A CONSERVATIVE COUNTRY.
Until the moment of our parting came, I had no idea that Beatrice
Hipgrave felt my going at all. She was not in the habit of displaying
emotion, and I was much surprised at the reluctance with which she
separated from me. So far, however, was she from reproaching me,
that she took all the blame upon herself, saying that if she had been
kinder and nicer to me, I should never have thought about my island.
In this she was quite wrong; but when I told her so, and assured her
that I had no fault to find with her behavior, I was met by an almost
passionate assertion of her unworthiness, and an entreaty that I
should not spend on her a love that she did not deserve. Her abasement
and penitence compelled me to show, and indeed to feel, a good deal
of tenderness for her. She was pathetic and pretty in her unusual
earnestness and unexplained distress. I went the length of offering
to put off my expedition until after our wedding; and, although she
besought me to do nothing of the kind, I believe we might in the end
have arranged matters on this footing had we been left to ourselves.
But Mrs. Hipgrave saw fit to intrude on our interview at this point,
and she at once pooh-poohed the notion, declaring that I should be
better out of the way for a few months. Beatrice did not resist her
mother's conclusion; but when we were alone again, she became very
agitated, begging me always to think well of her, and asking if I were
really attached to her. I did not understand this mood, which was very
unlike her usual manner, but I responded with a hearty and warm avowal
of confidence in her; and I met her questions as to my own feelings
by pledging my word very solemnly that absence should, so far as I was
concerned, make no difference, and that she might rely implicitly on
my faithful affection. This assurance seemed to give her very little
comfort, although I repeated it more than once; and when I left her, I
was in a state of some perplexity, for I could not follow the bent
of her thoughts, nor appreciate the feelings that moved her. I was,
however, considerably touched, and upbraided myself for not having
hitherto done justice to the depth and sincerity of nature which
underlay her external frivolity. I expressed this self-condemnation to
Denny Swinton, but he met it very coldly, and would not be drawn
into any discussion of the subject. Denny was not wont to conceal
his opinions, and had never pretended to be enthusiastic about my
engagement. This attitude of his had not troubled me before, but I was
annoyed at it now, and I retaliated by asseverating my affection for
Beatrice in terms of even exaggerated emphasis, and her's for me with
no less vehemence.
These troubles and perplexities vanished before the zest and interest
which our preparations and start excited. Denny and I were like a pair
of schoolboys off for a holiday, and spent hours in forecasting what
we should do and how we should fare in the island. These speculations
were extremely amusing, but in the long run they were proved to be,
one and all, wide of the mark. Had I known Neopalia then as well as
I came to know it afterward, I should have recognized the futility of
attempting to prophesy what would happen there. As it was, we spun our
cobwebs merrily all the way to Rhodes, where we arrived without event
and without accident. There we picked up Hogvardt, and embarked in the
smart little steam yacht which he had hired for me. A day or two was
spent in arranging our stores and buying what more we wanted, for we
could not expect to be able to procure anything in Neopalia. I was
rather surprised to find no letter for me from the old lord, but I had
no thought of waiting for a formal invitation, and pressed on the hour
of departure as much as I could. Here, also, I saw the first of my new
subjects, Hogvardt having engaged a couple of men who had come to him,
saying they were from Neopalia and were anxious to work their passage
back. I was delighted to have them, and fell at once to studying them
with immense attention. They were fine, tall, capable-looking fellows,
and they, too, with ourselves, made a crew more than large enough for
our little boat; for both Denny and I would make ourselves useful on
board, and Hogvardt could do something of everything on land or water,
whilst Watkins acted as cook and steward. The Neopalians were, as they
stated, in answer to my questions, brothers; their names were Spiro
and Demetri, and they informed us that their family had served the
lords of Neopalia for many generations. Hearing this, I was less
inclined to resent the undeniable reserve and even surliness with
which they met my advances. I made allowance for their hereditary
attachment to the outgoing family; and their natural want of
cordiality toward the intruder did not prevent me from plying them
with many questions concerning my predecessors on the throne of the
island. My perseverance was ill rewarded, but I succeeded in learning
that the only member of the family on the island, besides the old
lord, was a girl whom they called "the Lady Euphrosyne," the daughter
of the lord's brother, who was dead. Next I asked after my friend of
the Optimum restaurant, Constantine. He was this lady's cousin once
or twice removed--I did not make out the exact degree of kinship--but
Demetri hastened to inform me that he came very seldom to the island,
and had not been there for two years.
"And he is not expected there now?" I asked.
"He was not when we left, my lord," answered Demetri, and it seemed
to me that he threw an inquiring glance at his brother, who added
hastily:
"What should we poor men know of the Lord Constantine's doings?"
"Do you know where he is now?" I asked.
"No, my lord," they answered together, and with great emphasis.
I cannot deny that something struck me as peculiar in their manner,
but when I mentioned my impression to Denny, he scoffed at me.
"You've been reading old Byron again," he said, scornfully. "Do you
think they're corsairs?"
Well, a man is not a fool simply because he reads Byron, and I
maintained my opinion that the brothers were embarrassed at my
questions. Moreover, I caught Spiro, the more truculent-looking of the
pair, scowling at me more than once when he did not know I had my eye
on him.
These little mysteries, however, did nothing but add sauce to my
delight as we sprang over the blue waters; and my joy was complete
when, on the morning of the day I had appointed, the seventh of May,
Denny cried "Land," and, looking over the starboard bow, I saw the
cloud on the sea that was Neopalia. Day came bright and glorious, and
as we drew nearer to our enchanted isle, we distinguished its features
and conformation. The coast was rocky, save where a small harbor
opened to the sea; and the rocks ran up from the coast, rising higher
and higher, till they culminated in a quite respectable peak in the
centre. The telescope showed cultivated ground and vineyards, mingled
with woods, on the slopes of the mountain; and about half way up,
sheltered on three sides, backed by thick woods, and commanding a
splendid sea view, stood an old, gray, battlemented house.
"There's my house!" I cried, in natural exultation, pointing with my
finger. It was a moment in my life--a moment to mark.
"Hurrah!" cried Denny, throwing up his hat in sympathy.
Demetri was standing near, and met this ebullition with a grim smile.
"I hope my lord will find the house comfortable," said he.
"We shall soon make it comfortable," said Hogvardt. "I dare say it's
half a ruin now."
"It is good enough now for a Stefanopoulos," said the fellow, with
a surly frown. The inference we were meant to draw was plain even to
incivility.
At five o'clock in the evening we entered the harbor of Neopalia and
brought up alongside a rather crazy wooden jetty that ran some
fifty feet out from the shore. Our arrival appeared to create great
excitement. Men, women, and children came running down the narrow,
steep street which climbed up the hill from the harbor. We heard
shrill cries, and a hundred fingers were pointed at us. We landed;
nobody came forward to greet us. I looked round, and saw no one who
could be the old lord; but I perceived a stout man who wore an air of
importance, and, walking up to him, I asked him very politely if he
would be so good as to direct me to the inn, for I had discovered from
Demetri that there was a modest house where we could lodge that night,
and I was too much in love with my island to think of sleeping on
board the yacht. The stout man looked at Denny and me; then he looked
at Demetri and Spiro, who stood near us, smiling their usual grim
smile. And he answered my question by another, a rather abrupt one:
"What do you want, sir?" And he slightly lifted his tasselled cap and
replaced it on his head.
"I want to know the way to the inn," I answered.
"You have come to visit Neopalia?" he asked.
A number of people had gathered round us now, and all fixed their eyes
on my face.
"Oh," I said carelessly, "I am the purchaser of the island, you know.
I have come to take possession."
Nobody spoke. Perfect silence reigned for half a minute.
"I hope we shall get on well together," I said, with my pleasantest
smile.
Still no answer came. The people round still stared.
At last the stout man, altogether ignoring my friendly advances, said,
curtly:
"I keep the inn. Come. I will take you to it."
He turned and led the way up the street. We followed, the people
making a lane for us, and still regarding us with stony stares. Denny
gave expression to my feelings, as well as his own:
"It can hardly be described as an ovation," he observed.
"Surly brutes," muttered Hogvardt.
"It is not the way to receive his lordship," agreed Watkins, more in
sorrow than in anger. Watkins had very high ideas of the deference due
to "his lordship."
The fat innkeeper walked ahead. I quickened my pace and overtook him.
"The people do not seem very pleased to see me," I remarked.
He shook his head, but made no answer. Then he stopped before a
substantial house. We followed him in, and he led us up-stairs to a
large room. It overlooked the street, but, somewhat to my surprise,
the windows were heavily barred. The door also was massive, and had
large bolts inside and out.
"You take good care of your houses, my friend," said Denny, with a
laugh.
"We like to keep what we have, in Neopalia," said he.
I asked him if he would provide us with a meal, and, assenting
gruffly, he left us alone. The food was some time in coming, and we
stood at the window, peering through our prison bars. Our high spirits
were dashed by the unfriendly reception; my island should have been
more gracious, it was so beautiful.
"However, it's a better welcome than we should have got two hundred
years ago," I said, with a laugh, trying to make the best of the
matter.
Dinner, which the landlord brought in himself, cheered us again, and
we lingered over it till dusk began to fall, discussing whether I
ought to visit the lord, or whether, seeing that he had not come to
receive me, my dignity did not demand that I should await his visit;
and it was on this latter course that we finally decided.
"But he'll hardly come to-night," said Denny, jumping up. "I wonder if
there are any decent beds here!"
Hogvardt and Watkins had, by my directions, sat down with us; and the
former was now smoking his pipe at the window, while Watkins was busy
overhauling our luggage. We had brought light bags, the rods, guns,
and other smaller articles. The rest was in the yacht. Hearing beds
mentioned, Watkins shook his head in dismal presage, saying:
"We had better sleep on board, my lord."
"Not I! What, leave the island, now we've got here? No, Watkins!"
"Very good, my lord," said Watkins, impassively.
A sudden call came from Hogvardt, and I joined him at the window.
The scene outside was indeed remarkable. In the narrow, paved street,
gloomy now in the failing light; there must have been fifty or sixty
men standing in a circle, surrounded by an outer fringe of women
and children; and in the centre stood our landlord, his burly figure
swaying to and fro, as he poured out a low-voiced but vehement
harangue. Sometimes he pointed toward us, oftener along the ascending
road that led to the interior. I could not hear a word he said, but
presently all his auditors raised their hands toward heaven. I saw
that the hands held, some guns, some clubs, some knives; and all the
men cried with furious energy: "_Nai, nai!_" ("Yes, yes!") And then
the whole body--and the greater part of the grown men on the island
must have been present--started off, in compact array, up the road,
the innkeeper at their head. By his side walked another man, whom I
had not noticed before, and who wore an ordinary suit of tweeds, but
carried himself with an assumption of much dignity. His face I did not
see.
"Well, what's the meaning of that?" I exclaimed, looking down on the
street, empty now, save for groups of white-clothed women, who talked
eagerly to one another, gesticulating, and pointing now toward our
inn, now toward where the men had gone.
"Perhaps it's their parliament," suggested Denny. "Or perhaps they've
repented of their rudeness, and are going to erect a triumphal arch."
These conjectures being obviously ironical, did not assist the matter,
although they amused their author.
"Anyhow," said I, "I should like to investigate the thing. Suppose we
go for a stroll?"
The proposal was accepted at once. We put on our hats, took sticks,
and prepared to go. Then I glanced at the luggage.
"Since I was so foolish as to waste my money on revolvers," said I,
with an inquiring glance at Hogvardt.
"The evening air will not hurt them," said he; and we each stowed
a revolver in our pockets. We felt, I think, rather ashamed of our
timidity, but the Neopalians certainly looked rough customers. Then I
turned the handle of the door. The door did not open. I pulled hard at
it. Then I looked at my companions.
"Queer," said Denny, and he began to whistle.
Hogvardt got the little lantern, which he always had handy, and
carefully inspected the door.
"Locked," he announced, "and bolted top and bottom. A solid door,
too!" and he struck it with his hand. Then he crossed to the window,
and looked at the bolts; and finally he said to me: "I don't think we
can have our walk, my lord."
Well, I burst out laughing. The thing was too absurd. Under cover of
our animated talk the landlord must have bolted us in. The bars made
the window no use. A skilled burglar might have beaten those bolts,
and a battering-ram would, no doubt, have smashed the door; we had
neither burglar nor ram.
"We are caught, my boy," said Denny. "Nicely caught. But what's the
game?"
I had asked myself that question already, but had found no answer. To
tell the truth, I was wondering whether Neopalia was going to turn out
as conservative a country as the Turkish ambassador had hinted. It was
Watkins who suggested an answer.
"I imagine, my lord," said he, "that the natives [Watkins always
called the Neopalians "natives"] have gone to speak to the gentleman
who sold the island to your lordship."
"Gad!" said Denny, "I hope it will be a pleasant interview."
Hogvardt's broad, good-humored face had assumed an anxious look. He
knew something about the people of these islands; so did I.
"Trouble, is it?" I asked him.
"I'm afraid so," he answered; and then we turned to the window
again, except Denny, who wasted some energy and made a useless din by
battering at the door, till we beseeched him to let it alone.
There we sat for nearly two hours. Darkness fell, the women had ceased
their gossiping, but still stood about the street, and in the doorways
of the house.
It was nine o'clock before matters showed any progress. Then came
shouts from the road above us, the flash of torches, the tread of
men's feet in a quick, triumphant march. Then the stalwart figures of
the picturesque fellows, with their white kilts gleaming through the
darkness, came again into sight, seeming wilder and more imposing
in the alternating glare and gloom of the torches and the deepening
night. The man in tweeds was no longer visible. Our innkeeper
was alone in front. And all, as they marched, sang loudly a rude,
barbarous sort of chant, repeating it again and again; and the women
and children crowded out to meet the men, catching up the refrain in
shrill voices, till the whole air seemed full of it. And so martial
and inspiring was the rude tune that our feet began to beat in time
with it, and I felt the blood quicken in my veins. I have tried to
put the words of it into English, in a shape as rough, I fear, as the
rough original. Here it is:
"Ours is the land!
Death to the hand
That filches the land!
Dead is that hand,
Ours is the land!
Forever we hold it.
Dead's he that sold it!
Ours is the land.
Dead is the hand!"
Again and again they hurled forth the defiant words, until they
stopped at last opposite the inn, with one final, long-drawn shout of
savage triumph.
"Well, this is a go!" said Denny, drawing a long breath. "What are the
beggars up to?"
"What have they been up to?" I asked; for I doubted not that the song
we had heard had been chanted over a dead Stefanopoulos two hundred
years before.
At this age of the world the idea seemed absurd, preposterous,
horrible. But there was no law nearer than Rhodes, and there only
Turk's law. The only law here was the law of the Stefanopouloi, and if
that law lost its force by the crime of the hand that should wield it,
why, strange things might happen even to-day in Neopalia. And we were
caught like rats in a trap in the inn!
"I do not see," remarked old Hogvardt, laying a hand on my shoulders,
"any harm in loading our revolvers, my lord."
I did not see any harm in it either, and we all followed Hogvardt's
advice, and also filled our pockets with cartridges. I was
determined--I think we were all determined--not to be bullied by these
islanders and their skull-and-crossbones ditty.
A quarter of an hour passed, and there came a knock at the door, while
the bolts were shot back.
"I shall go out," said I, springing to my feet.
The door opened, and the face of a lad appeared.
"Vlacho, the innkeeper, bids you descend," said he; and then, catching
sight, perhaps, of our revolvers, he turned and ran down-stairs again
at his best speed. Following him, we came to the door of the inn. It
was ringed round with men, and directly opposite to us stood Vlacho.
When he saw me, he commanded silence with his hand, and addressed me
in the following surprising style:
"The Lady Euphrosyne, of her grace, bids you depart in peace. Go,
then, to your boat, and depart, thanking God for his mercy."
"Wait a bit, my man," said I. "Where is the lord of the island?"
"Did you not know that he died a week ago?" asked Vlacho, with
apparent surprise.
"Died!" we exclaimed, one and all.
"Yes, sir. The Lady Euphrosyne, lady of Neopalia, bids you go."
"What did he die of?"
"Of a fever," said Vlacho, gravely. And several of the men round him
nodded their heads, and murmured, in no less grave assent: "Yes, of a
fever."
"I am very sorry for it," said I. "But as he sold the island to me
before he died, I don't see what the lady, with all respect to her,
has got to do with it. Nor do I know what this rabble is doing about
the door. Send them away."
This attempt at hauteur was most decidedly thrown away. Vlacho seemed
not to hear what I said. He pointed with his finger toward the harbor.
"There lies your boat. Demetri and Spiro cannot go with you, but you
will be able to manage her yourselves. Listen, now! Till six in the
morning you are free to go. If you are found in Neopalia one minute
after, you will never go. Think and be wise." And he and all the rest
of them, as though one spring moved them, wheeled round, and marched
off up the hill again, breaking out into the old chant when they had
gone about a hundred yards; and we were left alone in the doorway of
the inn, looking, I must admit, rather blank.
Up-stairs again we went, and I sat down by the window and looked
out on the night. It was very dark, and seemed darker now that the
gleaming torches were gone. Not a soul was to be seen. The islanders,
having put matters on a clear footing, were gone to bed. I sat
thinking. Presently Denny came to me, and put his hand on my shoulder.
"Going to cave in, Charlie?" he asked.
"My dear Denny," said I, "I wish you were at home with your mother."
He smiled and repeated, "Going to cave in, old chap?"
"No, by Jove, I'm not!" cried I, leaping up. "They've had my money,
and I'm going to have the island."
"Take the yacht, my lord," counselled Hogvardt, "and come back with
enough force from Rhodes."
Well, that was sense; my impulse was nonsense. We four could not
conquer the island. I swallowed my pride.
"So be it," said I. "But, look here; it's only just twelve. We might
have a look round before we go. I want to see the place, you know."
For I was very sorely vexed at being turned out of my island.
Hogvardt grumbled a little at this, but here I overruled him. We took
our revolvers again, left the inn, and struck straight up the road.
For nearly a mile we mounted, the way becoming steeper with every
step. Then there was a sudden turn off the main road.
"That will lead to the house," said Hogvardt, who had studied the map
of Neopalia very carefully.
"Then we'll have a look at the house. Show us a light, Hogvardt. It's
precious dark."
Hogvardt opened his lantern, and cast its light in the way. But
suddenly he extinguished it again, and drew us close in to the rocks
that edged the road. We saw coming toward us in the darkness two
figures. They rode small horses. Their faces could not be seen; but as
they passed our silent, motionless forms, one said in a clear, sweet,
girlish voice:
"Surely they will go?"
"Ay, they'll go, or pay the penalty," said the other voice, and at
the sound of it I started. For it was the voice of my neighbor in the
restaurant, Constantine Stefanopoulos.
"I shall be near at hand, sleeping in the town," said the girl's
voice, "and the people will listen to me."
"The people will kill them, if they do not go," we heard Constantine
answer, in tones that witnessed no great horror at the idea. Then the
couple disappeared in the darkness.
"On to the house!" I cried in sudden excitement. For I was angry now,
angry at the utter, humbling scorn with which they treated me.
Another ten minutes' groping brought us in front of the old gray house
which we had seen from the sea. We walked boldly up to it. The door
stood open. We went in, and found ourselves in a large hall. The
wooden floor was carpeted, here and there, with mats and skins. A
long table ran down the middle. The walls were decorated with mediæval
armor and weapons. The windows were but narrow slits, the walls
massive and deep. The door was a ponderous, iron-bound affair, that
shamed even the stout doors of our inn. I called loudly, "Is any one
here?" Nobody answered. The servants must have been drawn off to the
town by the excitement of the procession and the singing; or perhaps
there were no servants. I could not tell. I sat down in a large
armchair by the table. I enjoyed the sense of proprietorship. Denny
sat on the table by me, dangling his legs. For a long while none of us
spoke. Then I exclaimed, suddenly:
"By heaven! why shouldn't we see it through?" And I rose and put my
hands against the massive door, and closed and bolted it, saying, "Let
them open that at six o'clock in the morning."
"Hurrah!" cried Denny, leaping down from his table, on fire with
excitement in a moment.
I faced Hogvardt. He shook his head, but he smiled. Watkins stood by,
with his usual imperturbability. He wanted to know what his lordship
decided, that was all; and when I said nothing more, he asked:
"Then your lordship will sleep here to-night?"
"I'll stay here to-night, anyhow, Watkins," said I. "I'm not going to
be driven out of my own island by anybody!"
And I brought my fist down with a crash on the table. And then, to our
amazement, we heard--from somewhere in the dark recesses of the hall,
where the faint light of Hogvardt's lantern did not reach--a low, but
distinct, groan, as of some one in pain. Watkins shuddered; Hogvardt
looked rather uncomfortable; Denny and I listened eagerly. Again the
groan came. I seized the lantern from Hogvardt's hand, and rushed in
the direction of the sound. There, in the corner of the hall, on
a couch, covered with a rug, lay an old man in an uneasy attitude,
groaning now and then, and turning restlessly. And by his side sat an
old serving-woman in weary, heavy slumber. In a moment I guessed the
truth--part of the truth.
"He's not dead of that fever yet," said I.