A SURPRISE.
And now I have to relate the occurrence of a very surprising incident.
It was not only surprising in the way it happened, accompanied by
circumstances that have a kind of supernatural appearance, but also in
the time when it happened. Had it been earlier or had it been later,
this history might never have been written. Had it never happened at
all, what might have become of Isabel? And for myself, I might as
well have jumped off my own quay into the flowing river, for all the
hope or joy of living that would have been left to me. The wonder of
the thing is that it was not found out long before. A hundred times
and more the place had been searched; an accident might have revealed
the secret; a jar, a fall, might have thrown open the hiding-place; a
casual cabinet-maker might have found it out had he looked in the right
direction. But kindly fate left the discovery to me.
The room allotted to me for a bedroom was that in which old John
Burnikel’s bare and naked four-poster was standing. When I was first
shown the room, it had no other furniture than the four-poster and the
old man’s sea-chest. They had now clothed the forlorn bedstead, and put
in certain chairs and things, so as to make a habitable room of it.
The window faced south, and as it was on the second-floor, it looked
over the boat-shed upon the river. Here I slept every night in the bed
where the old Master Mariner died, quite untroubled by any thoughts
about him or the long-lost diamonds, and unvisited by the ghost of
their former owner.
It was in the beginning of August, when the nights are still short.
Perhaps it was a hot night; perhaps there was more noise of passing
steamers from the river than usual--the Silent Highway is generally
much noisier than Cheapside by night, as well as by day. Whatever
the cause, I woke up, starting suddenly into wakefulness. It was
early dawn, but the light was rapidly increasing. My blind was up, my
curtains drawn, my window wide open. I lay lazily watching the sky in
the south grow lighter--gray at first, and then suffused with some of
the eastern glow--a tender, subdued glow like the colour on Isabel’s
cheek, which so quickly comes and goes--the tell-tale glow. Perhaps,
had I not begun to think about Isabel, I might have gone to sleep
again, in which case this thing would not have happened.
The gray hues passed away, the rosy hues passed away; there remained
the clear deep blue of early morning before the smoke begins, when the
sky may be like the sky of Africa for clearness and for depth, and when
the river, with its bridges and its boats, all asleep in silence, save
for the wish and wash of the ebb and flow, is an enchanted stream.
Presently I closed my eyes again. Contrary to reasonable expectation,
I did not go to sleep again. It was that kind of hopeless wakefulness
which makes sleep past praying for. I insist upon this point on account
of what followed, which was not a dream, for I was awake; but a kind
of vision, and only remarkable because it coincided with the discovery
which followed.
Do not suppose that I attribute this vision to any supernatural
interference. Nothing of the kind. Neither the ancient mariner, the
master mariner, nor the unfortunate nabob of whose existence I first
learned in the vision, ever appeared to me or afflicted me with
terrors. I have never been in the least afraid of ghosts. Had old
John Burnikel come to my bedside, I would have had the secret of the
diamonds out of him before I let him go, as sure as my name is George
Burnikel. But he never came; he made no sign. I think he must have
forgotten in the other world all about his diamonds; his ghost never
once appeared to me. Had it done so, I would have had the great secret,
I say, out of him in no time. ‘Ghost,’ I should have said, ‘where are
those diamonds? Who stole them? What is the truth about them? If they
were stolen, and have long since been dispersed, let me know. If they
still remain to be discovered, somewhere or other, tell me where they
are. I adjure thee, I command thee, by all the charms and spells that
you ghosts are fools enough to dread, tell me where those diamonds are.’
That is what I should have said. But the only man I know who ever
claimed to have raised a ghost--and that was also the ghost of a
sailor--told me that he was only too glad to let him go back again
below, below, below, and that, though as brave as most, he did not
dare to ask any questions. I don’t believe a word of it. However,
ghosts are scarce; perhaps I should have behaved in the same manner.
And this, I take it, is the case with most; otherwise we should know
more about certain things whose uncertainty is sometimes disagreeable.
All you have to do is to raise your ghost and not be afraid of him.
There was no ghost, and yet the air seemed this morning full of the
Burnikel legend. There was the sound of a ship slowly making her way
up the river--a Hamburg or Norwegian steamer, perhaps. One is never
allowed perfect calm at Wapping. I lay on my back in the old wooden
four-poster, which they had fitted with a spring mattress instead of
a feather-bed, and I recalled the wonderful story: how the old man
one night displayed his bag of precious stones, worth anything you
please; how he told the cousins it would be theirs; how, a day or two
afterwards, he was found dying, and told them collectively that they
knew where the bag was kept; how they did not know, but searched and
could not find it, and accused each other, and fought and separated.
I lay on my back recalling this odd story, which was chiefly
interesting because it was a story without an end.
Another interest it might have, if one were to consider how John
Burnikel got those diamonds, because the old man’s romance of the Great
Mogul and the invitation to fill his pockets in the Royal Treasure
Vaults was clearly too ridiculous; it was so very plainly invented with
intent to deceive.
The first thing that happened after this awaking was a vision. It was a
very odd vision. To begin with, I was not asleep. To this day I cannot
understand how this vision, of all others, came to me. One never dreams
original plots of novels; quite new stories never come to anyone; and
this story, except for one little half-forgotten circumstance, was
quite new. Some novelists have pretended that their plots habitually
come to them in dreams, but I do not believe it. Dreams and visions are
erratic, incoherent, and unconnected things for the most part. That
makes my vision all the more remarkable.
I suppose I must have dropped into some kind of bodily torpor. I am
sure I was not asleep, because all through the business I knew that I
was lying on the bed, although the action of the piece, so to speak,
was elsewhere. However that may be, it is really useless to explain
or account for a vision. The one that came to me was, so to speak, a
magnified and embroidered piece of work, springing from something that
Isabel had once told me. Why, I had quite forgotten it. She was talking
about her people, who were no more illustrious in station than my own;
and she informed me that once there was a strange man among them who
had run away to sea, and come home again in rags twenty years later,
raving about a fortune he had lost in India. Nothing more than that.
A very slight material of which to construct a vision. Yet it came,
and as long as I live I shall believe that the vision was somehow a
revelation of the truth sent to me just before the great discovery.
It began by my stepping out of the house--but I knew all along that
I was in the bed--and walking down the narrow lane leading out of
the High Street to Wapping Old Stairs. There I found, sitting on the
stairs, an elderly gentleman dressed in clothes extremely shabby. He
wore a coat of brown cloth, he had worsted stockings, hat frayed and
worn at the edge--quite a poor man he seemed to be. From his dress it
was evident that he belonged to the eighteenth century, which I like to
consider a picturesque period.
He sat upon the top step of Wapping Old Stairs, and he looked across
the river; and as he gazed the tears ran down his face.
It is not often that one gets the chance of talking to a man of the
eighteenth century, but it seemed not unnatural. I sat down beside him
as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
‘What, sir,’ I asked timidly, ‘is the cause of this grief?’
He sighed heavily. ‘My diamonds!’ he said, ‘my diamonds!’
‘What diamonds? I am a stranger to your time, worthy sir, and I know
nothing of your diamonds.’
‘What troubles me,’ he said, ‘is that I think I must have lost my soul
in getting them together, in which case I have thrown away my soul for
nothing.’
‘Dear me, sir, this is serious indeed.’
‘Yes, young man, they were amassed by scraping and grinding, and
squeezing and skinning. Never were people ground down more miserably;
and it was I who did it in my master’s service--in the service of the
devil, I think. And now I have lost the diamonds as well. What have I
got in exchange for my soul?’
I ought to have thought of John Burnikel at this point, but I did not.
‘Tell me more about the diamonds,’ I said.
‘Once I was a Nabob,’ he began, fetching a sigh as deep as an Artesian
well.
‘Really? A Nabob? I thought a Nabob had a carriage and four, and troops
of servants.’
‘Once I was a Nabob.’ Then he stopped and looked around him
suspiciously. The watermen lay asleep in their boats. It was a Sunday
afternoon in summer. The ships were moored in long lines down the river
from London Bridge, which we could not see for the bend, down to the
Lower Pool. ‘Is there no one here but yourself?’ he whispered.
‘No one; and I belong to the next century.’
‘So you do. And you can’t lock me up in a madhouse, can you? Oh, it’s
dreadful to be in a madhouse when you are not mad! Horrible! They knock
you about! they starve you! they abuse you! they chain you up--when
you are not mad at all. Young man, never, if you can possibly help it,
lock up anyone in a madhouse.’
I promised him that I would not.
‘They put me in on account of these lost diamonds. They said I was mad.’
‘What diamonds, then?’
‘Sir, it relieves my grief to tell the cause. I was one of those
unlucky youths who cannot remain at home and do what the others do. I
had to run away when I was fourteen to prevent being apprenticed to
some vile trade--saddlery, I believe. So I ran away and went to sea;
and when we got to Calcutta, because the Captain was a brute, and the
mate was a brute, and the bo’s’n was a brute, I ran away from the
ship, and went up country, and entered the service of a native Prince.
And him I served for twenty years and more--served well--squeezed and
ground and skinned his people for him. And I got rich in his service,
for he gave me great presents. I told you--I was once a Nabob. Great
presents he gave me, though he was a devil.’
‘Very good, so far.’
‘When he let me go I carried down to Calcutta all my treasure in jewels
and gold pieces. I bought jewels, of which I understood the value very
well, with my money, and put them in a bag with what I had already--a
long, narrow canvas bag--and put the bag in a leathern belt, where it
could not be seen. And then I took passage in a homeward bound, with
all my fortune upon my person, worn night and day, in that narrow
leathern belt. Lots of people brought treasure home from India that
way. It was thought a safe way.’
‘Well?’
He sighed heavily. ‘On the voyage,’ he resumed, ‘I believe soon after
sailing, I was taken ill: it was brain-fever, sunstroke, or something.
When I came to myself again I was on shore--brought ashore and taken to
Bedlam because I was still disordered in my wits with my fever, or my
sunstroke.’
‘Oh! You were taken to Bedlam.’
‘I was taken to Bedlam and kept there--I don’t know how long. When they
let me go, and I remembered things, the belt was gone--the belt with
the diamonds was gone, I say!’
‘Who took it?’
‘I don’t know. Some sailor on the ship, perhaps; the keepers at Bedlam,
perhaps. So I went home to my own people, who lived at Canterbury, and
were saddlers. And when I went home in rags, they drove me out, and
when I raved about my diamonds, they locked me up again in another
madhouse.’
All this time I never thought of old John Burnikel at all.
‘That was very unlucky. What was the name of the ship?’ I asked him.
‘I cannot remember; I have never been able to remember.’
‘Or of the captain?’
‘I cannot remember.’
‘What is your own name? Can you remember that?’
‘Samuel Dering.’
‘Oh! Are you by any accident related to Captain Dering, and Isabel, his
daughter, both living in the year 1895?’
‘They will be my great-grand-nephew and great-great-grand-niece.’
‘Then they ought to have the diamonds, if they were found?’
‘Certainly they ought. I give them to Isabel. Please tell her so.’
‘And the name of the captain--was it John Burnikel?’
‘It was!’ He sprang to his feet. ‘Captain Burnikel it was! Where is he?
where is he?’
‘Dead, my friend--dead for nearly ninety years--as dead as you
yourself.’
He looked at me reproachfully, and the vision vanished. I was lying in
the old man’s bed and gazing at the sky. It was an odd trick of the
brain, more especially as I had never heard any hint or suggestion
of the kind. But at this moment I believe that I dreamed the truth,
and that old John Burnikel simply cut the belt from the waist of a
passenger gone mad for the time with sunstroke, or some other cause.
The passenger recovered after landing, but could not remember the name
of the ship or the captain, and he was the great-grandfather of Isabel.
Nothing in the story at all, except for the accident which followed.
My eyes fell upon the sea-chest. It was a large iron-bound trunk--the
sea-chest of an officer, not a common sailor, who is only allowed, I
believe, a sea-bag.
The more I looked at that chest, the more I thought about the
unfortunate Nabob turning all his fortune into precious stones, and
tying them up in a canvas bag worn as a belt. The vision, I repeat,
was so clear, the words were so plain, that I had not the least doubt
about the truth of the thing. John Burnikel had grown rich suddenly by
robbing a sick man of his fortune. No one suspected him; no one can
trace gems unless they are very large indeed; no one thought that he
possessed any precious stones till the last year of a very long life,
and then he accounted for their possession by a cock-and-bull story.
Had the injured man, this poor ruined Nabob, found him out, he could
bring no charge against him, for he had no kind of proof. And then an
irresistible desire seized me to search the chest once more on my own
account. It had been ransacked, I knew, time after time by Robert and
his predecessors. Never mind; I must look for myself.
So I sprang out of bed, and dragging the box out of the corner into the
middle of the room, I threw open the lid and began to search, taking
out the contents slowly one by one.
The chest had been left just as it was since the old man’s death.
Nothing had been taken away, only it had been searched a hundred times;
every separate member of the family had searched it over and over again
for three generations in hopes of finding that lost fortune. But in
vain. And now it was my turn.
The chest certainly contained a collection which showed travel. It was
divided into two unequal compartments, one about two feet six long,
and the other about eighteen inches. Both compartments were provided
with a tray about two and a half inches deep. The things in the chest
were not arranged in order, but just lay about, one on the other, piled
up, just as they were thrown in by the last who examined the contents.
The things were not such as we should now call rare; they consisted
of curios brought from voyages in the Far East and sea-going things
of the time. Thus, an ancient rusty flint and steel pistol belonged
to the sailor. An Oriental dagger must have been picked up in some
native shop of Calicut or Bombay. The mariner’s compass, the roll of
charts, the telescope, the sextant, the large silver watch, belonged
to the sailor; so, I suppose, did a mummified flying-fish, which still
preserved something of its ancient salt-sea smell; a carved sandal-wood
box; one or two Oriental pipes; a large figure of Buddha, or somebody
else, looking supremely wise and philosophic--or perhaps theosophic;
certain silk handkerchiefs, mostly eaten by moths; slippers in gilt
leather; a book of Hindoo pictures, ugly and fleshly; one or two things
in mother-of-pearl; half a dozen gold rings; twenty or thirty silver
bangles tied together. All these things spoke of the Eastern traveller,
and, a hundred years ago, would be thought curious.
The first thing that made me jump was a leathern belt lying at the
bottom of the box. A leathern belt! Why, it confirmed, I thought,
that strange story concerning the fever-stricken passenger. He had
his leathern belt. Well, but anybody may have a leathern belt. And
this was quite a common thing--a broad strap with a buckle, black with
wear or with age. I took it out and examined it. Now, which was a very
remarkable coincidence, the leather was double; it could be pulled open
along the upper line, and there was room within for just such a long
slim bag as was described by my imaginary Nabob. I passed my fingers
along the whole length of this curious double belt--the secret-holding
belt. No, there were no jewels left.
Nothing more was in the box of the least importance. All the things
lay on the floor beside the box; the thing itself, with its lid wide
open, stood below the window, the full light falling into its two
compartments. As you know, I am a fairly good hand at a lathe, and I
am by trade a practical boat-builder--a craftsman; my eye is therefore
trained. Now, as I looked into the empty chest, thinking about that
belt, I perceived that, at the back of the chest in the larger
compartment, the longer side was not quite at right angles with the
bottom of the chest. The difference was very slight--an inclination of
a very few degrees from the right angle; still, it was there, and to a
practised eye quite visible. But in the smaller compartment the right
angle left nothing to be desired; it was a true right angle. Was this
accidental? I lifted the chest, and changed its position. Yes; there
could be no doubt about the inclination of the lower two inches all
along the back of the larger compartment. I turned the box over; the
back was perfectly rectangular. But here, again, I observed a curious
point. The chest was solidly built: the wood was thick all over; but
the wood of the back was two inches thick. Why had they taken such
extraordinary precautions to strengthen the chest? And then a strange
sense of excitement fell upon me, because I was now quite certain that
all these signs meant something which I was going to discover.
The chest was lined with paper of a pattern which contained, at
intervals of four or five inches, a black thick line; one of these
lines occurred just above the beginning of the angle. The effect of the
line was, of course, to darken the part just above and just below. Now,
when I looked narrowly into the place, I fancied that I saw below the
line another, which looked as if it was a solution of the continuity.
Two inches below, at the very bottom of the chest, there was a mark of
some kind, but not that of a solution of the continuity.
A practical man in the boat-building trade never goes about, even in
his bedroom, without a good strong jack-knife--one that will serve
many purposes, if necessary. I found mine, and I tested this apparent
juncture. Yes; the blade penetrated easily. I passed it along the box,
backwards and forwards; the wood creaked, being old and dry. What was
the meaning of this slit? I turned the knife round. The wood slowly
gave way, and this part of the box grindingly and grudgingly opened. It
turned on creaking hinges, being kept in place by two rusty springs.
I dragged it quite open with my fingers. It was a long, narrow,
slightly-curved shutter, fitting tightly to the side of the box at a
small angle almost imperceptible. Behind, the thick wood of the box had
been hollowed out; and thus a secret cupboard was found, the existence
of which would never be suspected.
In that narrow recess lay the thing for which everybody had been
searching for nearly a hundred years--the cause of the cousins’ quarrel
and separation: the long narrow bag of brown canvas stuff, like one of
the old-fashioned purses, only open at the end instead of the middle.
With a beating heart I took it out. The narrow brown canvas bag, just
as the ruined Nabob had told me! Did he appear just then in order to
tell me? I laid it on the bed. It was tied very tightly with string at
one end. There were things in it. What things?
I threw the bag on the bed and leaned out of the window. The morning
air was fresh; the sun was bright; the river--I could see it over the
boat-shed--danced in the sunlight and the breeze. I sat there for some
time--I know not how long--my brain running away with me, filled with
confused murmurs as of people all talking together: the original Robert
and George clamouring for a division; old John himself telling us how
the great Eastern King bade him fill his pockets and fear not; the
poor old ragged Nabob sitting on Wapping Old Stairs in order to bewail
his loss; and Isabel whispering that I should be better without these
diamonds. A curious jumble of voices and of thoughts.
Perhaps it was not, after all, the bag of diamonds.
I left the window. I dared to put the thing to the proof; I cut the
string with my knife, and I poured out the contents upon the sheet of
the open bed.
Heavens! what a shower was that which descended! Danaë herself never
saw so fine a sight. They fell in a small cascade of splendid light and
colour--diamond, pearl, emerald, ruby, sapphire, jasper, topaz, beryl,
opal, hyacinth, turquoise, agate, every conceivable gem poured out of
the long sack--two feet six long and three inches broad--and there they
lay before me in a heap, glittering in the morning light. There were
thousands of stones, large and small; not rough stones, but all cut and
polished.
I had found the old man’s precious hoard. What they were worth I could
not imagine, nor have I ever learned. Only to amass such an immense
sum in the service of an Eastern Prince in twenty years must, I should
imagine, as the Nabob hinted, be extremely dangerous to the welfare of
the soul.
I ran my fingers through the pile. I played with the pretty things. I
threw them up to watch the light playing on them as they fell. I rolled
them over and over. Then began various temptations. I am not ashamed
to confess to very elementary suggestions that I should ‘sneak’ those
jewels. Said the voice of the Tempter: ‘Nobody knows what you have
found. Take the stones and go back to Piccadilly. There will be heaps
and heaps for you to live upon in that bag as long as you are likely
to live, and afterwards. Piccadilly is much more pleasant than Wapping.
Boat-building is a mean, mechanical craft. Remember that you belong to
that end of town. This is a Providential occasion; it is sent to you on
purpose to restore you to your old position.’
To this Tempter--I don’t know why he took the trouble to come at
all--one could easily find a reply. ‘Sir,’ I said, with dignity, ‘you
do not know to whom you are speaking. Go away, sir. Go to the Devil,
sir!’
The second Tempter said, ‘Why, just as this treasure would have
belonged to the original Robert and George had they found it, so it
belongs to the new Robert and George, now that they have found it. Call
him in quickly, and share it with him. Halves. That will give you both
plenty to live upon.’
To which I made answer on reflection: ‘My grandfather had brothers and
sisters. They went down in the world while he went up. I have cousins
somewhere who have as much right to the inheritance as I myself.
And Robert has brothers and sisters--no doubt, cousins as well. The
inheritance belongs to them as well as to Robert. If every one of us
has his share, there will not be much left.’
Then said the Tempter: ‘Why tell the far-off unknown cousins anything
about it? Probably they are much better without their share; much best
for most men to keep poor: they are out of temptation. Besides, there
is not too much to be divided between you and Robert. You will be able
to go back to the West End; it’s a much more pleasant life. Here you
will vegetate and grow stupid; your manners will fall from you; your
ideas will grow sordid, like your business. Better go West again, and
stay there. You will never again get such a chance. Boat-building is a
mean, mechanical craft.’
‘You, too,’ I said, with a struggle, ‘may go to your own place,
wherever that may be.’
I put back the stones in their bag. I closed the shutter; I filled the
chest with its contents. I closed the lid, and pushed the chest back
into the corner. Then I lay down on the bed and fell fast asleep.
When I awoke it was past six, and the life on the river had long
since begun. Had I dreamed? At first I thought so. The dream of the
unfortunate Nabob and his narrative was just as vivid as the dream of
finding the diamonds. Fired with this thought, I sprang out of bed and
tore open the box; yes, along the bottom ran that thin line which I had
opened with my knife. I doubted no longer.
I had found the diamonds.
I dressed quickly and hurried down to the river, where I went out for
a pull in one of our own boats--‘Burnikel and Burnikel.’ The exercise
and the fresh air set my brain right. I was able to see the thing in
its true light: namely, the find did not affect me at all. For nearly
ninety years that sea-chest had been in the possession of the tenant
of the house. Robert received it as part of his inheritance; to him,
as to the eldest, the family house and the family business; to the
others, a small sum of money each and the wide, wide world. The chest
was Robert’s, with all its contents; just as the old man’s bed was
Robert’s, and all the furniture of the house was his.
After breakfast the Captain retired to his own room. Isabel and I
were left alone. She proceeded, according to her wont, to wash up
the teacups; it is an ancient, homely custom among old-fashioned
housewives, and belongs to a time when china was dear and very precious.
‘You look serious, George,’ she said. ‘Has anything important happened?’
‘Something very important.’
‘Is it anything that will take you away from this place?’
Then I looked around and considered this maiden, how sweet and good
she was, and how much simpler and sweeter than the girls of society;
and how lovely she was, especially when the colour, like the dainty
delicate bloom of the peach, rose to her cheek. And how she loved
me--that I knew; and how I was bent upon taking her away from her cold,
unloving _fiancé_; and how she would never find any place in society
where she would be happy; and how I could not live without her.
Of course, the chest belonged absolutely to Robert--the chest and all
that it contained.
‘No, Isabel, nothing will ever happen that will take me from your
presence unless you command me to go.’
Despite my promise, some such words would fly out from time to time.
My excuse is that I was thinking continually how to effect Isabel’s
release.
She made no reply, but went on washing up the cups and saucers.
‘Isabel,’ I said, remembering the tearful Nabob, ‘do you remember
telling me about a certain member of your family who came home from
India and always raved about a lost fortune? Where did your people come
from?’
‘They lived at Canterbury once.’ That was where the Nabob went. ‘I do
not know how long they lived there.’
‘And about that man coming from India? Do you know anything about the
fortune that he lost?’
‘There was a man once--I have heard my great-grandfather, who lived to
a very old age, speak of his uncle, who was a very strange man. He had
been abroad, and he was wandering in his wits, and used to sit down
and cry over a lost fortune, which he said was in a belt. That is all
I know about him. My great-grandfather always said that he believed in
the loss of the fortune. But why do you ask?’
‘Only because I dreamed about him last night. Odd, wasn’t it? Dreamed
that he sat on the steps, and wept over his lost fortune.’
‘You dreamed about him? About my great-great-uncle, of whom you have
heard that strange thing!’
‘Yes. It’s a strange world. I dreamed about him. I will tell you some
day--soon--what I dreamed. It’s a very strange world indeed, Isabel.
And the most wonderful things get found out, years and years and years
after they have been done and forgotten.’
Then, for reasons of my own, I resolved to tell no one about the
diamonds for the present. One or two things had to be done before
Robert should learn of his recovered inheritance.