer. They won't stop him on

the road without a warrant. They don't know you."

I admitted the truth of this, and, after some inward debate--

particularly as I had a ticket through--I decided to take advice, and

avail myself of the "Supplemental."

It was painfully supplemental, that train--a string of the most

ramshackle carriages the line could muster, and the carriage in which I

found myself smelt as if it had been in Billingsgate for a month.

However, I could sit down this time. There was neither honeymoon,

commercial traveller, nor man in the corner to disturb my peace; only a

rollicking crowd of Irish harvest men on their way home, in spirits

which were not all of air.

I was claimed as one of their noble fraternity before we were many

stages on the road; and although I am happy to say I was not compelled

to take part in their potations, for the simple reason that they had

none left to offer me, I was constrained to sing songs, shout shouts,

abjure allegiance to the Union Jack, and utter aspirations for the long

life of Charlie Parnell and Father Mickey (I believe that was the

reverend gentleman's name), and otherwise abase myself, for the sake of

peace, and to prevent my head making acquaintance with the shillalahs of

the company. I got a little tired of it after a few hours' incessant

bawling, and was rather glad, by the assistance of a few half-crowns

(which I fervently trusted the manager would allow me to charge to his

account), to escape their company at Preston, and seek the shelter of a

more secluded compartment for the rest of the way.

I found one occupied by two files of soldiers in charge of a couple of

deserters, and in this genial company performed the remainder of the

journey in what would have been something like comfort but for the

ominous gusts of wind and rain which, as we neared the coast, buffeted

the carriage window, and promised a particularly ugly night for any one

contemplating a sea voyage.

Sub-Chapter II.

BOWLED OUT.

When we reached Fleetwood it was blowing (so I heard some one say) "half

a cap." I privately wondered what a whole cap must be like; for it was

all I could do, by leaning hard up against the wind, and holding on my

hat--a chimney-pot hat, by the way--to tack up the platform and fetch

round for the Belfast steamer, which lay snorting and plunging

alongside.

It takes a very good sailor to be cheerful under such circumstances. I

felt profoundly melancholy and wished myself safe at home in my bed.

The sight of the black and red funnel swaying to and fro raised qualms

in me which, although still on _terra firma_, almost called for the

intervention of a friendly steward. Alas! friend there was none.

In my desperation I was tempted basely to compromise with duty. How did

I know Michael McCrane was on the steamer at all? He might have dropped

out at any one of a dozen wayside stations between Bletchley and here.

Indeed the probability was that he had. Or--and I felt almost

affectionately towards him as the thought crossed my mind--even if he

had come so far, he, like myself, might be a bad sailor, and prefer to

spend the night on this side of the angry Channel. I could have

forgiven him much, I felt, had I been sure of that.

In any case, I asked myself earnestly, was I justified in running my

employers into the further expense of a return ticket to Belfast without

being reasonably sure that I was on the right track? And _was_ I

reasonably sure? Was I even--

On the steerage deck of the steamer below me, with a portmanteau in one

hand and a brand-new hat-box and a rug in the other, a figure staggered

towards the companion ladder and disappeared below. That figure, even

to my unwilling eyes, was naught else but a tragic answer to my own

question.

Michael McCrane was on board, and going below!

A last lingering hope remained.

"Hardly put off to-night, will you?" said I to a mate beside me, with

the best assumption of swagger at my command.

He was encasing himself in tarpaulins, and appeared not to hear me.

I repeated my inquiry, and added, in the feeble hope that he might

contradict me, "Doesn't look like quieting down."

"No," said he, looking up at the sky; "there'll be a goodish bit more of

it before we're over. All aboard there?"

"No," I shouted, rushing towards the gangway; "I'm not!"

Oh, how I wished I could have found myself just left behind. As it was

I was precipitated nearly head first down the gangway, amid the by no

means friendly expletives of the sailors, and landed at the bottom a

clear second after my hat, and two seconds, at least in advance of my

umbrella. Before I had recovered all my component parts the _Royal

Duke_ was off.

It was not the slightest comfort to me to reflect that if only I had

dashed on board the moment I saw my man, and arrested him there and

then, we might both be standing at this moment comparatively happy on

that quay whose lights blinked unkindly, now above us, now below, now

one side, now the other, as we rolled out of the harbour.

"Bit of a sea outside, I guess," said a voice at my side.

Outside! Then what was going on now did not count! I clapped my hat

down on my head and made for the cabin door.

It had entered my mind to penetrate into the steerage at once and make

sure of my runaway; but when I contemplated the distance of deck between

where I now stood and where I had seen him disappear; and when,

moreover, as the boat's head quitted the lee of the breakwater a big

billow from the open leapt up at her and washed her from stem to stern,

something within me urged me to go below at once, and postpone business

till the morning.

I have only the vaguest recollection of the ghastly hours which ensued.

I have a wandering idea of a feeble altercation with a steward on

hearing that all the berths were occupied and that he had nowhere to put

me. Then I imagine I must have lain on the saloon floor or the cabin

stairs; at least, the frequency with which I was trodden upon was

suggestive of my resting-place being a public thoroughfare.

But the treading under foot was not quite so bad as being called upon to

show my ticket later on. That was a distinctly fiendish episode, and I

did not recover from it all the night. More horrible still, a few

brutes, lost to all sense of humanity, attempted to have supper in the

saloon, within a foot or two of where I lay. Mercifully, their evil

machinations failed, for nothing could stay on the table.

Oh, the horrors of that night! Who can say at what angles I did not

incline? Now, as we swooped up a wave I stood on my head, next moment I

shivered and shuddered in mid-air. Then with a wild plunge I found

myself feet downward, and as I sunk my heart and all that appertained to

it seemed to remain where they had been. Now I was rolling obliquely

down the cabin on to the top of wretches as miserable as myself. Now I

was rolling back, and they pouring on to the top of me. The one thought

in my mind was--which way are we going next? and mixed up with it

occasionally came the aspiration--would it were to the bottom! Above it

all was the incessant thunder of the waves on the decks above and the

wild wheezing of the engines as they met the shrieking wind.

But I will not dwell on the scene. Once during the night I thought of

Michael McCrane, and hoped he was even as I was at that moment. If he

was, no dog was ever in such a plight!

At last the early dawn struggled through the deadlights.

"At last," I groaned, "we shall soon be in the Lough!"

"Where are we?" said a plaintive voice from the midst of the heap which

for the last few hours had regularly rolled on the top of me whenever we

lurched to larboard.

"Off the Isle of Man," was the reply. "Shouldn't wonder if we get a bit

of a sea going past, too."

Off the Isle of Man! Only half way, and a bit of a sea expected as we

went past!

I closed my eyes, and wished our bank might break before morning!

Whether the "bit of sea" came up to expectations or not I know not. I

was in no condition to criticise even my own movements. I believe that

as time went on I became gradually amalgamated with the larger roiling

heap of fellow-sufferers on the floor, and during the last hour or so of

our misery rolled in concert with them. But I should be sorry to state

positively that it was so.

All I know is that about a hundred years after we had passed the Isle of

Man I became suddenly awake to the consciousness that something

tremendous had happened. Had we struck in mid-ocean? had the masts

above us gone by the board? were we sinking? or what?

On careful reflection I decided we were doing neither, and that the

cause of my agitation was that the last wave but one had gone past the

ship without breaking over her. And out of the next dozen waves we

scrambled over I counted at least five which let us off in a similar

manner!

Oh, the rapture of the discovery! I closed my eyes again lest by any

chance it should turn out to be a dream.

The next thing I was conscious of was a rough hand on my shoulder and a

voice shouting, "Now then, mister, wake up; all ashore except you.

Can't stay on board all day!"

I rubbed my eyes and bounded to my feet.

The _Royal Duke_ was at a standstill in calm water, and the luggage-

crane was busy at work overhead.

"Are we there?" I gasped.

"All except you," said the sailor.

"How long have we been in?"

"Best part of an hour. Got any luggage, mister?"

An hour! Then I had missed my man once more! Was ever luck like mine?

I gathered up my crumpled hat and umbrella, and staggered out of that

awful cabin.

"Look here," said I to the sailor, "did you see the passengers go

ashore?"

"I saw the steerage passengers go," said he; "and a nice-looking lot

they was."

"There was one of the steerage passengers I wanted particularly to see.

Did you see one with a portmanteau and hat-box?"

"Plenty of 'em," was the reply.

"Yes; but his was quite a new hat-box; you couldn't mistake it," said I.

"Maybe I saw him. There was one young fellow--"

"Dark?"

"Yes; dark."

"And tall?"

"Yes; tall enough."

"Dismal-looking?"

"They were all that."

"Did you see which way he went?"

"No; but I heard him ask the mate the way to the Northern Counties

Railway; so I guess he's for the Derry line."

It was a sorry clue; but the only one. I was scarcely awake; and, after

my night of tragedy, was hardly in a position to resume the hue and cry.

Yet anything was preferable to going back to sea.

So I took a car for the Northern Counties station. For a wonder I was

in time for the train, which, I was told, was due to start in an hour's

time.

I spent that hour first of all in washing, then in breakfasting, finally

in telegraphing to my manager--

"Fancy tracked him here rough crossing--will wire again shortly."

Then having satisfied myself that none of the steamer passengers could

possibly have caught an earlier train, and determined not to lose the

train this time, I took a ticket for Londonderry, and ensconced myself a

good quarter of an hour before the appointed hour in a corner of a

carriage commanding a good view of the booking-office door.

As the minutes sped by, and no sign of my man, I began to grow nervous.

After all he might be staying in Belfast, or, having got wind of my

pursuit, might be escaping in some other direction. It was not a

comfortable reflection, not did it add to my comfort that among the

passengers who crowded into my carriage, and helped to keep out my view

of the booking-office door, was the gloomy, detective-looking individual

whose demeanour had so disconcerted me during the first stage of this

disastrous journey.

He eyed me as suspiciously as ever from behind his everlasting

newspaper, and under his scrutiny I hardly dared persevere in my own

look-out. I made a pretext of buying a newspaper in order to keep near

the door. To my dismay the whistle suddenly sounded as I was counting

my change, and the train began to move off. At the same moment a

figure, carrying in one hand a portmanteau and in the other a hat-box,

rushed frantically into the station, and made a blind clash at the very

door where I stood. I shrunk back in a panic to my distant corner, with

my heart literally in my mouth. There was a brief struggle on the

doorstep; the hat-box flew in, and the door was actually opened to admit

the owner, when a couple of porters laid violent hands upon him and

dragged him off the train.

It was not I who had been left behind this time, but Michael McCrane;

and while he and his portmanteau remained disconsolate in Belfast, I and

his hat-box were being whirled in the direction of Londonderry in the

company of a person who, whatever he may have thought of McCrane,

without doubt considered me a fugitive!

It was a trying position, and I was as much at sea as I had been during

the agitated hours of the terrible night, I tried to appear calm, and

took refuge behind my newspaper in order to collect my ideas and

interpose a screen between myself and the critical stare of my fellow-

passenger. Alas! it was avoiding Scylla only to fall into Charybdis.

The first words which met my eyes were:--

"Bank Robbery in London.--

"A robbery was perpetrated in ---'s bank on Wednesday night, under

circumstances which point to one of the cashiers as the culprit. The

manager's box, containing a considerable amount of loose cash, was found

broken open, and it is supposed the thief has also made away with a

considerable sum in notes and securities. The cashier in question has

disappeared and is supposed to have absconded to the north. He is dark

complexioned, pale, mysterious in his manners, and aged 26. When last

seen wore a tall hat, gloves, and a grey office suit."

Instinctively I pulled off my gloves and deposited my hat in the rack

overhead, and tried to appear engrossed in another portion of the paper.

But I could not refrain from darting a look at my fellow-traveller. To

my horror I perceived that the paper he was reading was the same as the

one I had; and that the page between which and myself his eyes were

uncomfortably oscillating was the very page on which the fatal paragraph

appeared.

_I_ was dark, _I_ was pale (after my voyage), and who should say my

manners were not mysterious?

In imagination I stood already in the box of the Old Bailey and heard

myself sentenced to the treadmill, and was unable to offer the slightest

explanation in palliation of my mysterious conduct.

In such agreeable reveries I passed the first hour of the journey; when,

to my unfeigned relief, on reaching Antrim my fellow-traveller quitted

the carriage. No doubt his object was a sinister one, and when I saw

him speak to the constable at the station, I had no doubt in my own mind

that my liberty was not worth five minutes' purchase. But even so,

anything seemed better than his basilisk eye in the corner of the

carriage.

I hastily prepared my defence and resolved on a dignified refusal to

criminate myself under any provocation. What were they doing? To my

horror, the "detective," the constable, the guard, and the station-

master all advanced on my carriage.

"In there?" said the official.

My late fellow-traveller nodded. The station-master opened the door and

entered the carriage. I was in the act of opening my lips to say--

"I surrender myself--there is no occasion for violence," when the

station-master laid his hand on the hat-box.

"It's labelled to C--," he said; "take it along, guard, and put it out

there. He's sure to come on by the next train. Right away there!"

Next moment we were off. What did it all mean? I was not under arrest!

Nobody had noticed me; but McCrane's hat-box had engaged the attention

of four public officials.

"Free and easy way of doing things on this line," said an Englishman in

the carriage; "quite the regular thing for a man and his luggage to go

by different trains. Always turns up right in the end. Are you going

to Derry, sir?" he added addressing me.

"No," said I, hastily. "I'm getting out at the next station."

"What--at --" and he pronounced the name something like "Tobacco."

"Yes," I said, pining for liberty, no matter the name it was called by.

At the next station I got out. It was a little wayside place without

even a village that I could see to justify its claim to a station at

all. Nobody else got out; and as soon as the train had gone, I was left

to explain my presence to what appeared to be the entire population of

the district, to wit, a station-master, a porter, and a constable who

carried a carbine. I invented some frivolous excuse; asked if there

wasn't a famous waterfall somewhere near; and on being told that the

locality boasted of no such attraction, feigned to be dismayed; and was

forced to resign myself to wait three hours for the next train.

It was at least a good thing to be in solitude for a short time to

collect my scattered wits. McCrane was bound for C--, and would

probably come in the _next_ train, which, by the way, was the last.

That was all I had a clear idea about. There was a telegraph office at

the station, and I thought I might as well report progress to my

manager.

"On the trail. Expect news from C--. Wire me there, post-office, if

necessary."

The station-master (who, as usual, was postmaster too) received this

message from my hands, and the remainder of the population--I mean the

porter and the constable--who were with him at the time read it over his

shoulder. They all three looked hard at me, and the station-master said

"Tenpence!" in a tone which made my blood curdle. I was doomed to be

suspected wherever I went! What did they take me for now?

I decided to take a walk and inspect the country round. It annoyed me

to find that the constable with his carbine thought well to take a walk

too, and keep me well in view.

I tried to dodge him, but he was too smart for me; and when finally to

avoid him I took shelter in a wayside inn, he seated himself on the

bench outside and smoked till I was ready to come out.

I discovered a few more inhabitants, but it added nothing to my comfort.

They, too, stared at me and followed me about, until finally I ran back

to the station and cried out in my heart for the four o'clock train.

About five o'clock it strolled up. I got in anywhere, without even

troubling to look for Michael McCrane. If he should appear at C--, well

and good, I would arrest him; if not, I would go home. For the present,

at least, I would dismiss him from my mind and try to sleep.

I did try, but that was all. We passed station after station. Some we

halted at, as it appeared, by accident; some we went past, and then, on

second thoughts, pulled up and backed into. At last, as we ran through

one of these places I fancied I detected in the gloaming the name C--

painted up.

"Is that C--?" I asked of a fellow-traveller.

"It is so! You should have gone in the back of the train if you wanted

to stop there."

Missed again! I grew desperate. The train was crawling along at a

foot's pace; my fellow-traveller was not a formidable one. I opened the

door and jumped out on to the line.

I was uninjured, and C-- was not a mile away. If I ran I might still be

there to meet the back of the train and Michael McCrane.

But as I began to run a grating sound behind me warned me that the train

had suddenly pulled up, and a shout proclaimed that I was being pursued.

Half a dozen passengers and the guard--none of them pressed for time--

joined in the hue and cry.

What it was all about I cannot imagine; all I know is that that evening,

in the meadows near C--, a wretched Cockney, in a battered chimney-pot

hat, and carrying an umbrella, was wantonly run to earth by a handful of

natives, and that an hour later the same unhappy person was clapped in

the village lock-up for the night as a suspicious character! It had all

been tending to this. Fate had marked me for her own, and run me down

at last. Perhaps I _was_ a criminal after all, and did not know it. At

any rate, I was too fatigued to care much what happened. I "reserved my

defence," as they say in the police courts, and resigned myself to spend

the night as comfortably as possible in the comparative seclusion of a

small apartment which, whatever may have been its defects, compared most

favourably with the cabin in which I had lain the night before.

It was about ten o'clock next morning before I had an opportunity of

talking my case over with the inspector, and suggesting to him he had

better let me go. He, good fellow, at once fell in with my wishes,

after hearing my statement, and in his anxiety to efface any unpleasant

impressions, I suppose, proposed an adjournment to the "Hotel" to drink

"siccess to the ould counthree."

The proposed toast was not sufficiently relevant to the business I had

on hand to allure me, so I made my excuses and hastened to the telegraph

office to ascertain whether they had any message for me there.

They had. It was from my manager, as I expected; but the contents were

astounding--

"Return at once. Robber captured here. Keep down expenses."

It would be hard to say which of these three important sentences struck

me as the most cruel. I think the last.

I was standing in the street, staring blankly at the missive, when I was

startled beyond measure by feeling a hand on my shoulder, and a voice

pronouncing my name--

"Samuels!"

It was Michael McCrane. But not the Michael McCrane I knew in the City,

or the one I had seen going below on board the steamer. He wore a

frock-coat and light trousers, lavender gloves, and a hat--glorious

product of that identical box--in which you might see your own face. A

rose was in his button-hole, his hair was brushed, his collar was white,

and his chin was absolutely smooth.

"Whatever are you doing here?" he asked.

"Oh," faltered I, for I was fairly overcome, both by my own misfortunes

and his magnificent appearance, "nothing; only a--a little business run,

you know, for the manager."

"I didn't know we had any customers in these parts."

"Well no. But, I say, what are _you_ doing here?"

"Business too," said he--"grave business. By the way, Samuels, have you

got any better clothes than these?"

Here was a question. And from Michael McCrane!

"Because," he went on--and here he became embarrassed himself--"if you

had--in fact, you'd do as you are, because you won't have to wear your

hat. What I mean is, that now you _are_ here--I'd be awfully obliged if

you'd be my best man--I'm to be married this morning. I say, there's

the bell beginning to ring. Come on, Samuels."

CHAPTER TEN.

NEW LIGHT ON AN OLD FABLE.