"Self-preservation must be a strong inst_International Short Stories: English

little pain it cost me to see the people tumbling and rolling beneath

me, while I continued to keep my seat. It was only a moment before,

and that immense mass were a man-to-man encounter, now all the

indignation of both parties seemed turned upon me; brick-bats were

loudly implored and paving-stones begged to throw at my devoted head;

the Wild Huntsman of the German romance never created half the terror

nor one-tenth of the mischief that I did in less than fifteen minutes,

for the ill-starred beast continued twining and twisting like a

serpent, plunging and kicking the entire time, and occasionally biting

too; all which accomplishments, I afterwards learned, however little in

request in civil life, are highly prized in the horse police.

"Every new order of the sergeant was followed in his own fashion by

Marius, who very soon contrived to concentrate in my unhappy person all

the interest of about fifteen hundred people.

"'Secure that scoundrel," said the magistrate, pointing with his finger

towards me, as I rode over a respectable-looking old lady, with a gray

muff. 'Secure him. Cut him down.'

"'Ah, devil's luck to him, if ye do,' said a newsmonger with a broken

shin.

"On I went, however; and now, as the Fates would have it, instead of

bearing me out of further danger, the confounded brute dashed onward to

where the magistrate was standing, surrounded by policemen. I thought

I saw him change color as I came on. I suppose my own looks were none

of the pleasantest, for the worthy man evidently liked them not. Into

the midst of them we plunged, upsetting a corporal, horse and all, and

appearing as if bent upon reaching the alderman.

"'Cut him down, for Heaven's sake. Will nobody shoot him?" said he,

with a voice trembling with fear and anger.

"At these words a wretch lifted up his sabre, and made a cut at my

head. I stooped suddenly, and throwing myself from the saddle, seized

the poor alderman round the neck, and both came rolling to the ground

together. So completely was he possessed with the notion that I meant

to assassinate him, that while I was endeavoring to extricate myself

from his grasp, he continued to beg his life in the most heart-rending

manner.

"My story is now soon told. So effectually did they rescue the

alderman from his danger that they left me insensible, and I only came

to myself some days after by finding myself in the dock in Green

Street, charged with an indictment of nineteen counts; the only word of

truth is what lay in the preamble, for the 'devil inciting' me only

would ever have made me the owner of that infernal beast, the cause of

all my misfortunes. I was so stupefied from my beating that I know

little of the course of the proceedings. My friends told me afterward

that I had a narrow escape from transportation; but for the greatest

influence exerted in my behalf, I should certainly have passed the

autumn in the agreeable recreation of pounding oyster-shells or carding

wool; and it certainly must have gone hard with me, for, stupefied as I

was, I remember the sensation in court when the alderman made his

appearance with a patch over his eye. The affecting admonition of the

little judge--who, when passing sentence upon me, adverted to the

former respectability of my life and the rank of my relatives--actually

made the galleries weep.

"Four months in Newgate and a fine to the king, then, rewarded my taste

for horse exercise; and it's no wonder if I prefer going on foot.

"As to Miss Eversham, the following short note from the dean concluded

my hopes in that quarter:

"Deanery, Wednesday morning.

"'Sir,--After the very distressing publicity to which your late conduct

has exposed you--the so open avowal of political opinions, at variance

with those (I will say) of every gentleman--and the recorded sentence

of a judge on the verdict of twelve of your countrymen--I should hope

that you will not feel my present admonition necessary to inform you

that your visits to my house shall cease.

"'The presents you made my daughter, when under our unfortunate

ignorance of your real character, have been addressed to your hotel,

and I am your most obedient, humble servant,

"'Oliver Eversham.'

"Here ended my second affair 'par amour;' and I freely confess to you

that if I can only obtain a wife in a sea voyage, or a steeple-chase, I

am likely to fulfil one great condition in modern advertising--'as

having no incumbrance, nor any objection to travel.'"

THE INDIFFERENCE OF THE MILLER OF HOFBAU

By ANTHONY HOPE HAWKINS

1895, 1896, S. S. McClure, Limited.

There is a swift little river running by the village of Hofbau, and on

the river is a mill, kept in the days of King Rudolf III. by a sturdy

fellow who lived there all alone; the King knew him, having alighted at

his house for a draught of beer as he rode hunting, and it was of him

the King spoke when he said to the Queen: "There is, I believe, but one

man in the country whom Osra could not move, and he is the Miller of

Hofbau." But although he addressed the Queen, it was his sister at

whom he aimed his speech. The Princess herself was sitting by, and

when she heard the King she said:

"In truth I do not desire to move any man. What but trouble comes of

it? Yet who is this miller?"

The King told her where the miller might be found, and he added: "If

you convert him to the love of women you shall have the finest bracelet

in Strelsau."

"There is nothing, sire, so remote from my thoughts or desires as to

convert your miller," said Osra scornfully.

In this, at the moment, she spoke truthfully; but being left alone for

some days at the Castle of Zenda, which is but a few miles from Hofbau,

she found the time hang very heavy on her hands; indeed she did not

know what to do with herself for weariness; and for this reason, and

none other at all, one day she ordered her horse and rode off with a

single groom into the forest. Coming, as the morning went on, to a

wide road, she asked the groom where it led. "To Hofbau, madame," he

answered. "It is not more than a mile further on." Osra waited a few

moments, then she said: "I will ride on and see the village, for I have

been told that it is pretty. Wait here till I return," and she rode

on, smiling a little, and with a delicate tint of colour in her cheeks.

Before long she saw the river and the mill on the river; and, coming to

the mill, she saw the miller sitting before his door, smoking a long

pipe. She called out to him, asking him to sell her a glass of milk.

"You can have it for the asking," said the miller. He was a

good-looking fair fellow, and wore a scarlet cap. "There is a pail of

it just inside the door behind me." Yet he did not rise, but lay

there, lolling luxuriously in the sun. For he did not know Osra, never

having been to Strelsau in his life, and to Zenda three or four times

only, and that when the Princess was not there. Moreover--though this,

as must be allowed, is not to the purpose--he had sworn never again to

go so far afield.

Being answered in this manner, and at the same time desiring the milk,

the Princess had no choice but to dismount.

This she did, and passed by the miller, pausing a moment to look at him

with bright curious eyes, that flashed from under the brim of her

wide-rimmed feathered hat; but the miller blinked lazily up at the sun

and took no heed of her.

Osra passed on, found the pail, poured out a cup of milk, and drank it.

Then, refilling the cup, she carried it to the miller.

"Will you not have some?" said she with a smile.

"I was too lazy to get it," said the miller; and he held out his hand,

but did not otherwise change his position.

[Illustration: J. M. Barrie]

Osra's brow puckered and her cheek flushed as she bent down, holding

the cup of milk so that the miller could reach it. He took and drained

it, gave it back to her, and put his pipe in his mouth again. Osra sat

down by him and watched him. He puffed and blinked away, never so much

as looking at her.

"What have you for dinner?" asked she presently.

"A piece of cold pie," said he. "There's enough for two, if you're

hungry."

"Would you not like it better hot?"

"Oh, aye; but I cannot weary myself with heating it."

"I'll heat it," said the Princess; and, rising, she went into the

house, and made up the fire, which was almost burnt out; then she

heated the pie, and set the room in order, and laid the table, and drew

a large jug of beer from the cask. Next she placed an arm-chair ready

for the miller, and put the jug by it; then she filled the pipe from

the bowl of tobacco and set a cushion in the chair. All this while she

hummed a tune, and from time to time smiled gayly. Lastly, she

arranged a chair by the elbow of the miller's chair; then she went out

and told him that his dinner was ready; and he stumbled to his feet

with a sigh of laziness, and walked before her into the house.

"May I come?" cried she.

"Aye, there is enough for two," said the Miller of Hofbau without

looking round.

So she followed him in. He sank into the arm-chair and sat there, for

a moment surveying the room which was so neat, and the table so

daintily laid, and the pie so steaming hot. And he sighed, saying:

"It was like this before poor mother died." And he fell to on a great

portion of pie with which Osra piled his plate.

When he had finished eating--which thing did not happen for some

time--she held the jug while he took a long draught; then she brought a

coal in the tongs and held it while he lit his pipe from it; then she

sat down by him. For several moments he puffed, and then at last he

turned his head and looked at Princess Osra; she drooped her long

lashes and cast down her eyes; next she lifted her eyes and glanced for

an instant at the miller; and, finally, she dropped her eyes again and

murmured shyly: "What is it, sir? Why do you look at me?"

"You seem to be a handy wench," observed the miller. "The pie was

steaming hot and yet not burnt, the beer was well frothed but not

shaken nor thickened, and the pipe draws well. Where does your father

dwell?"

"He is dead, sir," said Princess Osra very demurely.

"And your mother?" pursued the miller.

"She also is dead."

"There is small harm in that," said the miller thoughtfully; and Osra

turned away her head to hide her smile.

"Are you not very lonely, living here all by yourself?" she asked a

moment later.

"Indeed I have to do everything for myself," said the miller sadly.

"And there is nobody to--to care for you?"

"No, nor to look after my comfort," said the miller. "Have you any

kindred?"

"I have two brothers, sir; but they are married now, and have no need

of me."

The miller laid down his pipe and, setting his elbow on the table,

faced Princess Osra.

"H'm!" said he. "And is it likely you will ride this way again?"

"I may chance to do so," said Osra, and now there was a glance of

malicious triumph in her eyes; she was thinking already how the

bracelet would look on her arm.

"Ah!" said the miller. And after a pause he added: "If you do, come

half an hour before dinner, and you can lend a hand in making it ready.

Where did you get those fine clothes?"

"My mistress gave them to me," answered Osra. "She has cast them off."

"And that horse you rode?"

"It is my master's; I have it to ride when I do my mistress's errands."

"Will your master and mistress do anything for you if you leave your

service?"

"I have been promised a present if--" said Osra, and she paused in

apparent confusion.

"Aye," said the miller, nodding sagaciously, as he rose slowly from the

arm-chair. "Will you be this way again in a week or so?" he asked.

"I think it is very likely," answered the Princess Osra.

"Then look in," said the miller "About half an hour before dinner."

He nodded his head again very significantly at Osra, and, turning away,

went to his work, as a man goes who would far rather sit still in the

sun. But just as he reached the door he turned his head and asked:

"Are you sturdy?"

"I am strong enough, I think," said she.

"A sack of flour is a heavy thing for man to lift by himself," remarked

the miller, and with that he passed through the door and left her alone.

Then she cleared the table, put the pie--or what was left--in the

larder, set the room in order, refilled the pipe, stood the jug handy

by the cask, and, with a look of great satisfaction on her face,

tripped out to where her horse was, mounted and rode away.

The next week--and the interval had seemed long to her, and no less

long to the Miller of Hofbau--she came again, and so the week after;

and in the week following that she came twice; and on the second of

these two days, after dinner, the miller did not go off to his sacks,

but he followed her out of the house, pipe in hand, when she went to

mount her horse, and as she was about to mount, he said:

"Indeed you're a handy wench."

"You say much of my hands, but nothing of my face," remarked Princess

Osra.

"Of your face?" repeated the miller in some surprise. "What should I

say of your face?"

"Well, is it not a comely face?" said Osra, turning towards him that he

might be better able to answer her question.

The miller regarded her for some minutes, then a slow smile spread on

his lips.

"Oh, aye, it is well enough," said he. Then he laid a floury finger on

her arm as he continued: "If you come next week--why, it is but half a

mile to church! I'll have the cart ready and bid the priest be there.

What's your name?" For he had not hitherto asked Osra's name.

"Rosa Schwartz," said she, and her face was all alight with triumph and

amusement.

"Yes, I shall be very comfortable with you," said the miller. "We will

be at the church an hour before noon, so that there may be time

afterwards for the preparation of dinner."

"That will be on Thursday in next week?" asked Osra.

"Aye, on Thursday," said the miller, and he turned on his keel. But in

a minute he turned again, saying: "Give me a kiss, then, since we are

to be man and wife," and he came slowly towards her, holding his arms

open.

"Nay, the kiss will wait till Thursday. Maybe there will be less flour

on your face then." And with a laugh she dived under his outstretched

arms and made her escape. The day being warm, the miller did not put

himself out by pursuing her, but stood where he was, with a broad

comfortable smile on his lips; and so he watched her ride away.

Now, as she rode, the Princess was much occupied in thinking of the

Miller of Hofbau. Elated and triumphant as she was at having won from

him a promise of marriage, she was yet somewhat vexed that he had not

shown a more passionate affection, and this thought clouded her brow

for full half an hour. But then her face cleared. "Still waters run

deep," she said to herself. "He is not like these Court gallants, who

have learnt to make love as soon as they learn to walk, and cannot talk

to a woman without bowing and grimacing and sighing at every word. The

miller has a deep nature, and surely I have won his heart, or he would

not take me for his wife. Poor miller! I pray that he may not grieve

very bitterly when I make the truth known to him!"

And then, at the thought of the grief of the miller, her face was again

clouded; but it again cleared when she considered of the great triumph

that she had won, and how she would enjoy a victory over the King, and

would have the finest bracelet in all Strelsau as a gift from him.

Thus she arrived at the Castle in the height of merriment and

exultation.

It chanced that the King came to Zenda that night, to spend a week

hunting the boar in the forest; and when Osra, all blushing and

laughing, told him of her success with the Miller of Hofbau he was

greatly amused, and swore that no such girl ever lived, and applauded

her, renewing his promise of the bracelet; and he declared that he

would himself ride with her to Hofbau on the wedding-day, and see how

the poor miller bore his disappointment.

"Indeed I do not see how you are going to excuse yourself to him," he

laughed.

"A purse of five hundred crowns must do that office for me," said she.

"What, will crowns patch a broken heart?"

"His broken heart must heal itself, as men's broken hearts do, brother!"

"In truth, sister, I have known them cure themselves. Let us hope it

may be so with the Miller of Hofbau."

"At the worst I have revenged the wrongs of women on him. It is

unendurable that any man should scorn us, be he king or miller."

"It is indeed very proper that he should suffer great pangs," said the

King, "in spite of his plaster of crowns. I shall love to see the

stolid fellow sighing and moaning like a lovesick courtier."

So they agreed to ride together to the miller's at Hofbau on the day

appointed for the wedding, and both of them waited with impatience for

it. But, with the bad luck that pursues mortals (even though they be

princes) in this poor world, it happened that early in the morning of

the Thursday a great officer came riding post-haste from Strelsau to

take the King's commands on high matters of state; and, although Rudolf

was sorely put out of temper by this untoward interruption, yet he had

no alternative but to transact the business before he rode to the

miller's at Hofbau. So he sat fretting and fuming, while long papers

were read to him, and the Princess walked up and down the length of the

drawbridge, fretting also; for before the King could escape from his

affairs, the hour of the wedding was already come, and doubtless the

Miller of Hofbau was waiting with the priest in the church. Indeed it

was one o'clock or more before Osra and the King set out from Zenda,

and they had then a ride of an hour and a half; and all this when Osra

should have been at the miller's at eleven o'clock.

"Poor man, he will be half mad with waiting and with anxiety for me!"

cried Osra. "I must give him another hundred crowns on account of it."

And she added, after a pause, "I pray he may not take it too much to

heart, Rudolf."

"We must try to prevent him doing himself any mischief in his despair,"

smiled the King.

"Indeed it is a serious matter," pouted the Princess, who thought the

King's smile out of place.

"It was not so when you began it," said her brother; and Osra was

silent.

Then about half-past two they came in sight of the mill. Now the King

dismounted, while they were still several hundred yards away, and tied

his horse to a tree in a clump by the wayside; and when they came near

to the mill he made a circuit and approached from the side, and,

creeping along to the house, hid himself behind a large water-butt,

which stood just under the window; from that point he could hear what

passed inside the house, and could see if he stood erect. But Osra

rode up to the front of the mill, as she had been accustomed, and,

getting down from her horse, walked up to the door. The miller's cart

stood in the yard of the mill, but the horse was not in the shafts, and

neither the miller nor anybody else was to be seen about; and the door

of the house was shut.

"He must be waiting at the church," said she. "But I will look in and

make sure. Indeed I feel half afraid to meet him." And her heart was

beating rapidly and her face was rather pale as she walked up to the

door; for she feared what the miller might do in the passion of his

disappointment at learning who she was and that she could not be his

wife. "I hope the six hundred crowns will comfort him," she said, as

she laid her hand on the latch of the door; and she sighed, her heart

being heavy for the miller, and, maybe a little heavy also for the

guilt that lay on her conscience for having deceived him.

Now when she lifted the latch and opened the door, the sight that met

her eyes was this: The table was strewn with the remains of a brave

dinner; two burnt-out pipes lay beside the plates. A smaller table was

in front of the fire; on it stood a very large jug, entirely empty, but

bearing signs of having been full not so long ago; and on either side

of it, each in an arm-chair, sat the priest of the village and the

Miller of Hofbau; both of them were sleeping very contentedly, and

snoring somewhat as they slept. The Princess, smitten by remorse at

the spectacle, said softly:

"Poor fellow, he grew weary of waiting, and hungry, and was compelled

to take his dinner; and, like the kind man he is, he has entertained

the priest, and kept him here, so that no time should be lost when I

arrived. Indeed I am afraid the poor man loves me very much. Well,

miller, or lord, or prince--they are all the same. Heigh-ho! Why did

I deceive him?" And she walked up to the miller's chair, leant over

the back of it, and lightly touched his red cap with her fingers. He

put up his hand and brushed with it, as though he brushed away a fly,

but gave no other sign of awakening.

The King called softly from behind the water-butt under the window:

"Is he there, Osra? Is he there?"

"The poor man has fallen asleep in weariness," she answered. "But the

priest is here, ready to marry us. Oh, Rudolf, I am so sorry for what

I have done!"

"Girls are always mighty sorry, after it is done," remarked the King.

"Wake him up, Osra."

At this moment the Miller of Hofbau sat up in his chair and gave a

great sneeze; and by this sound the priest also was awakened. Osra

came forward and stood between them. The miller looked at her, and

tilted his red cap forward in order that he might scratch his head.

Then he looked across to the priest, and said:

"It is she, Father. She has come."

The priest rubbed his hands together, and smiled uncomfortably.

"We waited two hours," said he, glancing at the clock. "See, it is

three o'clock now."

"I am sorry you waited so long," said Osra, "but I could not come

before. And--and now that I am come, I cannot----"

But here she paused in great distress and confusion, not knowing how to

break her sad tidings to the Miller of Hofbau.

The miller drew his legs up under his chair, and regarded Osra with a

grave air.

"You should have been here at eleven," said he. "I went to the church

at eleven, and the priest was there, and my cousin Hans to act as my

groom, and my cousin Gertrude to be your maid. There we waited hard on

two hours. But you did not come."

"I am very sorry," pleaded Princess Osra. The King laughed low to

himself behind the water-butt, being much amused at her distress and

her humility.

"And now that you are come," pursued the miller, scratching his head

again, "I do not know what we are to do." He looked again at the

priest, seeking counsel.

At this the Princess Osra, thinking that an opportunity had come, took

the purse of six hundred crowns from under her cloak, and laid it on

the table.

"What is this?" said the miller, for the first time showing some

eagerness.

"They are for you," said Osra as she watched him while he unfastened

the purse. Then he poured the crowns out on the table, and counted

them one by one, till he had told all the six hundred. Then he raised

his hands above his head, let them fall again, sighed slightly, and

looked across at the priest.

"I warned you not to be in such a hurry, friend miller," remarked the

priest.

"I waited two hours," said the miller plaintively, "and you know that

she is a handy wench, and very fond of me."

He began to gather up the crowns and return them to the purse.

"I trust I am a handy wench," said Osra, smiling, yet still very

nervous, "and, indeed, I have a great regard for the miller, but----"

"Nay, he does not mean you," interrupted the priest.

"Six hundred," sighed the miller, "and Gertrude has but two hundred!

Still she is a handy wench and very sturdy. I doubt if you could lift

a sack by yourself, as she can." And he looked doubtfully at Osra's

slender figure.

"I do not know why you talk of Gertrude," said the Princess petulantly.

"What is Gertrude to me?"

"Why, I take it that she is nothing at all to you," answered the

priest, folding his hands on his lap and smiling placidly. "Still, for

my part, I bade him wait a little longer."

"I waited two hours," said the miller. "And Gertrude urged me, saying

that you would not come, and that she would look after me better than

you, being one of the family. And she said it was hard that she should

have no husband, while her own cousin married a stranger. And since it

was all the same to me, provided I got a handy and sturdy wench----"

"What?" cried the Princess Osra; and the King was so interested that he

rose up from behind the water-butt, and, leaning his elbows on the

window-sill, looked in and saw all that happened.

"It being," pursued the Miller of Hofbau, "all the same to me, so that

I got what I wanted, why, when you did not come----"

"He married his cousin," said the priest.

A sudden roar of laughter came from the window. All three turned

round, but the King ducked his head and crouched again behind the

water-butt before they saw him.

"Who was that?" cried the priest.

"A lad that came to hold my horse," answered Osra hastily, and then she

turned fiercely on the miller.

"And that," she said, "was all you wanted! I thought you loved me."

"Aye, I liked you very well," said the miller. "You are a handy----"

A stamp of her foot drowned the rest. "But you should have come in

time," he went on.

"And this Gertrude--is she pretty?" demanded Osra.

"Gertrude is well enough," said the miller. "But she has only two

hundred crowns." And he put the purse, now full again, on the table

with a resigned sigh.

"And you shall have no more," cried Osra, snatching up her purse in

great rage. "And you and Gertrude may----"

"What of Gertrude?" came at this moment from the door of the room where

the sacks were. The Princess turned round swift as the wind, and she

saw in the doorway a short and very broad girl, with a very wide face

and straggling hair; the girl's nose was very flat, and her eyes were

small; but her great mouth smiled good-humouredly and, as the Princess

looked, she let slip to the ground a sack of flour that she had been

carrying on her sturdy back.

"Aye, Gertrude is well enough," said the miller, looking at her

contentedly. "She is very strong and willing."

Then, while Gertrude stood wondering and staring with wide eyes in the

doorway, the Princess swept up to the miller, and leant over him, and

cried:

"Look at my face, look at my face! What manner of face is it?"

"It is well enough," said the miller. "But Gertrude is----"

There was a crash on the floor, and the six hundred crowns rolled out

of the purse, and scattered, spinning and rolling hither and thither,

all over the floor and into every corner of the room. And Princess

Osra cried: "Have you no eyes?" and then she turned away; for her lip

was quivering, and she would not have the miller see it. But she

turned from the miller only to face Gertrude his wife; Gertrude's small

eyes brightened with sudden intelligence.

"Ah, you're the other girl!" said Gertrude with much amusement. "And

was that your dowry? It is large! I am glad you did not come in time.

But see, I'll pick it up for you. Nay, don't take on. I dare say

you'll find another husband."

She passed by Osra, patting her on the shoulder kindly as she went, and

then fell on her knees and began to pick up the crowns, crawling after

them all over the floor, and holding up her apron to receive the

recovered treasure. And Princess Osra stood looking at her.

"Aye, you'll find another husband," nodded the priest encouragingly.

"Aye, you'll find another husband," assented the miller placidly. "And

just as one girl is pretty nearly as good as another--if she is handy

and sturdy--so one husband is as good as another, if he can keep a

house over you."

Princess Osra said nothing. But Gertrude, having picked up the crowns,

came to her with a full apron, saying:

"Hold your lap, and I'll pour them in. They'll get you a good husband."

Princess Osra suddenly bent and kissed Gertrude's cheek, and she said

gently:

"I hope you have got a good husband, my dear; but let him do some work

for himself. And keep the six hundred crowns as a present from me, for

he will value you more with eight hundred than with two."

The eyes of all three were fixed on her in wonder and almost in fear,

for her tone and manner were now different. Then she turned to the

miller, and she bit her lip and dashed her hand across her eyes, and

she said:

"And you, miller, are the only sensible man I have found in all the

kingdom. Therefore good luck and a good wife to you." And she gave a

little short laugh, and turned and walked out of the cottage, leaving

them all spellbound in wonder. But the miller rose from his chair and

ran to the door, and when he reached it the King was just lifting Osra

on to her horse; the miller knew the King, and stood there with eyes

wide and cheeks bulged in wonder; but he could gasp out no more than

"The King, the King!" before Rudolf and Osra were far away. And they

could, none of them, neither the miller, nor Gertrude, nor the priest,

tell what the matter meant, until one day King Rudolf rode again to the

mill at Hofbau, and, having sent for the priest, told the three enough

of the truth, saying that the affair was the outcome of a jest at

Court; and he made each of them a handsome present, and vowed them to

secrecy by their fealty and attachment to his person and his honour.

"So she would not have married me, anyhow?" asked the miller.

"I think not, friend," answered Rudolf with a laugh.

"Then we are but quits and all is well. Gertrude, the jug, my lass!"

And so, indeed, it seemed to the King that they were but quits, and so

he said to the Princess Osra. But he declared that she had so far

prevailed with the miller as to make him desire marriage as an

excellent and useful thing in itself, although she had not persuaded

him that it was of great moment whom a man married. Therefore he was

very anxious to give her the bracelet which he had promised, and more

than once prayed her to accept it. But Osra saw the laugh that lurked

in the King's eye, and would not consent to have the bracelet, and for

a long while she did not love to speak of the Miller of Hofbau. Yet

once, when the King on some occasion cried out very impatiently that

all men were fools, she said:

"Sire, you forget the Miller of Hofbau." And she blushed, and laughed,

and turned her eyes away.

One other thing she did which very greatly puzzled Queen Margaret, and

all the ladies of the Court, and all the waiting-women, and all the

serving-maids, and, in fine, every person high or low who saw or heard

of it, except the King only. For in winter evenings she took her

scissors and her needle, and she cut strips of ribbon, each a foot long

and a couple of inches broad; on each of them she embroidered a motto

or legend; and she affixed the ribbons bearing the legend to each and

every one of the mirrors in each of her chambers at Strelsau, at Zenda,

and at the other royal residences. And her waiting-women noticed that,

whenever she had looked in the mirror and smiled at her own image or

shewn other signs of pleasure in it, she would then cast her eyes up to

the legend, and seem to read it, and blush a little, and laugh a

little, and sigh a little; the reason for which things they could by no

means understand.

For the legend was but this:

"Remember the Miller of Hofbau."

THE STOLEN BODY

By H. G. WELLS

Mr. Bessel was the senior partner in the firm of Bessel, Hart, and

Brown, of St. Paul's Churchyard, and for many years he was well known

among those interested in psychical research as a liberal-minded and

conscientious investigator. He was an unmarried man, and instead of

living in the suburbs, after the fashion of his class, he occupied

rooms in the Albany, near Piccadilly. He was particularly interested

in the questions of thought transference and of apparitions of the

living, and in November, 1896, he commenced a series of experiments in

conjunction with Mr. Vincey, of Staple Inn, in order to test the

alleged possibility of projecting an apparition of one's self by force

of will through space.

Their experiments were conducted in the following manner: At a

prearranged hour Mr. Bessel shut himself in one of his rooms in the

Albany and Mr. Vincey in his sitting-room in Staple Inn, and each then

fixed his mind as resolutely as possible on the other. Mr. Bessel had

acquired the art of self-hypnotism, and, so far as he could, he

attempted first to hypnotise himself and then to project himself as a

"phantom of the living" across the intervening space of nearly two

miles into Mr. Vincey's apartment. On several evenings this was tried

without any satisfactory result, but on the fifth or sixth occasion Mr.

Vincey did actually see or imagine he saw an apparition of Mr. Bessel

standing in his room. He states that the appearance, although brief,

was very vivid and real. He noticed that Mr. Bessel's face was white

and his expression anxious, and, moreover, that his hair was

disordered. For a moment Mr. Vincey, in spite of his state of

expectation, was too surprised to speak or move, and in that moment it

seemed to him as though the figure glanced over its shoulder and

incontinently vanished.

It had been arranged that an attempt should be made to photograph any

phantasm seen, but Mr. Vincey had not the instant presence of mind to

snap the camera that lay ready on the table beside him, and when he did

so he was too late. Greatly elated, however, even by this partial

success, he made a note of the exact time, and at once took a cab to

the Albany to inform Mr. Bessel of this result.

He was surprised to find Mr. Bessel's outer door standing open to the

night, and the inner apartments lit and in an extraordinary disorder.

An empty champagne magnum lay smashed upon the floor; its neck had been

broken off against the inkpot on the bureau and lay beside it. An

octagonal occasional table, which carried a bronze statuette and a

number of choice books, had been rudely overturned, and down the

primrose paper of the wall inky fingers had been drawn, as it seemed,

for the mere pleasure of defilement. One of the delicate chintz

curtains had been violently torn from its rings and thrust upon the

fire, so that the smell of its smouldering filled the room. Indeed the

whole place was disarranged in the strangest fashion. For a few

minutes Mr. Vincey, who had entered sure of finding Mr. Bessel in his

easy chair awaiting him, could scarcely believe his eyes, and stood

staring helplessly at these unanticipated things.

Then, full of a vague sense of calamity, he sought the porter at the

entrance lodge. "Where is Mr. Bessel?" he asked. "Do you know that

all the furniture is broken in Mr. Bessel's room?" The porter said

nothing, but, obeying his gestures, came at once to Mr. Bessel's

apartment to see the state of affairs. "This settles it," he said,

surveying the lunatic confusion. "I didn't know of this. Mr. Bessel's

gone off. He's mad!"

He then proceeded to tell Mr. Vincey that about half an hour

previously, that is to say, at about the time of Mr. Bessel's

apparition in Mr. Vincey's rooms, the missing gentleman had rushed out

of the gates of the Albany into Vigo Street, hatless and with

disordered hair, and had vanished into the direction of Bond Street.

"And as he went past me," said the porter, "he laughed--a sort of

gasping laugh, with his mouth open and his eyes glaring--I tell you,

sir, he fair scared me!--like this."

According to his imitation it was anything but a pleasant laugh. "He

waved his hand, with all his fingers crooked and clawing--like that.

And he said, in a sort of fierce whisper, 'Life!' Just that one word,

'Life!'"

"Dear me," said Mr. Vincey. "Tut, tut," and "Dear me!" He could think

of nothing else to say. He was naturally very much surprised. He

turned from the room to the porter and from the porter to the room in

the gravest perplexity. Beyond his suggestion that probably Mr. Bessel

would come back presently and explain what had happened, their

conversation was unable to proceed. "It might be a sudden toothache,"

said the porter, "a very sudden and violent toothache, jumping on him

suddenly-like and driving him wild. I've broken things myself before

now in such a case..." He thought. "If it was, why should he say

'life' to me as he went past?"

Mr. Vincey did not know. Mr. Bessel did not return, and at last Mr.

Vincey, having done some more helpless staring, and having addressed a

note of brief inquiry and left it in a conspicuous position on the

bureau, returned in a very perplexed frame of mind to his own premises

in Staple Inn. This affair had given him a shock. He was at a loss to

account for Mr. Bessel's conduct on any sane hypothesis. He tried to

read, but he could not do so; he went for a short walk, and was so

preoccupied that he narrowly escaped a cab at the top of Chancery Lane;

and at last--a full hour before his usual time--he went to bed. For a

considerable time he could not sleep because of his memory of the

silent confusion of Mr. Bessel's apartment, and when at length he did

attain an uneasy slumber it was at once disturbed by a very vivid and

distressing dream of Mr. Bessel.

He saw Mr. Bessel gesticulating wildly, and with his face white and

contorted. And, inexplicably mingled with his appearance, suggested

perhaps by his gestures, was an intense fear, an urgency to act. He

even believes that he heard the voice of his fellow experimenter

calling distressfully to him, though at the time he considered this to

be an illusion. The vivid impression remained though Mr. Vincey awoke.

For a space he lay awake and trembling in the darkness, possessed with

that vague, unaccountable terror of unknown possibilities that comes

out of dreams upon even the bravest men. But at last he roused

himself, and turned over and went to sleep again, only for the dream to

return with enhanced vividness.

He awoke with such a strong conviction that Mr. Bessel was in

overwhelming distress and need of help that sleep was no longer

possible. He was persuaded that his friend had rushed out to some dire

calamity. For a time he lay reasoning vainly against this belief, but

at last he gave way to it. He arose, against all reason, lit his gas,

and dressed, and set out through the deserted streets--deserted, save

for a noiseless policeman or so and the early news carts--towards Vigo

Street to inquire if Mr. Bessel had returned.

But he never got there. As he was going down Long Acre some

unaccountable impulse turned him aside out of that street towards

Covent Garden, which was just waking to its nocturnal activities. He

saw the market in front of him--a queer effect of glowing yellow lights

and busy black figures. He became aware of a shouting, and perceived a

figure turn the corner by the hotel and run swiftly towards him. He

knew at once that it was Mr. Bessel. But it was Mr. Bessel

transfigured. He was hatless and dishevelled, his collar was torn

open, he grasped a bone-handled walking-cane near the ferrule end, and

his mouth was pulled awry. And he ran, with agile strides, very

rapidly. Their encounter was the affair of an instant. "Bessel!"

cried Vincey.

The running man gave no sign of recognition either of Mr. Vincey or of

his own name. Instead, he cut at his friend savagely with the stick,

hitting him in the face within an inch of the eye. Mr. Vincey, stunned

and astonished, staggered back, lost his footing, and fell heavily on

the pavement. It seemed to him that Mr. Bessel leapt over him as he

fell. When he looked again Mr. Bessel had vanished, and a policeman

and a number of garden porters and salesmen were rushing past towards

Long Acre in hot pursuit.

With the assistance of several passers-by--for the whole street was

speedily alive with running people--Mr. Vincey struggled to his feet.

He at once became the centre of a crowd greedy to see his injury. A

multitude of voices competed to reassure him of his safety, and then to

tell him of the behaviour of the madman, as they regarded Mr. Bessel.

He had suddenly appeared in the middle of the market screaming "Life!

Life!" striking left and right with a blood-stained walking-stick, and

dancing and shouting with laughter at each successful blow. A lad and

two women had broken heads, and he had smashed a man's wrist; a little

child had been knocked insensible, and for a time he had driven every

one before him, so furious and resolute had his behaviour been. Then

he made a raid upon a coffee stall, hurled its paraffin flare through

the window of the post office, and fled laughing, after stunning the

foremost of the two policemen who had the pluck to charge him.

Mr. Vincey's first impulse was naturally to join in the pursuit of his

friend, in order if possible to save him from the violence of the

indignant people. But his action was slow, the blow had half stunned

him, and while this was still no more than a resolution came the news,

shouted through the crowd, that Mr. Bessel had eluded his pursuers. At

first Mr. Vincey could scarcely credit this, but the universality of

the report, and presently the dignified return of two futile policemen,

convinced him. After some aimless inquiries he returned towards Staple

Inn, padding a handkerchief to a now very painful nose.

He was angry and astonished and perplexed. It appeared to him

indisputable that Mr. Bessel must have gone violently mad in the midst

of his experiment in thought transference, but why that should make him

appear with a sad white face in Mr. Vincey's dreams seemed a problem

beyond solution. He racked his brains in vain to explain this. It

seemed to him at last that not simply Mr. Bessel, but the order of

things must be insane. But he could think of nothing to do. He shut

himself carefully into his room, lit his fire--it was a gas fire with

asbestos bricks--and, fearing fresh dreams if he went to bed, remained

bathing his injured face, or holding up books in a vain attempt to

read, until dawn. Throughout that vigil he had a curious persuasion

that Mr. Bessel was endeavouring to speak to him, but he would not let

himself attend to any such belief.

About dawn, his physical fatigue asserted itself, and he went to bed

and slept at last in spite of dreaming. He rose late, unrested and

anxious, and in considerable facial pain. The morning papers had no

news of Mr. Bessel's aberration--it had come too late for them. Mr.

Vincey's perplexities, to which the fever of his bruise added fresh

irritation, became at last intolerable, and, after a fruitless visit to

the Albany, he went down to St. Paul's Churchyard to Mr. Hart, Mr.

Bessel's partner, and, so far as Mr. Vincey knew, his nearest friend.

He was surprised to learn that Mr. Hart, although he knew nothing of

the outbreak, had also been disturbed by a vision, the very vision that

Mr. Vincey had seen--Mr. Bessel, white and dishevelled, pleading

earnestly by his gestures for help. That was his impression of the

import of his signs. "I was just going to look him up in the Albany

when you arrived," said Mr. Hart. "I was so sure of something being

wrong with him."

As the outcome of their consultation the two gentlemen decided to

inquire at Scotland Yard for news of their missing friend. "He is

bound to be laid by the heels," said Mr. Hart. "He can't go on at that

pace for long." But the police authorities had not laid Mr. Bessel by

the heels. They confirmed Mr. Vincey's overnight experiences and added

fresh circumstances, some of an even graver character than those he

knew--a list of smashed glass along the upper half of Tottenham Court

Road, an attack upon a policeman in Hampstead Road, and an atrocious

assault upon a woman. All these outrages were committed between

half-past twelve and a quarter to two in the morning, and between those

hours--and, indeed, from the very moment of Mr. Bessel's first rush

from his rooms at half-past nine in the evening--they could trace the

deepening violence of his fantastic career. For the last hour, at

least from before one, that is, until a quarter to two, he had run

amuck through London, eluding with amazing agility every effort to stop

or capture him.

But after a quarter to two he had vanished. Up to that hour witnesses

were multitudinous. Dozens of people had seen him, fled from him or

pursued him, and then things suddenly came to an end. At a quarter to

two he had been seen running down the Euston Road towards Baker Street,

flourishing a can of burning colza oil and jerking splashes of flame

therefrom at the windows of the houses he passed. But none of the

policemen on Euston Road beyond the Waxwork Exhibition, nor any of

those in the side streets down which he must have passed had he left

the Euston Road, had seen anything of him. Abruptly he disappeared.

Nothing of his subsequent doings came to light in spite of the keenest

inquiry.

Here was a fresh astonishment for Mr. Vincey. He had found

considerable comfort in Mr. Hart's conviction: "He is bound to be laid

by the heels before long," and in that assurance he had been able to

suspend his mental perplexities. But any fresh development seemed

destined to add new impossibilities to a pile already heaped beyond the

powers of his acceptance. He found himself doubting whether his memory

might not have played him some grotesque trick, debating whether any of

these things could possibly have happened; and in the afternoon he

hunted up Mr. Hart again to share the intolerable weight on his mind.

He found Mr. Hart engaged with a well-known private detective, but as

that gentleman accomplished nothing in this case, we need not enlarge

upon his proceedings.

All that day Mr. Bessel's whereabouts eluded an unceasingly active

inquiry, and all that night. And all that day there was a persuasion

in the back of Mr. Vincey's mind that Mr. Bessel sought his attention,

and all through the night Mr. Bessel with a tear-stained face of

anguish pursued him through his dreams. And whenever he saw Mr. Bessel

in his dreams he also saw a number of other faces, vague but malignant,

that seemed to be pursuing Mr. Bessel.

It was on the following day, Sunday, that Mr. Vincey recalled certain

remarkable stories of Mrs. Bullock, the medium, who was then attracting

attention for the first time in London. He determined to consult her.

She was staying at the house of that well-known inquirer, Dr. Wilson

Paget, and Mr. Vincey, although he had never met that gentleman before,

repaired to him forthwith with the intention of invoking her help. But

scarcely had he mentioned the name of Bessel when Doctor Paget

interrupted him. "Last night--just at the end," he said, "we had a

communication."

He left the room, and returned with a slate on which were certain words

written in a handwriting, shaky indeed, but indisputably the

handwriting of Mr. Bessel!

"How did you get this?" said Mr. Vincey. "Do you mean--?"

"We got it last night," said Doctor Paget. With numerous interruptions

from Mr. Vincey, he proceeded to explain how the writing had been

obtained. It appears that in her séances, Mrs. Bullock passes into a

condition of trance, her eyes rolling up in a strange way under her

eyelids, and her body becoming rigid. She then begins to talk very

rapidly, usually in voices other than her own. At the same time one or

both of her hands may become active, and if slates and pencils are

provided they will then write messages simultaneously with and quite

independently of the flow of words from her mouth. By many she is

considered an even more remarkable medium than the celebrated Mrs.

Piper. It was one of these messages, the one written by her left hand,

that Mr. Vincey now had before him. It consisted of eight words

written disconnectedly: "George Bessel ... trial excavn ... Baker

Street ... help ... starvation." Curiously enough, neither Doctor

Paget nor the two other inquirers who were present had heard of the

disappearance of Mr. Bessel--the news of it appeared only in the

evening papers of Saturday--and they had put the message aside with

many others of a vague and enigmatical sort that Mrs. Bullock has from

time to time delivered.

When Doctor Paget heard Mr. Vincey's story, he gave himself at once

with great energy to the pursuit of this clue to the discovery of Mr.

Bessel. It would serve no useful purpose here to describe the

inquiries of Mr. Vincey and himself; suffice it that the clue was a

genuine one, and that Mr. Bessel was actually discovered by its aid.

He was found at the bottom of a detached shaft which had been sunk and

abandoned at the commencement of the work for the new electric railway

near Baker Street Station. His arm and leg and two ribs were broken.

The shaft is protected by a hoarding nearly 20 feet high, and over

this, incredible as it seems, Mr. Bessel, a stout, middle-aged

gentleman, must have scrambled in order to fall down the shaft. He was

saturated in colza oil, and the smashed tin lay beside him, but luckily

the flame had been extinguished by his fall. And his madness had

passed from him altogether. But he was, of course, terribly enfeebled,

and at the sight of his rescuers he gave way to hysterical weeping.

In view of the deplorable state of his flat, he was taken to the house

of Dr. Hatton in Upper Baker Street. Here he was subjected to a

sedative treatment, and anything that might recall the violent crisis

through which he had passed was carefully avoided. But on the second

day he volunteered a statement.

Since that occasion Mr. Bessel has several times repeated this

statement--to myself among other people--varying the details as the

narrator of real experiences always does, but never by any chance

contradicting himself in any particular. And the statement he makes is

in substance as follows.

In order to understand it clearly it is necessary to go back to his

experiments with Mr. Vincey before his remarkable attack. Mr. Bessel's

first attempts at self-projection, in his experiments with Mr. Vincey,

were, as the reader will remember, unsuccessful. But through all of

them he was concentrating all his power and will upon getting out of

the body--"willing it with all my might," he says. At last, almost

against expectation, came success. And Mr. Bessel asserts that he,

being alive, did actually, by an effort of will, leave his body and

pass into some place or state outside this world.

The release was, he asserts, instantaneous. "At one moment I was

seated in my chair, with my eyes tightly shut, my hands gripping the

arms of the chair, doing all I could to concentrate my mind on Vincey,

and then I perceived myself outside my body--saw my body near me, but

certainly not containing me, with the hands relaxing and the head

drooping forward on the breast."

Nothing shakes him in his assurance of that release. He describes in a

quiet, matter-of-fact way the new sensation he experienced. He felt he

had become impalpable--so much he had expected, but he had not expected

to find himself enormously large. So, however, it would seem he

became. "I was a great cloud--if I may express it that way--anchored

to my body. It appeared to me, at first, as if I had discovered a

greater self of which the conscious being in my brain was only a little

part. I saw the Albany and Piccadilly and Regent Street and all the

rooms and places in the houses, very minute and very bright and

distinct, spread out below me like a little city seen from a balloon.

Every now and then vague shapes like drifting wreaths of smoke made the

vision a little indistinct, but at first I paid little heed to them.

The thing that astonished me most, and which astonishes me still, is

that I saw quite distinctly the insides of the houses as well as the

streets, saw little people dining and talking in the private houses,

men and women dining, playing billiards, and drinking in restaurants

and hotels, and several places of entertainment crammed with people.

It was like watching the affairs of a glass hive."

Such were Mr. Bessel's exact words as I took them down when he told me

the story. Quite forgetful of Mr. Vincey, he remained for a space

observing these things. Impelled by curiosity, he says, he stooped

down, and, with the shadowy arm he found himself possessed of,

attempted to touch a man walking along Vigo Street. But he could not

do so, though his finger seemed to pass through the man. Something

prevented his doing this, but what it was he finds it hard to describe.

He compares the obstacle to a sheet of glass.

"I felt as a kitten may feel," he said, "when it goes for the first

time to pat its reflection in a mirror." Again and again, on the

occasion when I heard him tell this story, Mr. Bessel returned to that

comparison of the sheet of glass. Yet it was not altogether a precise

comparison, because, as the reader will speedily see, there were

interruptions of this generally impermeable resistance, means of

getting through the barrier to the material world again. But,

naturally, there is a very great difficulty in expressing these

unprecedented impressions in the language of everyday experience.

A thing that impressed him instantly, and which weighed upon him

throughout all this experience, was the stillness of this place--he was

in a world without sound.

At first Mr. Bessel's mental state was an unemotional wonder. His

thought chiefly concerned itself with where he might be. He was out of

the body--out of his material body, at any rate--but that was not all.

He believes, and I for one believe also, that he was somewhere out of

space, as we understand it, altogether. By a strenuous effort of will

he had passed out of his body into a world beyond this world, a world

undreamt of, yet lying so close to it and so strangely situated with

regard to it that all things on this earth are clearly visible both

from without and from within in this other world about us. For a long

time, as it seemed to him, this realisation occupied his mind to the

exclusion of all other matters, and then he recalled the engagement

with Mr. Vincey, to which this astonishing experience was, after all,

but a prelude.

He turned his mind to locomotion in this new body in which he found

himself. For a time he was unable to shift himself from his attachment

to his earthly carcass. For a time this new strange cloud body of his

simply swayed, contracted, expanded, coiled, and writhed with his

efforts to free himself, and then quite suddenly the link that bound

him snapped. For a moment everything was hidden by what appeared to be

whirling spheres of dark vapour, and then through a momentary gap he

saw his drooping body collapse limply, saw his lifeless head drop

sideways, and found he was driving along like a huge cloud in a strange

place of shadowy clouds that had the luminous intricacy of London

spread like a model below.

But now he was aware that the fluctuating vapour about him was

something more than vapour, and the temerarious excitement of his first

essay was shot with fear. For he perceived, at first indistinctly, and

then suddenly very clearly, that he was surrounded by faces! that each

roll and coil of the seeming cloud-stuff was a face. And such faces!

Faces of thin shadow, faces of gaseous tenuity. Faces like those faces

that glare with intolerable strangeness upon the sleeper in the evil

hours of his dreams. Evil, greedy eyes that were full of a covetous

curiosity, faces with knit brows and snarling, smiling lips; their

vague hands clutched at Mr. Bessel as he passed, and the rest of their

bodies was but an elusive streak of trailing darkness. Never a word

they said, never a sound from the mouths that seemed to gibber. All

about him they pressed in that dreamy silence, passing freely through

the dim mistiness that was his body, gathering ever more numerously

about him. And the shadowy Mr. Bessel, now suddenly fear-stricken,

drove through the silent, active multitude of eyes and clutching hands.

So inhuman were these faces, so malignant their staring eyes, and

shadowy, clawing gestures, that it did not occur to Mr. Bessel to

attempt intercourse with these drifting creatures. Idiot phantoms,

they seemed, children of vain desire, beings unborn and forbidden the

boon of being, whose only expressions and gestures told of the envy and

craving for life that was their one link with existence.

It says much for his resolution that, amidst the swarming cloud of

these noiseless spirits of evil, he could still think of Mr. Vincey.

He made a violent effort of will and found himself, he knew not how,

stooping towards Staple Inn, saw Vincey sitting attentive and alert in

his arm-chair by the fire.

And clustering also about him, as they clustered ever about all that

lives and breathes, was another multitude of these vain voiceless

shadows, longing, desiring, seeking some loophole into life.

For a space Mr. Bessel sought ineffectually to attract his friend's

attention. He tried to get in front of his eyes, to move the objects

in his room, to touch him. But Mr. Vincey remained unaffected,

ignorant of the being that was so close to his own. The strange

something that Mr. Bessel has compared to a sheet of glass separated

them impermeably.

And at last Mr. Bessel did a desperate thing. I have told how that in

some strange way he could see not only the outside of a man as we see

him, but within. He extended his shadowy hand and thrust his vague

black fingers, as it seemed, through the heedless brain.

Then, suddenly, Mr. Vincey started like a man who recalls his attention

from wandering thoughts, and it seemed to Mr. Bessel that a little

dark-red body situated in the middle of Mr. Vincey's brain swelled and

glowed as he did so. Since that experience he has been shown

anatomical figures of the brain, and he knows now that this is that

useless structure, as doctors call it, the pineal eye. For, strange as

it will seem to many, we have, deep in our brains--where it cannot

possibly see any earthly light--an eye! At the time this, with the

rest of the internal anatomy of the brain, was quite new to him. At

the sight of its changed appearance, however, he thrust forth his

finger, and, rather fearful still of the consequences, touched this

little spot. And instantly Mr. Vincey started, and Mr. Bessel knew

that he was seen.

And at that instant it came to Mr. Bessel that evil had happened to his

body, and behold! a great wind blew through all that world of shadows

and tore him away. So strong was this persuasion that he thought no

more of Mr. Vincey, but turned about forthwith, and all the countless

faces drove back with him like leaves before a gale. But he returned

too late. In an instant he saw the body that he had left inert and

collapsed--lying, indeed, like the body of a man just dead--had arisen,

had arisen by virtue of some strength and will beyond his own. It

stood with staring eyes, stretching its limbs in dubious fashion.

For a moment he watched it in wild dismay, and then he stooped towards

it. But the pane of glass had closed against him again, and he was

foiled. He beat himself passionately against this, and all about him

the spirits of evil grinned and pointed and mocked. He gave way to

furious anger. He compares himself to a bird that has fluttered

heedlessly into a room and is beating at the window-pane that holds it

back from freedom.

And behold! the little body that had once been his was now dancing with

delight. He saw it shouting, though he could not hear its shouts; he

saw the violence of its movements grow. He watched it fling his

cherished furniture about in the mad delight of existence, rend his

books apart, smash bottles, drink heedlessly from the jagged fragments,

leap and smite in a passionate acceptance of living. He watched these

actions in paralysed astonishment. Then once more he hurled himself

against the impassable barrier, and then with all that crew of mocking

ghosts about him, hurried back in dire confusion to Vincey to tell him

of the outrage that had come upon him.

But the brain of Vincey was now closed against apparitions, and the

disembodied Mr. Bessel pursued him in vain as he hurried out into

Holborn to call a cab. Foiled and terror-stricken, Mr. Bessel swept

back again, to find his desecrated body whooping in a glorious frenzy

down the Burlington Arcade....

And now the attentive reader begins to understand Mr. Bessel's

interpretation of the first part of this strange story. The being

whose frantic rush through London had inflicted so much injury and

disaster had indeed Mr. Bessel's body, but it was not Mr. Bessel. It

was an evil spirit out of that strange world beyond existence, into

which Mr. Bessel had so rashly ventured. For twenty hours it held

possession of him, and for all those twenty hours the dispossessed

spirit-body of Mr. Bessel was going to and fro in that unheard-of

middle world of shadows seeking help in vain. He spent many hours

beating at the minds of Mr. Vincey and of his friend Mr. Hart. Each,

as we know, he roused by his efforts. But the language that might

convey his situation to these helpers across the gulf he did not know;

his feeble fingers groped vainly and powerlessly in their brains.

Once, indeed, as we have already told, he was able to turn Mr. Vincey

aside from his path so that he encountered the stolen body in its

career, but he could not make him understand the thing that had

happened: he was unable to draw any help from that encounter....

All through those hours the persuasion was overwhelming in Mr. Bessel's

mind that presently his body would be killed by his furious tenant, and

he would have to remain in this shadow-land for evermore. So that

those long hours were a growing agony of fear. And ever as he hurried

to and fro in his ineffectual excitement, innumerable spirits of that

world about him mobbed him and confused his mind. And ever an envious

applauding multitude poured after their successful fellow as he went

upon his glorious career.

For that, it would seem, must be the life of these bodiless things of

this world that is the shadow of our world. Ever they watch, coveting

a way into a mortal body, in order that they may descend, as furies and

frenzies, as violent lusts and mad, strange impulses, rejoicing in the

body they have won. For Mr. Bessel was not the only human soul in that

place. Witness the fact that he met first one, and afterwards several

shadows of men, men like himself, it seemed, who had lost their bodies

even it may be as he had lost his, and wandered, despairingly, in that

lost world that is neither life nor death. They could not speak

because that world is silent, yet he knew them for men because of their

dim human bodies, and because of the sadness of their faces.

But how they had come into that world he could not tell, nor where the

bodies they had lost might be, whether they still raved about the

earth, or whether they were closed forever in death against return.

That they were the spirits of the dead neither he nor I believe. But

Doctor Wilson Paget thinks they are the rational souls of men who are

lost in madness on the earth.

At last Mr. Bessel chanced upon a place where a little crowd of such

disembodied silent creatures was gathered, and thrusting through them

he saw below a brightly-lit room, and four or five quiet gentlemen and

a woman, a stoutish woman dressed in black bombazine and sitting

awkwardly in a chair with her head thrown back. He knew her from her

portraits to be Mrs. Bullock, the medium. And he perceived that tracts

and structures in her brain glowed and stirred as he had seen the

pineal eye in the brain of Mr. Vincey glow. The light was very fitful;

sometimes it was a broad illumination, and sometimes merely a faint

twilight spot, and it shifted slowly about her brain. She kept on

talking and writing with one hand. And Mr. Bessel saw that the

crowding shadows of men about him, and a great multitude of the shadow

spirits of that shadowland, were all striving and thrusting to touch

the lighted regions of her brain. As one gained her brain or another

was thrust away, her voice and the writing of her hand changed. So

that what she said was disorderly and confused for the most part; now a

fragment of one soul's message, and now a fragment of another's, and

now she babbled the insane fancies of the spirits of vain desire. Then

Mr. Bessel understood that she spoke for the spirit that had touch of

her, and he began to struggle very furiously towards her. But he was

on the outside of the crowd and at that time he could not reach her,

and at last, growing anxious, he went away to find what had happened

meanwhile to his body.

For a long time he went to and fro seeking it in vain and fearing that

it must have been killed, and then he found it at the bottom of the

shaft in Baker Street, writhing furiously and cursing with pain. Its

leg and an arm and two ribs had been broken by its fall. Moreover, the

evil spirit was angry because his time had been so short and because of

the pain--making violent movements and casting his body about.

And at that Mr. Bessel returned with redoubled earnestness to the room

where the séance was going on, and so soon as he had thrust himself

within sight of the place he saw one of the men who stood about the

medium looking at his watch as if he meant that the séance should

presently end. At that a great number of the shadows who had been

striving turned away with gestures of despair. But the thought that

the séance was almost over only made Mr. Bessel the more earnest, and

he struggled so stoutly with his will against the others that presently

he gained the woman's brain. It chanced that just at that moment it

glowed very brightly, and in that instant she wrote the message that

Doctor Wilson Paget preserved. And then the other shadows and the

cloud of evil spirits about him had thrust Mr. Bessel away from her,

and for all the rest of the séance he could regain her no more.

So he went back and watched through the long hours at the bottom of the

shaft where the evil spirit lay in the stolen body it had maimed,

writhing and cursing, and weeping and groaning, and learning the lesson

of pain. And towards dawn the thing he had waited for happened, the

brain glowed brightly and the evil spirit came out, and Mr. Bessel

entered the body he had feared he should never enter again. As he did

so, the silence--the brooding silence--ended; he heard the tumult of

traffic and the voices of people overhead, and that strange world that

is the shadow of our world--the dark and silent shadows of ineffectual

desire and the shadows of lost men--vanished clean away.

He lay there for the space of about three hours before he was found.

And in spite of the pain and suffering of his wounds, and of the dim

damp place in which he lay; in spite of the tears--wrung from him by

his physical distress--his heart was full of gladness to know that he

was nevertheless back once more in the kindly world of men.

THE LAZARETTE OF THE "HUNTRESS"

By W. CLARK RUSSELL

Frederick A. Stokes Company.

I stepped into the Brunswick Hotel in the East India Docks for a glass

of ale. It was in the year 1853, and a wet, hot afternoon. I had been

on the tramp all day, making just three weeks of a wretched, hopeless

hunt after a situation on shipboard, and every bone in me ached with my

heart. My precious timbers, how poor I was! Two shillings, and

threepence--that was all the money I possessed in the wide world, and

when I had paid for the ale, I was poorer yet by twopence.

A number of nautical men of various grades were drinking at the bar. I

sat down in a corner to rest, and abandoned myself to the most dismal

reflections. I wanted to get out to Australia, and nobody, it seems,

was willing to ship me in any situation on any account whatever.

Captains and mates howled me off if I attempted to cross their

gangways. Nothing was to be got in the shipping yards. The very

crimps sneered at me when I told them that I wanted a berth. "Shake

your head, my hawbuck," said one of them, in the presence of a crowd of

grinning seamen, "that the Johns may see the hayseed fly."

What was I, do you ask? I'll tell you. I was one of ten children

whose father had been a clergyman, and the income "from all sources" of

that same clergyman had never exceeded £230 a year. I was a lumbering,

bulking lad, without friends, and, as I am now perfectly sensible,

without brains, without any kind of taste for any pursuit, execrating

the notion of clerkships, and perfectly willing to make away with

myself sooner than be glued to a three-legged stool. But enough of

this. The long and short is, I was thirsting to get out to Australia,

never doubting that I should easily make my fortune there.

I sat in my corner in the Brunswick Hotel, scowling at the floor, my

long legs thrust out, and my hands buried deep in my breeches pockets.

Presently, I was sensible that some one stood beside me, and looking

up, I beheld a young fellow staring with all his might, with a slow

grin of recognition wrinkling his face. I seemed to remember him.

"Mr. William Peploe, ain't it?" said he.

"Why yes," said I, "and you----and you----?"

"You don't remember Jem Back then, sir?"

"Yes I do, perfectly well. Sit down, Back. Are you a sailor? I am so

dead beat that I can scarcely talk."

Jem Back brought a tankard of ale to my table, and sat down beside me.

He was a youth of my own age, and I knew him as the son of a

parishioner of my father. He was attired in nautical clothes, yet

somehow he did not exactly look what is called a sailor man. We fell

into conversation. He informed me that he was an under-steward on

board a large ship called the "Huntress," that was bound out of the

Thames in a couple of days for Sydney, New South Wales. He had sailed

two years in her, and hoped to sign as head steward next voyage in a

smaller ship.

"There'll be a good deal of waiting this bout," said he; "we're taking

a cuddy full of swells out. There's Sir Thomas Mason--he goes as

Governor; there's his lady and three daughters, and a sort of suet" (he

meant suite) "sails along with the boiling." So he rattled on.

"Can't you help me to find a berth in that ship?" said I.

"I'm afraid not," he answered. "What could you offer yourself as, sir?

They wouldn't have you forward, and aft we're chock-a-block. If you

could manage to stow yourself away--they wouldn't chuck you overboard

when you turned up at sea; they'd make you useful and land you as safe

as if you was the Governor himself."

I thought this a very fine idea, and asked Back to tell me how I should

go to work to hide myself. He seemed to recoil, I thought, when I put

the matter to him earnestly, but he was an honest, kindly-hearted

fellow, and remembered my father with a certain degree of respect, and

even of affection; he had known me as a boy; there was the sympathy of

association and of memory between us; he looked at the old suit of

clothes I sat in, and at my hollow, anxious face, and he crooked his

eyebrows with an expression of pain when I told him that all the money

I had was two and a penny, and that I must starve and be found floating

a corpse in the dockyard basin if I did not get out to Australia. We

sat for at least an hour over our ale, talking very earnestly, and when

we arose and bade each other farewell I had settled with him what to do.

The "Huntress" was a large frigate-built ship of 1400 tons. On the

morning of the day on which she was to haul out of dock I went on board

of her. Nobody took any notice of me. The vessel was full of

business, clamorous with the life and hurry of the start for the other

side of the world. Cargo was still swinging over the main hold, down

whose big, dark square a tall, strong, red-bearded chief mate was

roaring to the stevedore's men engulfed in the bowels of the ship. A

number of drunken sailors were singing and cutting capers on the

forecastle. The main-deck was full of steerage, or, as they were then

termed, 'tweendeck passengers--grimy men, and seedy women and wailing

babes, and frightened, staring children. I did not pause to muse upon

the scene, nor did I gaze aloft at the towering spars, where, forward,

up in the dingy sky of the Isle of Dogs, floated that familiar symbol

of departure, Blue Peter. I saw several young men in shining buttons

and cloth caps with gold badges, and knew them to be midshipmen, and

envied them. Every instant I expected to be ordered out of the ship by

some one with hurricane lungs and a vast command of injurious language,

and my heart beat fast. I made my way to the cuddy front, and just as

I halted beside a group of women at the booby hatch, James Back came to

the door of the saloon. He motioned to me with a slight toss of his

head.

"Don't look about you," he whispered; "just follow me straight."

I stepped after him into the saloon. It was like entering a grand

drawing-room. Mirrors and silver lamps sparkled; the panelled

bulkheads were rich with hand paintings; flowers hung in plenty under

the skylight; goldfish gleamed as they circled in globes of crystal.

These things and more I beheld in the space of a few heart-beats.

I went after James Back down a wide staircase that sank through a large

hatch situated a dozen paces from the cuddy front. When I reached the

bottom I found myself in a long corridor, somewhat darksome, with

cabins on either hand. Back took me into one of those cabins and

closed the door.

"Now listen, Mr. Peploe," said he. "I'm going to shut you down in the

lazarette." He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket, on which was a

rude tracing. "This is the inside of the lazarette," he continued,

pointing to the tracing. "There are some casks of flour up in this

corner. They'll make you a safe hiding-place. You'll find a bag of

ship's biscuit and some bottles of wine and water and a pannikin stowed

behind them casks. There's cases of bottled ale in the lazarette, and

plenty of tinned stuffs and grub for the cabin table. But don't broach

anything if you can hold out."

"When am I to show myself?"

"When we're out of Soundings."

"Where's that?" said I.

"Clear of the Chops," he answered. "If you come up when the land's

still in sight the captain'll send you ashore by anything that'll take

you, and you'll be handed over to the authorities and charged."

"How shall I know when we're clear of the Chops?" said I.

"I'll drop below into the lazarette on some excuse and tell you," he

answered. "You'll be very careful when you turn up, Mr. Peploe, not to

let them guess that anybody's lent you a hand in this here hiding job.

If they find out I'm your friend, then it's all up with Jem Back. He's

a stone-broke young man, and his parents'll be wishing of themselves

dead rather than they should have lived to see this hour."

"I have sworn, and you may trust me, Back."

"Right," said he. "And now, is there e'er a question you'd like to ask

before you drop below?"

"When does the ship haul out?"

"They may be doing of it even whilst we're talking," he said.

"Can I make my escape out of the lazarette should I feel very ill, or

as if I was going to suffocate?"

"Yes, the hatch is a little un. The cargo sits tall under him, and you

can stand up and shove the hatch clear of its bearings should anything

go seriously wrong with you. But don't be in a hurry to feel ill or

short o' breath. There's no light, but there's air enough. The united

smells, perhaps, ain't all violets, but the place is warm."

He paused, looking at me inquiringly. I could think of nothing more to

ask him. He opened the door, warily peered out, then whispered to me

to follow, and I walked at his heels to the end of the corridor near

the stern. I heard voices in the cabins on either hand of me; some

people came out of one of the after berths, and passed us, talking

noisily, but they took no heed of me or of my friend. They were

passengers, and strangers to the ship, and would suppose me a passenger

also, or an under-steward, like Jem Back, who, however, now looked his

vocation, attired as he was in a camlet jacket, black cloth breeches,

and a white shirt.

We halted at a little hatch-like trap-door a short way forward of the

bulkheads of the stern cabins. Back grasped the ring in the center of

the hatch, and easily lifted the thing, and laid open the hold.

"All's clear," said he, looking along the corridor. "Down with you,

Mr. Peploe." I peered into the abyss, as it seemed to me; the light

hereabouts was so dim that but little of it fell through the small

square of hatchway, and I could scarcely discern the outlines of the

cargo below. I put my legs over and sank, holding on with a first

voyager's grip to the coaming of the hatch; then, feeling the cargo

under my feet, I let go, and the instant I withdrew my hands, Back

popped the hatch on.

The blackness was awful. It affected me for some minutes like the want

of air. I thought I should smother, and could hardly hinder myself

from thrusting the hatch up for light, and for the comfort of my lungs.

Presently the sense of suffocation passed. The corridor was

uncarpeted; I heard the sounds of footsteps on the bare planks

overhead, and, never knowing but that at any moment somebody might come

into this lazarette, I very cautiously began to grope my way over the

cargo. I skinned my hands and my knees, and cut my small clothes

against all sorts of sharp edges in a very short time. I never could

have realized the like of such a blackness as I was here groping

through. The deepest midnight overhung by the electric cloud would be

as bright as dawn or twilight compared to it.

I carried, however, in my head the sketch Back had drawn of this

interior, and remembering that I had faced aft when my companion had

closed me down, I crawled in the direction in which I imagined the

casks and my stock of bread and wine lay; and to my great joy, after a

considerable bit of crawling and clawing about, during which I

repeatedly wounded myself, I touched a canvas bag, which I felt, and

found full of ship's bread, and on putting my hand out in another

direction, but close by where the bag was, I touched a number of

bottles. On this I felt around, carefully stroking the blackness with

my maimed hands, and discovered that I had crawled into a recess formed

by the stowage of a number of casks on their bilge; a little space was

left behind them and the ship's wall; it was the hiding-place Back had

indicated, and I sat down to breathe and think, and to collect my wits.

I had no means of making a light; but I don't believe that in any case

I should have attempted to kindle a flame, so great would have been my

terror of setting the ship on fire. I kept my eyes shut, fancying that

that would be a good way to accustom my vision to the blackness. And

here I very inopportunely recollected that one of the most dreadful

prison punishments inflicted upon mutinous and ill-behaved felons is

the locking of them up in a black room, where it is thought proper not

to keep them very long lest they should go mad; and I wondered how many

days or hours it would take to make a lunatic of me in this lazarette,

that was as black certainly as any black room ever built for refractory

criminals.

I had no clothes save those I wore. Stowaways as a rule do not carry

much luggage to sea with them. I had heard tell of ships' slop-chests,

however, and guessed, when I was enlarged and put to work, the captain

would let me choose a suit of clothes and pay for them out of my wages.

I did not then know that it is not customary for commanders of ships to

pay stowaways for their services. Indeed, I afterwards got to hear

that far better men than the average run of stowaway were, in their

anxiety to get abroad, very willing to sign articles for a shilling a

month, and lead the lives of dogs for that wage.

I had come into the ship with a parcel of bread and cheese in my

pocket: feeling hungry I partook of this modest refreshment, and

clawing round touched a bottle, pulled the loosely-fitted cork out, and

drank. This small repast heartened me, I grew a little less afraid of

the profound blackness, and of the blue and green lights which came and

went upon it, and began to hope I should not go mad.

The hours sneaked along. Now and again a sort of creaking noise ran

through the interior, which made me suppose that the ship was

proceeding down the river in tow of a tug. Occasionally I heard the

tread of passengers overhead. It pleased me to hear that sound. It

soothed me by diminishing the intolerable sense of loneliness bred by

the midnight blackness in which I lay. The atmosphere was warm, but I

drew breath without difficulty. The general smell was, indeed, a

complicated thing; in fact, the lazarette was a storeroom. I seemed to

taste ham, tobacco, cheese, and fifty other such matters in the air.

I had slept very ill on the preceding night, and after I had been for

some hours in the lazarette I felt weary, and stretched myself along

the deck between the casks and the ship's wall, and pillowed my head on

my coat. I slept, and my slumber was deep and long. My dreams were

full of pleasing imaginations--of nuggets of extraordinary size,

chiefly, and leagues of rich pasture land whitened by countless sheep,

all branded with the letter P. But after I had awakened and gathered

my wits together, I understood that I had lost all count of time, that

I should not know what o'clock it was, and whether it was day or night,

until I had got out. I was glad to find that the blackness was not so

intolerable as I had dreaded. I felt for the biscuits and bottles, and

ate and drank as appetite dictated. Nobody in all this while lifted

the hatch. No doubt the steward had plenty of stores for current use

in hand, and there might be no need to break out fresh provisions for

some weeks.

I had lain, according to my own computation, very nearly two days in

this black hole, when I felt a movement in the ship which immediately

upset my stomach. The vessel, I might suppose, was in the Channel; her

pitching grew heavier, the lazarette was right aft, and in no part of

the vessel saving the bows could her motion be more sensibly felt. I

was speedily overcome with nausea, and for many long hours lay

miserably ill, unable to eat or drink. At the expiration of this time

the sea ran more smoothly; at all events, the ship's motion grew

gentle; the feeling of sickness suddenly passed, leaving me, indeed,

rather weak, yet not so helpless but that I could sit up and drink from

a bottle of wine and water, and eat a dry ship's biscuit.

Whilst I was munching the tasteless piece of sea bread, sitting in the

intense blackness, pining for the fresh air and the sunshine, and

wondering how much longer I was to wait for Back's summons to emerge,

the hatch was raised. I shrank and held my breath, with my hand

grasping the biscuit poised midway to my mouth, as though I had been

withered by a blast of lightning. A faint sheen floated in the little

square. It was the dim lustre of distant lamplight, whence I guessed

it was night. The figure of a man cautiously dropped through the

hatchway, and by some means, and all very silently, he contrived to

readjust the hatch, shutting himself down as Back had shut me down.

The motion of the ship, as I have said, was gentle, the creaking noises

throughout the working fabric were dim and distant; indeed, I could

hear the man breathing as he seemed to pause after bringing the

hatchway to its bearings over his head. I did not suppose that the

captain ever entered this part of the ship. The man, for all I could

conjecture, might be one of the mates, or the boatswain, or the head

steward, visiting the lazarette on some errand of duty, and coming down

very quietly that the passengers who slept in the cabins on either hand

the corridor should not be disturbed. Accordingly, I shrank into the

compactest posture I could contort myself into, and watched.

A lucifer match was struck; the flame threw out the figure of a man

standing on the cargo just under the hatch; he pulled out a little

bull's-eye lamp from his pocket and lighted it, and carefully

extinguished the match. The long, misty beam of the magnified flame

swept the interior like the revolving spoke of a wheel as the man

slowly turned the lens about in a critical search of the place, himself

being in blackness. The line of light broke on the casks behind which

I crouched, and left me in deep shadow unperceived. After some minutes

of this sort of examination, the man, came a little way forward and

crouched down upon a bale or something of the sort directly abreast of

the casks, through whose cant-lines I was peering. He opened the lamp

and placed it beside him; the light was then full upon his figure.

He might have been an officer of the ship for all I knew. His dress

was not distinguishable, but I had his face very plain in my sight. He

was extremely pale; his nose was long and aquiline; he wore moustaches,

whiskers, and a short beard, black, but well streaked with grey. His

eyebrows were bushy and dark; his eyes were black, and the reflected

lamplight shot in gleams from them, like to that level spoke of

radiance with which he had swept this lazarette. His hair was

unusually long, even for that age of the fashion, and his being without

a hat made me guess he was not from the deck, though I never doubted

that he was one of the ship's company.

When he opened the bull's-eye lamp and put it down, he drew something

out of his pocket which glittered in his hand. I strained my sight,

yet should not have managed to make out what he grasped but for his

holding it close to the light; I then saw that it was a small circular

brass box; a kind of little metal cylinder, from whose side fell a

length of black line, just as tape draws out of a yard measure. He

talked to himself, with a sort of wild, scowling grin upon his face,

whilst he inspected his brass box and little length of line; he then

shut the lamp and flashed it upon what I saw was a medium-sized barrel,

such, perhaps, as a brewer would call a four-and-a-half gallon cask.

It rested on its bilge, after the manner in which the casks behind

which I lay hidden were stowed.

I now saw him pull a spile or spike of wood out of the head of the

barrel, and insert the end of the black line attached to the small

brass piece in the orifice. This done he fitted a key to the brass box

and wound it up. He may have taken twenty turns with the key; the

lazarette was so quiet that I could distinctly hear the harsh grit of

the mechanism as it was revolved. All the while he was thus employed

he preserved his scowling smile, and whispered to himself. After he

had wound up the piece of clockwork he placed it on the bale where his

lamp had stood, and taking the light made for the hatchway, under which

he came to a stand whilst he extinguished the bull's-eye. I then heard

him replace the hatch, and knew he was gone.

The arrangement he had wound up ticked with the noise of a Dutch clock.

I had but little brains in those days, as I have told you, and in sad

truth I am not overloaded with that particular sort of cargo at this

hour; but I was not such a fool as not to be able to guess what the man

intended to do, and what that hollow, desperate ticking signified. Oh,

my great God, I thought to myself, it is an infernal machine! and the

ship will be blown up!

My horror and fright went far beyond the paralyzing form; they ran a

sort of madness into my blood and vitalized me into desperate instant

action. Utterly heedless now of hurting and wounding myself, I

scrambled over the casks, directed by the noise of the ticking,

stretched forth my hand and grasped the brass machine. I fiercely

tugged it, then feeling for the slow match, as I guessed the line to

be, I ran it through my fingers to make sure I had pulled the end out

of the barrel. The murderous thing ticked in my hand with the energy

of a hotly-revolved capstan, whilst I stood breathing short,

considering what I should do, whilst the perspiration soaked through my

clothes as though a bucket of oil had been upset over me. Heavens! the

horror of standing in that black lazarette with an infernal machine

ticking in my hands, and a large barrel of gunpowder, as I easily

guessed, within reach of a kick of my foot! I trembled in every limb

and sweated at every pore, and seemed to want brains enough to tell me

what ought next to be done!

How long I thus stood irresolute I don't know; still clutching the

hoarsely-ticking piece of clockwork. I crawled in the direction in

which I supposed lay the casks behind which I had hidden. I had

scarcely advanced half a dozen feet when the mechanism snapped in my

fingers; a bright flash, like to the leap of a flame in the pan of a

flint musket, irradiated the lazarette; the match was kindled, and

burnt freely. The first eating spark was but small; I extinguished the

fiery glow between my thumb and forefinger, squeezing it in my terror

with the power of the human jaw. The ticking ceased; the murderous

thing lay silent and black in my hand. I waited for some minutes to

recover myself, and then made up my mind to get out of the lazarette

and go on deck, and tell the people that there was a barrel of

gunpowder in the after-hold, and that I had saved the ship from having

her side or stern blown out.

I pocketed the brass box and match, but it took me above half an hour

to get out of the infernal hole. I fell into crevices, went sprawling

over pointed edges, and twice came very near to breaking my leg.

Happily, I was tall, and when I stood on the upper tier of cargo I

could feel the deck above me, and once, whilst thus groping, I touched

the edge of the hatchway, thrust up the cover, and got out.

I walked straight down the corridor, which was sown with passengers'

boots, mounted the wide staircase, and gained the quarter-deck. I

reeled and nearly fell, so intoxicating was the effect of the gushing

draught of sweet, fresh night-wind after the stagnant, cheesy

atmosphere of the lazarette. A bull's-eye shone on the face of a clock

under the break of the poop; the hour was twenty minutes after two.

Nothing stirred on the main deck and waist; the forward part of the

ship was hidden in blackness. She was sailing on a level keel before

the wind, and the pallid spaces of her canvas soared to the trucks, wan

as the delicate curls and shreds of vapor which floated under the

bright stars.

I ascended a flight of steps which led to the poop, and saw the shadowy

figures of two midshipmen walking on one side the deck, whilst on the

other side, abreast of the mizzen rigging, stood a third person I

guessed by his being alone that he was the officer of the watch, and

stepped over to him. He drew himself erect as I approached, and sang

out, "Hallo! who the devil are you?"

"I'm just out of your lazarette," said I, "where I've saved this ship

from having her stern blown out by an infernal machine!"

He bent his head forward and stared into my face, but it was too dark

for him to make anything of me. I reckoned he was the second mate; his

outline against the stars defined a square, bullet-headed, thick-necked

man. On a sudden he bawled out to the two midshipmen, who had come to

a stand on t'other side the skylight--

"Mr. Freeling, jump below and call the captain. Beg him to come on

deck at once, young gentleman."

The midshipman rushed into the cuddy.

"What's this yarn about blowing out the ship's stern?" continued the

second mate, as I rightly took him to be.

I related my story as straightforwardly as my command of words

permitted. I told him that I had wanted to get to Australia, that I

was too poor to pay my passage, that I had been unable to find

employment on board ship, that I had hidden myself in the lazarette of

the "Huntress," and that whilst there, and within the past hour, I had

seen a man fit a slow match into what I reckoned was a barrel of

gunpowder, and disappear after setting his infernal machine a-going.

And thus speaking, I pulled the machine out of my pocket, and put it

into his hand.

At this moment the captain arrived on deck. He was a tall man, with a

very deep voice, slow, cool, and deliberate in manner and speech.

"What's the matter?" he inquired, and instantly added, "Who is this

man?"

The second mate gave him my story almost as I had delivered it.

The captain listened in silence, took the infernal machine, stepped to

the skylight, under which a lamp was dimly burning, and examined the

piece of mechanism. His manner of handling it by some means sprang the

trigger, which struck the flint, and there flashed out a little

sun-bright flame that fired the match. I jumped to his side and

squeezed the fire out between my thumb and forefinger as before. The

captain told the two midshipmen to rouse up the chief mate and send the

boatswain and carpenter aft.

"Let there be no noise," said he to the second mate, "We want no panic

aboard us. Describe the man," said he, addressing me, "whom you saw

fitting this apparatus to the barrel." I did so. "Do you recognize

the person by this lad's description?" said the captain to the second

mate.

The second mate answered that he knew no one on board who answered to

the likeness I had drawn.

"Gentlemen, I swear he's in the ship!" I cried, and described him again

as I had seen him when the open bull's-eye allowed the light to stream

fair upon his face.

But now the arrival of the chief officer, the boatswain, and the

carpenter occasioned some bustle. My story was hastily re-told. The

carpenter fetched a lantern, and the whole group examined the infernal

machine by the clear light.

"There's no question as to the object of this piece of clockwork, sir,"

said the chief officer.

"None," exclaimed the captain; "it flashed a few minutes ago in my

hand. The thing seems alive. Softly, now. The passengers mustn't

hear of this: there must be no panic. Take the boatswain and carpenter

along with you, Mr. Morritt, into the lazarette. But mind your fire."

And he then told them where the barrel was stowed as I had described it.

The three men left the poop. The captain now examined me afresh. He

showed no temper whatever at my having hidden myself on board his ship.

All his questions concerned the appearance of the man who had adjusted

the machine, how he had gone to work, what he had said when he talked

to himself--but this question I could not answer. When he had ended

his inquiries he sent for the chief steward, to whom he related what

had happened, and then asked him if there was such a person in the ship

as I had described. The man answered there was.

"What's his name?"

"He's booked as John Howland, sir. He's a steerage passenger. His

cabin's No. 2 on the starboard side. His meals are taken to him in his

cabin, and I don't think he's ever been out of it since he came aboard."

"Go and see if he's in his cabin," said the captain.

As the steward left the poop the chief mate, the boatswain, and

carpenter returned.

"It's as the young man states, sir," said Mr. Morritt. "There's a

barrel of gunpowder stowed where he says it is with a hole in the head

ready to receive the end of a fuse."

"Presently clear it out, and get it stowed away in the magazine," said

the captain, calmly. "This has been a narrow escape. Carpenter, go

forward and bring a set of irons along. Is there only one barrel of

gunpowder below, d'ye say, Mr. Morritt?"

"No more, sir."

"How could such a thing find its way into the lazarette?" said the

captain, addressing the second mate.

"God alone knows!" burst out the other. "It'll have come aboard masked

in some way, and it deceived me. Unless there's the hand of a lumper

in the job--does he know no more about it than what he says?" he cried,

rounding upon me.

At this moment the steward came rushing from the companion way, and

said to the captain, in a trembling voice, "The man lies dead in his

bunk, sir, with his throat horribly cut."

"Come you along with us," said the captain, addressing me, and the

whole of us, saving the carpenter and second mate, went below.

We walked along the corridor obedient to the captain's whispered

injunction to tread lightly, and make no noise. The midnight lantern

faintly illuminated the length of the long after passage. The steward

conducted us to a cabin that was almost right aft, and threw open the

door. A bracket lamp filled the interior with light. There were two

bunks under the porthole, and in the lower bunk lay the figure of the

man I had beheld in the lazarette. His throat was terribly gashed, and

his right hand still grasped the razor with which the wound had been

inflicted.

"Is that the man?" said the captain.

"That's the man," I answered, trembling from head to foot, and sick and

faint with the horror of the sight.

"Steward, fetch the doctor," said the captain, "and tell the carpenter

we shan't want any irons here."

The narrative of my tragic experience may be completed by the

transcription of two newspaper accounts, which I preserve pasted in a

commonplace book. The first is from the Sydney Morning Herald. After

telling about the arrival of the Huntress, and the disembarkation of

his Excellency and suite, the writer proceeds thus:--

"When the ship was five days out from the Thames an extraordinary

incident occurred. A young man named William Peploe, a stowaway,

whilst hidden in the lazarette of the vessel, saw a man enter the place

in which he was hiding and attach a slow match and an infernal machine

to a barrel of gunpowder stored amidships of the lazarette, and, from

what we can gather, on top of the cargo! When the man left the hold

young Peploe heroically withdrew the match from the powder and carried

the machine on deck. The youth described the man, who proved to be a

second-class passenger, who had embarked under the name of John

Howland. When the villain's cabin was entered he was found lying in

his bunk dead, with a severe wound in his throat inflicted by his own

hand. No reason is assigned for this dastardly attempt to destroy a

valuable ship and cargo and a company of souls numbering two hundred

and ten, though there seems little reason to doubt that the man was

mad. It is certain that but for the fortunate circumstance of young

Peploe lying hidden in the lazarette the ship's stern or side would

have been blown out, and she must have gone down like a stone, carrying

all hands with her. On the passengers in due course being apprised of

their narrow escape, a purse of a hundred guineas was subscribed and

presented by his Excellency to young Peploe. The captain granted him a

free passage and provided him with a comfortable outfit from the ship's

slop-chest. It is also understood that some situation under the

Government has been promised to Mr. William Peploe in consideration of

the extraordinary service rendered on this memorable occasion."

My next quotation is from the pages of the Nautical Magazine, dated two

years subsequent to the publication of the above in the Australian

paper:--

"A bottle was picked up in March last upon the beach of Terceira, one

of the Azores, containing a paper bearing a narrative which, unless it

be a hoax, seems to throw some light on the mysterious affair of the

Huntress, for the particulars of which we refer our readers to our

volume of last year. The paper, as transmitted by the British Consul,

is as follows:--

"Ship _Huntress_. At sea, such and such a data, 1853.

"I, who am known on board this vessel as John Howland, am the writer of

this document. Twenty years ago I was unjustly sentenced to a term of

transportation across seas, and my treatment at Norfolk Island was such

that I vowed by the God who made me to be revenged on the man who,

acting on the representation of his creatures, had caused me to be sent

from Hobart Town to that hellish penal settlement. That man, with his

wife and children, attended by a suite, is a passenger in this ship,

and I have concerted my plan to dispatch him and those who may be dear

to him to that Devil to whom the wretch consigned my soul when he

ordered me to be sent as a further punishment to Norfolk Island. The

destruction of this ship is ensured. Nothing can avert it. A barrel

of gunpowder was stowed by well-bribed hands in the East India Docks in

the lazarette, to which part of the hold access is easy by means of a

small trap door. I am writing this three-quarters of an hour before I

proceed to the execution of my scheme, and the realization of my dream

of vengeance. When I have completed this document I will place it in a

bottle, which I shall carefully cork and seal and cast into the sea

through my cabin porthole. I am sorry for the many who must suffer

because of the sins of one; but that one must perish, and immediately,

in which hope, craving that, when this paper is found it may be

transmitted to the authorities at home, so that the fate of my bitter

enemy may be known, I subscribe myself,

"ISRAEL THOMAS WILKINSON,

"Ex-Convict and Ticket-of-Leave Man."

THE GREAT TRIANGULAR DUEL

By CAPTAIN FREDERICK MARRYAT

Jack walked up to the boatswain, and, taking off his hat, with the

utmost politeness, said to him:

"If I mistake not, Mr. Biggs, your conversation refers to me."

"Very likely it does," replied the boatswain. "Listeners hear no good

of themselves."

"It happears that gentlemen can't converse without being vatched,"

continued Mr. Easthupp, pulling up his shirt-collar.

"It is not the first time you have thought proper to make very

offensive remarks, Mr. Biggs; and as you appear to consider yourself

ill-treated in the affair of the trousers, for I tell you at once that

it was I who brought them on board, I can only say," continued our

hero, with a very polite bow, "that I shall be most happy to give you

satisfaction."

"I am your superior officer, Mr. Easy," replied the boatswain.

"Yes, by the rules of the service; but you just now asserted that you

would waive your rank: indeed, I dispute it on this occasion; I am on

the quarter-deck, and you are not."

"This is the gentleman whom you have insulted, Mr. Easy," replied the

boatswain, pointing to the purser's Steward.

"Yes, Mr. Heasy, quite as good a gentleman as yourself, although I 'ave

'ad misfortunes. I ham of as hold a family as hany in the country,"

replied Mr. Easthupp, now backed by the boatswain. "Many the year did

I valk Bond Street, and I 'ave as good blood in my weins as you, Mr.

Heasy, although I 'ave been misfortunate. I've had hadmirals in my

family."

"You have grossly insulted this gentleman," said Mr. Biggs, in

continuation; "and, notwithstanding all your talk of equality, you are

afraid to give him satisfaction; you shelter yourself under your

quarter-deck."

"Mr. Biggs," replied our hero, who was now very wroth, "I shall go on

shore directly we arrive at Malta. Let you, and this fellow, put on

plain clothes, and I will meet you both; and then I will show you

whether I am afraid to give satisfaction."

"One at a time," said the boatswain.

"No, sir, not one at a time, but both at the same time, I will fight

both or none. If you are my superior officer, you must descend,"

replied Jack, with an ironical sneer, "to meet me, or I will not

descend to meet that fellow, whom I believe to have been little better

than a pickpocket." ...

Mr. Biggs, having declared he would fight, of course had to look out

for a second, and he fixed upon Mr. Tallboys, the gunner, and requested

him to be his friend. Mr. Tallboys, who had been latterly very much

annoyed by Jack's victories over him in the science of navigation, and

therefore felt ill-will toward him, consented; but he was very much

puzzled how to arrange that three were to fight at the same time, for

he had no idea of there being two duels; so he went to his cabin and

commenced reading. Jack, on the other hand, daring not say a word to

Jolliffe on the subject; indeed, there was no one in the ship to whom

he could confide but Gascoigne; he therefore went to him, and, although

Gascoigne thought it was excessively infra dig of Jack to meet even the

boatswain; as the challenge had been given, there was no retracting,

and he therefore consented, like all midshipmen, anticipating fun, and

quite thoughtless of the consequences....

Mr. Tallboys addressed Mr. Gascoigne, taking him apart while the

boatswain amused himself with a glass of grog, and our hero sat

outside, teasing a monkey.

"Mr. Gascoigne," said the gunner, "I have been very much puzzled how

this duel should be fought, but I have at last found out. You see

there are three parties to fight; had there been two or four there

would have been no difficulty, as the right line or square might guide

us in that instance; but we must arrange it upon the triangle in this."

Gascoigne stared; he could not imagine what was coming.

"Are you aware, Mr. Gascoigne, of the properties of an equilateral

triangle?"

"Yes," replied the midshipman; "it has three equal sides. But what the

devil has that to do with the duel?"

"Everything, Mr. Gascoigne," replied the gunner; "it has resolved the

great difficulty; indeed, the duel between three can only be fought

upon that principle. You observe," said the gunner, taking a piece of

chalk out of his pocket and making a triangle on the table, "in this

figure we have three points, each equidistant from each other; and we

have three combatants; so that placing one at each point, it is all

fair play for the three: Mr. Easy, for instance, stands here, the

boatswain here, and the purser's steward at the third corner. Now, if

the distance is fairly measured, it will be alright."

"But then," replied Gascoigne, delighted at the idea, "how are they to

fire?"

"It certainly is not of much consequence," replied the gunner; "but

still, as sailors, it appears to me that they should fire with the sun;

that is, Mr. Easy fires at Mr. Biggs, Mr. Biggs at Mr. Easthupp, and

Mr. Easthupp fires at Mr. Easy, so that you perceive that each party

has his shot at one, and at the same time receives the fire of another."

Gascoigne was in ecstasies at the novelty of the proceeding, the more

so as he perceived that Easy obtained every advantage of the

arrangement.

"Upon my word, Mr. Tallboys, I give you great credit; you have a

profound mathematical head, and I am delighted with your arrangement.

Of course in these affairs the principals are bound to comply with the

arrangements of the seconds, and I shall insist upon Mr. Easy

consenting to your excellent and scientific proposal."

Gascoigne went out, and, pulling Jack away from the monkey, told him

what the gunner had proposed, at which Jack laughed heartily.

The gunner also explained it to the boatswain, who did not very well

comprehend, but replied:

"I dare say it's all right, shot for shot, and damn all favours."

The parties then repaired to the spot with two pairs of ship's pistols,

which Mr. Tallboys had smuggled on shore; and as soon as they were on

the ground the gunner called Mr. Easthupp out of the cooperage. In the

meantime Gascoigne had been measuring an equilateral triangle of twelve

paces, and marked it out. Mr. Tallboys, on his return with the

purser's steward, went over the ground, and, finding that it was "equal

angles subtended by equal sides," declared that all was right. Easy

took his station, the boatswain was put into his, and Mr. Easthupp, who

was quite in a mystery, was led by the gunner to the third position.

"But, Mr. Tallboys," said the purser's steward, "I don't understand

this. Mr. Easy will first fight Mr. Biggs, will he not?"

"No," replied the gunner, "this is a duel of three. You will fire at

Mr. Easy, Mr. Easy will fire at Mr. Biggs, and Mr. Biggs will fire at

you. It is all arranged, Mr. Easthupp."

"But," said Mr. Easthupp, "I do not understand it. Why is Mr. Biggs to

fire at me? I have no quarrel with Mr. Biggs."

"Because Mr. Easy fires at Mr. Biggs, and Mr. Biggs must have his shot

as well."

"If you have ever been in the company of gentlemen, Mr. Easthupp,"

observed Gascoigne, "you must know something about duelling."

"Yes, yes, I've kept the best company, Mr. Gascoigne, and I can give a

gentleman satisfaction; but----"

"Then sir, if that is the case, you must know that your honour is in

the hands of your second, and that no gentleman appeals."

"Yes, yes, I know that, Mr. Gascoigne; but, still, I've no quarrel with

Mr. Biggs, and therefore Mr. Biggs, of course, will not aim at me."

"Why, you don't think that I'm going to be fired at for nothing?"

replied the boatswain. "No, no, I'll have my shot anyhow."

"But at your friend, Mr. Biggs?"

"All the same I shall fire at somebody; shot for shot, and hit the

luckiest."

"Vel, gentlemen, I purtest against these proceedings," replied Mr.

Easthupp. "I came here to have satisfaction from Mr. Easy, and not to

be fired at by Mr. Biggs."

"Don't you have satisfaction when you fire at Mr. Easy?" replied the

gunner. "What more would you have?"

"I purtest against Mr. Biggs firing at me."

"So you would have a shot without receiving one!" cried Gascoigne.

"The fact is that this fellow's a confounded coward, and ought to be

kicked into the cooperage again."

At this affront Mr. Easthupp rallied, and accepted the pistol offered

by the gunner.

"You 'ear those words, Mr. Biggs? Pretty language to use to a

gentleman! You shall 'ear from me, sir, as soon as the ship is paid

off. I purtest no longer, Mr. Tallboys. Death before dishonour! I'm

a gentleman, damme!"

At all events, the swell was not a very courageous gentleman, for he

trembled most exceedingly as he pointed his pistol. The gunner gave

the word as if he were exercising the great guns on board ship.

"Cock your locks! Take good aim at the object! Fire! Stop your

vents!"

The only one of the combatants who appeared to comply with the latter

supplementary order was Mr. Easthupp, who clapped his hand to his

trousers behind, gave a loud yell, and then dropped down, the bullet

having passed clean through his seat of honour, from his having

presented his broadside as a target to the boatswain as he faced toward

our hero. Jack's shot had also taken effect, having passed through

both the boatswain's cheeks, without further mischief than extracting

two of his best upper double teeth and forcing through the hole of the

further cheek the boatswain's own quid of tobacco. As for Mr.

Easthupp's ball, as he was very unsettled, and shut his eyes before he

fired, it had gone the Lord knows where.

The purser's steward lay on the ground and screamed; the boatswain spit

out his double teeth and two or three mouthfuls of blood, and then

threw down his pistol in a rage.

"A pretty business, by God!" sputtered he. "He's put my pipe out. How

the devil am I to pipe to dinner when I'm ordered, all my wind 'scaping

through the cheeks?"

In the meantime, the others had gone to the assistance of the purser's

steward, who continued his vociferations. They examined him, and

considered a wound in that part not to be dangerous.

"Hold your confounded bawling," cried the gunner, "or you'll have the

guard down here. You're not hurt."

"Hain't hi!" roared the steward. "Oh, let me die! Let me die! Don't

move me!"

"Nonsense!" cried the gunner, "you must get up and walk down to the

boat; if you don't, we'll leave you. Hold your tongue, confound you!

You won't? Then I'll give you something to halloo for."

Whereupon Mr. Tallboys commenced cuffing the poor wretch right and

left, who received so many swingeing boxes of the ear that he was soon

reduced to merely pitiful plaints of "Oh, dear! such inhumanity! I

purtest! Oh, dear! must I get up? I can't, indeed."

"I do not think he can move, Mr. Tallboys," said Gascoigne. "I should

think the best plan would be to call up two of the men from the

cooperage and let them take him at once to the hospital."

The gunner went down to the cooperage to call the men. Mr. Biggs, who

had bound up his face as if he had a toothache, for the bleeding had

been very slight, came up to the purser's steward, exclaiming:

"What the hell are you making such a howling about? Look at me, with

two shot-holes through my figurehead, while you have only got one in

your stern. I wish I could change with you, by heavens! for I could

use my whistle then. Now, if I attempt to pipe, there will be such a

wasteful expenditure of his Majesty's store of wind that I never shall

get out a note. A wicked shot of yours, Mr. Easy."

"I really am very sorry," replied Jack, with a polite bow, "and I beg

to offer my best apology."

--"Midshipman Easy."

THREE THIMBLES AND A PEA

By GEORGE BORROW

A man emerged from the tent, bearing before him a rather singular

table. It appeared to be of white deal, was exceedingly small at the

top, and with very long legs. At a few yards from the entrance he

paused and looked round, as if to decide on the direction which he

should take. Presently, his eye glancing on me as I lay upon the

ground, he started, and appeared for a moment inclined to make off as

quick as possible, table and all. In a moment, however, he seemed to

recover assurance, and, coming up to the place where I was, the long

legs of the table projecting before him, he cried, "Glad to see you

here, my lord!"

"Thank you," said I; "it's a fine day."

"Very fine, my lord. Will your lordship play? Them that finds,

wins--them that don't finds, loses."

"Play at what?" said I.

"Only at the thimble and pea, my lord."

"I never heard of such a game."

"Didn't you? Well, I'll soon teach you," said he, placing the table

down. "All you have to do is to put a sovereign down on my table, and

to find the pea, which I put under one of my thimbles. If you find

it--and it is easy enough to find it--I give you a sovereign besides

your own; for them that finds, wins."

"And them that don't find, loses," said I. "No, I don't wish to play."

"Why not, my lord?"

"Why, in the first place, I have no money."

"Oh, you have no money! That, of course, alters the case. If you have

no money, you can't play. Well, I suppose I must be seeing after my

customers," said he, glancing over the plain.

"Good day," said I.

"Good day," said the man slowly, but without moving, and as if in

reflection. After a moment or two, looking at me inquiringly, he

added, "Out of employ?"

"Yes," said I, "out of employ."

The man measured me with his eye as I lay on the ground. At length he

said, "May I speak a word or two to you, my lord?"

"As many as you please," said I.

"Then just come a little out of hearing, a little farther on the grass,

if you please, my lord."

"Why do you call me my lord?" said I, as I arose and followed him.

"We of the thimble always calls our customers lords," said the man.

"But I won't call you such a foolish name any more. Come along."

The man walked along the plain till he came to the side of a dry pit,

when, looking round to see that no one was nigh, he laid his table on

the grass, and, sitting down with his legs over the side of the pit, he

motioned me to do the same. "So you are in want of employ?" said he,

after I had sat down beside him.

"Yes," said I, "I am very much in want of employ."

"I think I can find you some."

"What kind?" said I.

"Why," said the man, "I think you would do to be my bonnet."

"Bonnet," said I; "what is that?"

"Don't you know? However, no wonder, as you had never heard of the

thimble-and-pea game; but I will tell you. We of the game are very

much exposed. Folks, when they have lost their money, as those who

play with us mostly do, sometimes uses rough language, calls us cheats,

and sometimes knocks our hats over our eyes; and what's more, with a

kick under our table, causes the top deals to fly off. This is the

third table I have used this day, the other two being broken by uncivil

customers. So we of the game generally like to have gentlemen go about

with us to take our part, and encourage us, though pretending to know

nothing about us. For example, when the customer says, 'I'm cheated,'

the bonnet must say, 'No, you a'n't; it is all right.' Or when my hat

is knocked over my eyes, the bonnet must square, and say, 'I never saw

the man before in all my life, but I won't see him ill-used.' And when

they kicks at the table, the bonnet must say, 'I won't see the table

ill-used, such a nice table, too; besides, I want to play myself.' And

then I would say to the bonnet, 'Thank you, my lord, them that finds,

wins.' And then the bonnet plays, and I lets the bonnet win."

"In a word," said I, "the bonnet means the man who covers you, even as

the real bonnet covers the head."

"Just so," said the man; "I see you are awake, and would soon make a

first-rate bonnet."

"What would the wages be?" I demanded.

"Why, to a first-rate bonnet, as I think you would prove, I could

afford to give from forty to fifty shillings a week."

"Is it possible?" said I.

"Good wages, a'n't they?" said the man....

"I find no fault with the wages," said I, "but I don't like the employ."

"Not like bonneting?" said the man. "Ah, I see, you would like to be

principal. Well, a time may come--those long white fingers of yours

would just serve for the business."

"Is it a difficult one?" I demanded.

"Why, it is not very easy. Two things are needful--natural talent and

constant practice. But I'll show you a point or two connected with the

game," and, placing his table between his knees as he sat over the side

of the pit, he produced three thimbles, and a small brown pellet,

something resembling a pea. He moved the thimble and pellet about, now

placing it to all appearance under one, and now under another. "Under

which is it now?" he said at last. "Under that," said I, pointing to

the lowermost of the thimbles, which, as they stood, formed a kind of

triangle. "No," said he, "it is not; but lift it up." And, when I

lifted up the thimble, the pellet, in truth, was not under it. "It was

under none of them," said he; "it was pressed by my little finger

against my palm." And then he showed me how he did the trick, and

asked me if the game was not a funny one; and, on my answering in the

affirmative, he said, "I am glad you like it; come along and let us win

some money."

Thereupon, getting up, he placed the table before him, and was moving

away; observing, however, that I did not stir, he asked me what I was

staying for. "Merely for my own pleasure," said I; "I like sitting

here very well." "Then you won't close?" said the man. "By no means,"

I replied; "your proposal does not suit me." "You may be principal in

time," said the man. "That makes no difference," said I; and, sitting

with my legs over the pit, I forthwith began to decline an Armenian

noun. "That a'n't cant," said the man; "no, nor gipsy, either. Well,

if you won't close, another will; I can't lose any more time," and

forthwith he departed. And after I had declined four Armenian nouns,

of different declensions, I rose from the side of the pit, and wandered

about amongst the various groups of people scattered over the green.

Presently I came to where the man of the thimbles was standing, with

the table before him, and many people about him. "Them who finds,

wins, and them who can't find, loses," he cried. Various individuals

tried to find the pellet, but all were unsuccessful, till at last

considerable dissatisfaction was expressed, and the terms rogue and

cheat were lavished upon him. "Never cheated anybody in all my life!"

he cried; and, observing me at hand, "Didn't I play fair, my lord?" he

inquired. But I made no answer. Presently some more played, and he

permitted one or two to win, and the eagerness to play with him became

greater. After I had looked on for some time, I was moving away. Just

then I perceived a short, thick personage, with a staff in his hand,

advancing in a great hurry; whereupon, with a sudden impulse, I

exclaimed:

"Shoon thimble-engro; Avella gorgio!"

The man, who was in the midst of his pea-and-thimble process, no sooner

heard the last word of the distich, than he turned an alarmed look in

the direction of where I stood. Then, glancing around, and perceiving

the constable, he slipped forthwith his pellet and thimbles into his

pocket, and lifting up his table, he cried to the people about him,

"Make way!" With a motion with his head to me, as if to follow him, he

darted off with the swiftness which the short pursy constable could by

no means rival. And whither he went, or what became of him, I know

not, inasmuch as I turned away in another direction.--"Lavengro."

"Self-preservation must be a strong instinct, for I well remember how