TELLS IN WHAT A STARTLING MANNER I LEARNED THAT I WAS NOT ALONE IN
GRADEN SEA-WOOD
This was my wife's story, as I drew it from her among tears and sobs.
Her name was Clara Huddlestone: it sounded very beautiful in my ears;
but not so beautiful as that other name of Clara Cassilis, which she
wore during the longer, and I thank God the happier, portion of her
life. Her father, Bernard Huddlestone, had been a private banker in a
very large way of business. Many years before, his affairs becoming
disordered, he had been led to try dangerous, and at last criminal,
expedients to retrieve himself from ruin. All was in vain; he became
more and more cruelly involved, and found his honour lost at the same
moment with his fortune. About this period Northmour had been courting
his daughter with great assiduity, though with small encouragement; and
to him, knowing him thus disposed in his favour, Bernard Huddlestone
turned for help in his extremity. It was not merely ruin and dishonour,
nor merely a legal condemnation, that the unhappy man had brought upon
his head. It seems he could have gone to prison with a light heart. What
he feared, what kept him awake at night or recalled him from slumber
into frenzy, was some secret, sudden, and unlawful attempt upon his
life. Hence he desired to bury his existence and escape to one of the
islands in the South Pacific, and it was in Northmour's yacht, the _Red
Earl_, that he designed to go. The yacht picked them up clandestinely
upon the coast of Wales, and had once more deposited them at Graden,
till she could be refitted and provisioned for the longer voyage. Nor
could Clara doubt that her hand had been stipulated as the price of
passage. For, although Northmour was neither unkind nor even
discourteous, he had shown himself in several instances somewhat
over-bold in speech and manner.
I listened, I need not say, with fixed attention, and put many questions
as to the more mysterious part. It was in vain. She had no clear idea of
what the blow was, nor of how it was expected to fall. Her father's
alarm was unfeigned and physically prostrating, and he had thought more
than once of making an unconditional surrender to the police. But the
scheme was finally abandoned, for he was convinced that not even the
strength of our English prisons could shelter him from his pursuers. He
had had many affairs with Italy, and with Italians resident in London,
in the later years of his business, and these last, as Clara fancied,
were somehow connected with the doom that threatened him. He had shown
great terror at the presence of an Italian seaman on board the _Red
Earl_, and had bitterly and repeatedly accused Northmour in consequence.
The latter had protested that Beppo (that was the seaman's name) was a
capital fellow, and could be trusted to the death; but Mr. Huddlestone
had continued ever since to declare that all was lost, that it was only
a question of days, and that Beppo would be the ruin of him yet.
I regarded the whole story as the hallucination of a mind shaken by
calamity. He had suffered heavy loss by his Italian transactions; and
hence the sight of an Italian was hateful to him, and the principal part
in his nightmare would naturally enough be played by one of that nation.
"What your father wants," I said, "is a good doctor and some calming
medicine."
"But Mr. Northmour?" objected your mother. "He is untroubled by losses,
and yet he shares in this terror."
I could not help laughing at what I considered her simplicity.
"My dear," said I, "you have told me yourself what reward he has to look
for. All is fair in love, you must remember; and if Northmour foments
your father's terrors, it is not at all because he is afraid of any
Italian man, but simply because he is infatuated with a charming
English woman."
She reminded me of his attack upon myself on the night of the
disembarkation, and this I was unable to explain. In short, and from one
thing to another, it was agreed between us that I should set out at once
for the fisher village, Graden-Wester, as it is called, look up all the
newspapers I could find, and see for myself if there seemed any basis of
fact for these continued alarms. The next morning, at the same hour and
place, I was to make my report to Clara. She said no more on that
occasion about my departure; nor, indeed, did she make it a secret that
she clung to the thought of my proximity as something helpful and
pleasant; and, for my part, I could not have left her, if she had gone
upon her knees to ask it.
I reached Graden-Wester before ten in the forenoon; for in those days I
was an excellent pedestrian, and the distance, as I think I have said,
was little over seven miles; fine walking all the way upon the springy
turf. The village is one of the bleakest on that coast, which is saying
much: there is a church in a hollow; a miserable haven in the rocks,
where many boats have been lost as they returned from fishing; two or
three score of stone houses arranged along the beach and in two streets,
one leading from the harbour, and another striking out from it at right
angles; and, at the corner of these two, a very dark and cheerless
tavern, by way of principal hotel.
I had dressed myself somewhat more suitably to my station in life, and
at once called upon the minister in his little manse beside the
graveyard. He knew me, although it was more than nine years since we had
met; and when I told him that I had been long upon a walking tour, and
was behind with the news, readily lent me an armful of newspapers,
dating from a month back to the day before. With these I sought the
tavern, and, ordering some breakfast, sat down to study the "Huddlestone
Failure."
It had been, it appeared, a very flagrant case. Thousands of persons
were reduced to poverty; and one in particular had blown out his brains
as soon as payment was suspended. It was strange to myself that, while I
read these details, I continued rather to sympathise with Mr.
Huddlestone than with his victims; so complete already was the empire of
my love for my wife. A price was naturally set upon the banker's head;
and, as the case was inexcusable and the public indignation thoroughly
aroused, the unusual figure of L750 was offered for his capture. He was
reported to have large sums of money in his possession. One day he had
been heard of in Spain; the next, there was sure intelligence that he
was still lurking between Manchester and Liverpool, or along the border
of Wales; and the day after, a telegram would announce his arrival in
Cuba or Yucatan. But in all this there was no word of an Italian, nor
any sign of mystery.
In the very last paper, however, there was one item not so clear. The
accountants who were charged to verify the failure had, it seemed, come
upon the traces of a very large number of thousands, which figured for
some time in the transactions of the house of Huddlestone; but which
came from nowhere, and disappeared in the same mysterious fashion. It
was only once referred to by name, and then under the initials "X.X.";
but it had plainly been floated for the first time into the business at
a period of great depression some six years ago. The name of a
distinguished Royal personage had been mentioned by rumour in connection
with this sum. "The cowardly desperado"--such, I remember, was the
editorial expression--was supposed to have escaped with a large part of
this mysterious fund still in his possession.
I was still brooding over the fact, and trying to torture it into some
connection with Mr. Huddlestone's danger, when a man entered the tavern
and asked for some bread and cheese with a decided foreign accent.
"_Siete Italiano?_" said I.
"_Si, signor_," was his reply.
I said it was unusually far north to find one of his compatriots; at
which he shrugged his shoulders, and replied that a man would go
anywhere to find work. What work he could hope to find at Graden-Wester,
I was totally unable to conceive; and the incident struck so
unpleasantly upon my mind that I asked the landlord, while he was
counting me some change, whether he had ever before seen an Italian in
the village. He said he had once seen some Norwegians, who had been
shipwrecked on the other side of Graden Ness and rescued by the lifeboat
from Cauldhaven.
"No!" said I; "but an Italian, like the man who had just had bread and
cheese."
"What?" cried he, "yon black-avised fellow wi' the teeth? Was he an
I-talian? Weel, yon's the first that ever I saw, an' I daresay he's like
to be the last."
Even as he was speaking, I raised my eyes, and, casting a glance into
the street, beheld three men in earnest conversation together, and not
thirty yards away. One of them was my recent companion in the tavern
parlour; the other two, by their handsome, sallow features and soft
hats, should evidently belong to the same race. A crowd of village
children stood around them, gesticulating and talking gibberish in
imitation. The trio looked singularly foreign to the bleak dirty street
in which they were standing, and the dark grey heaven that overspread
them; and I confess my incredulity received at that moment a shock from
which it never recovered. I might reason with myself as I pleased, but I
could not argue down the effect of what I had seen, and I began to share
in the Italian terror.
It was already drawing towards the close of the day before I had
returned, the newspapers at the manse, and got well forward on to the
links on my way home. I shall never forget that walk. It grew very cold
and boisterous; the wind sang in the short grass about my feet; thin
rain showers came running on the gusts; and an immense mountain range of
clouds began to arise out of the bosom of the sea. It would be hard to
imagine a more dismal evening; and whether it was from these external
influences, or because my nerves were already affected by what I had
heard and seen, my thoughts were as gloomy as the weather.
The upper windows of the pavilion commanded a considerable spread of
links in the direction of Graden-Wester. To avoid observation, it was
necessary to hug the beach until I had gained cover from the higher
sand-hills on the little headland, when I might strike across, through
the hollows, for the margin of the wood. The sun was about setting; the
tide was low, and all the quicksands uncovered; and I was moving along,
lost in unpleasant thought, when I was suddenly thunderstruck to
perceive the prints of human feet. They ran parallel to my own course,
but low down upon the beach instead of along the border of the turf;
and, when I examined them, I saw at once, by the size and coarseness of
the impression, that it was a stranger to me and to those in the
pavilion who had recently passed that way. Not only so; but from the
recklessness of the course which he had followed, steering near to the
most formidable portions of the sand, he was as evidently a stranger to
the country and to the ill-repute of Graden beach.
Step by step I followed the prints; until, a quarter of a mile farther,
I beheld them die away into the south-eastern boundary of Graden Floe.
There, whoever he was, the miserable man had perished. One or two gulls,
who had, perhaps, seen him disappear, wheeled over his sepulchre with
their usual melancholy piping. The sun had broken through the clouds by
a last effort, and coloured the wide level of quicksands with a dusky
purple. I stood for some time gazing at the spot, chilled and
disheartened by my own reflections, and with a strong and commanding
consciousness of death. I remember wondering how long the tragedy had
taken, and whether his screams had been audible at the pavilion. And
then, making a strong resolution, I was about to tear myself away, when
a gust fiercer than usual fell upon this quarter of the beach, and I
saw, now whirling high in air, now skimming lightly across the surface
of the sands, a soft, black, felt hat, somewhat conical in shape, such
as I had remarked already on the heads of the Italians.
I believe, but I am not sure, that I uttered a cry. The wind was driving
the hat shoreward, and I ran round the border of the floe to be ready
against its arrival. The gust fell, dropping the hat for a while upon
the quicksand, and then, once more freshening, landed it a few yards
from where I stood. I seized it with the interest you may imagine. It
had seen some service; indeed, it was rustier than either of those I had
seen that day upon the street. The lining was red, stamped with the name
of the maker, which I have forgotten, and that of the place of
manufacture, _Venedig_. This (it is not yet forgotten) was the name
given by the Austrians to the beautiful city of Venice, then, and for
long after, a part of their dominions.
The shock was complete. I saw imaginary Italians upon every side; and,
for the first, and, I may say, for the last time in my experience,
became overpowered by what is called a panic terror. I knew nothing,
that is, to be afraid of, and yet I submit that I was heartily afraid;
and it was with a sensible reluctance that I returned to my exposed and
solitary camp in the Sea-Wood.
There I ate some cold porridge which had been left over from the night
before, for I was disinclined to make a fire; and, feeling strengthened
and reassured, dismissed all these fanciful terrors from my mind, and
lay down to sleep with composure.
How long I may have slept it is impossible for me to guess; but I was
awakened at last by a sudden, blinding flash of light into my face. It
woke me like a blow. In an instant I was upon my knees. But the light
had gone as suddenly as it came. The darkness was intense. And, as it
was blowing great guns from the sea and pouring with rain, the noises of
the storm effectually concealed all others.
It was, I daresay, half a minute before I regained my self-possession.
But for two circumstances, I should have thought I had been awakened by
some new and vivid form of nightmare. First, the flap of my tent, which
I had shut carefully when I retired, was now unfastened; and, second, I
could still perceive, with a sharpness that excluded any theory of
hallucination, the smell of hot metal and of burning oil. The conclusion
was obvious. I had been wakened by some one flashing a bull's-eye
lantern in my face. It had been but a flash, and away. He had seen my
face, and then gone. I asked myself the object of so strange a
proceeding, and the answer came pat. The man, whoever he was, had
thought to recognise me, and he had not. There was yet another question
unresolved: and to this, I may say, I feared to give an answer; if he
had recognised me, what would he have done?
My fears were immediately diverted from myself, for I saw that I had
been visited in a mistake; and I became persuaded that some dreadful
danger threatened the pavilion. It required some nerve to issue forth
into the black and intricate thicket which surrounded and overhung the
den; but I groped my way to the links, drenched with rain, beaten upon
and deafened by the gusts, and fearing at every step to lay my hand upon
some lurking adversary. The darkness was so complete that I might have
been surrounded by an army and yet none the wiser, and the uproar of the
gale so loud that my hearing was as useless as my sight.
For the rest of that night, which seemed interminably long, I patrolled
the vicinity of the pavilion, without seeing a living creature or
hearing any noise but the concert of the wind, the sea, and the rain. A
light in the upper story filtered through a cranny of the shutter, and
kept me company till the approach of dawn.