ENTER THE COMMISSIONER
It was noon, and in the Court House all the Councillors rose as the
Commandant entered and took his seat.
In the fewest possible words he opened the business, and leaned back in
his chair of state, waiting for the talk to begin. He scarcely knew
what he had said, and yet he had spoken well. With his restored
authority had come back the old easy habit of it.
At such a moment the Councillors would not have allowed, even to
themselves, that they breathed more easily and fell to business almost
with a sigh of relief, under the presidency of their old chairman. Yet
so it was. The Lord Proprietor had been autocratic in council,
impatient of opinions that crossed his own, apt to treat discussion as
a tedious preliminary to enforcing his will.
After five years, then, the Councillors enjoyed, without confessing it,
a sense of liberty regained; and it was the more to the Commandant's
credit that in spite of it he kept a firm rein on the debate, cutting
short all prolixities of speculation, and briefly ruling Mr. Pope's
theory of foul play to be, for the present, out of order. They were
met, he reminded them, for two practical purposes; in the first place,
to organise a thorough search for the Lord Proprietor, and, secondly,
to determine, as briefly as possible, how the government of the Islands
should be continued and carried on during his absence. He would take
these two questions only.
Mr. Rogers attended, and was cross-examined at length. With a chart
before him, and with the help of Reuben Hicks, the St. Ann's pilot, he
traced and described the currents to the northward of Inniscaw, the
Chairman meanwhile, with pencil and paper, assigning the search-parties
to the various rocks and groups of islets in or around which it was
deemed possible for a floating body to be carried--so many boats to
North Island, so many to seek along Brefar to W. and S. W. of
Merryman's Head, so many to explore the difficult passage between the
Outer Dogs. A sheet of foolscap had been pinned on the outside of the
Court House door inviting volunteers; and while the Councillors
deliberated they could hear the murmur of the crowd surrounding the
notice and the scratching of pencils as one man after another painfully
wrote his name. At intervals--time being precious--Constable Ward would
step out, unpin the paper, replace it with a new one, and bring it
indoors to the Commandant who was thus enabled to form his crews with
despatch.
It was during one of these intervals (the Court House door being open
for a moment) that Councillor Tregaskis, happening to glance out at the
crowd from his raised chair, and over the heads of the crowd at the
line of distant blue water sparkling in the afternoon sunshine, jumped
up from his seat with an exclamation:
"A yacht, by Gorm!"
"Eh? What?" Fully half the Councillors turned towards him, and craned
their necks for a view through the doorway. "A yacht?" The Commandant
laid down his pen and stood up, raising himself a-tip-toe on his dais
in the endeavour to gain a glimpse of the horizon from the window high
on his right.
"A steam yacht!"
The Councillors stared one at another, wondering if this new arrival
could have any possible connection with the Lord Proprietor's
disappearance.
"What's her flag?" demanded Mr. Rogers.
"She carries no ensign," reported Mr. Tregaskis; "but a
reddish-coloured square flag--a house-flag, belike. And yet, seemin' to
me, she don't look like a private-owned craft."
"She's the Admiralty yacht from Plymouth," announced Mr. Rogers,
confidently. He had set a chair close to the window and climbed upon
it. "Yes, yes--the old _Circe_; I could tell her in a thousand....
She's slowing down to anchor; and see, there's the gold anchor on her
flag! Listen, now ... there goes!..." Through the open doorway, across
the clear water, their ears caught the splash of a dropped anchor, and
the music of its chain running through the hawse-pipe.
The Commandant rapped the table.
"Gentlemen," said he, "oblige me by returning to your places and
resuming our business. We shall not advance it just now by catching at
hopes which may be baseless, though I admit the temptation. That these
visitors bring us any news of the Lord Proprietor or any that bears,
even remotely, upon his disappearance is--to say the least of
it--highly improbable. On the other hand, it is certain that by
detaining Mr. Rogers here we hinder him in the discharge of those
courtesies which, as Inspecting Commander, he will be eager to pay to
the newcomers. I suggest, then, that we briefly conclude the inquiry,
in which he has given us so much help, and allow him to put off to the
yacht, while we, restraining our curiosity, take further counsel for
the interim government of the Islands. If"--he turned to Mr.
Rogers--"if, sir, our visitors can throw any light on the mystery, I
may trust you to bring them to us with all despatch."
Accordingly Mr. Rogers, having briefly completed his evidence, was
allowed to depart, and the councillors fell again to the business of
distributing the crews of the searchboats.
Meanwhile, in the Court House, it was agreed that supreme control of
the executive reverted naturally to the Commandant, subject only to
such power of criticism or restraint as the Council claimed over the
action of the Lord Proprietor himself. The twelve shouted "Aye" to this
with one voice.
The Commandant, however, reminded them that he had not yet put the
resolution, and that it was doubtful--he spoke as one who, some years
ago, had made a study of these constitutional niceties--"if the Council
of Twelve had really any say in the matter. They could, of course,
elect their own President----"
But at this point a noise of women's voices on the quay, followed by a
knocking on the door of the Council Chamber, put a period to the
impatience of his auditors.
The door was opened, and Mr. Rogers appeared on the threshold with a
tall officer, gaunt and white-haired, in military undress--at first
glance indisputably a person of distinction--standing close behind his
shoulder.
"I beg your pardon, Mr. President, if we interrupt the Council," began
Mr. Rogers; "but I have brought a visitor here, Sir Ommaney Ward, who
has business with you so soon as the sitting is over."
"--But who has no desire at all to interrupt it," added Sir Ommaney
courteously, stepping forward and bowing to the Council. "Good
afternoon, gentlemen! Good afternoon, sir!" He stepped forward to the
dais holding out his hand. "Hey? my old friend Vigoureux, have you
quite forgotten me, in all these years?"
"Ward!" exclaimed the Commandant, his face brightening with sudden
recognition. A moment later, even more suddenly, it grew gray and
haggard, almost (you might say) with terror. But the visitor did not
perceive this.
"My dear fellow, why not give me the name as it rose to your lips?
'Tubby' Ward it used to be in the trenches, eh? Gentlemen"--Sir Ommaney
turned to the Council--"your President and I have interrupted each
other's work before now--as gunner and sapper--under Sebastopol. But I
have no desire to interrupt yours, knowing how serious it is. Mr.
Rogers brought off the news--this disquieting, not to say dumbfounding,
news--to the yacht just now; and I hardly need to tell you that it puts
my own errand into the background. Sir,"--he turned to the Commandant
again--"I allowed Mr. Rogers to bring me here only on his surmise that
your business would be over. If you will give me, having announced
myself, your leave to withdraw----"
"We shall have done in a very few minutes," answered the Commandant.
His lips were dry, and he marvelled at the careless sound of his own
voice. He had not a doubt of the true meaning of Sir Ommaney's visit.
Nay, the very swiftness with which it followed upon his letter of
confession proved how serious a view the War Office must take of his
case. He pulled himself together desperately. "If you will take a
chair, sir, here on my right, I promise that twenty minutes will see us
at an end."
So the business of the Council was resumed, and the Commandant, still
wondering at his own coolness, took up the thread of his discourse.
It was, on the whole, an admirable discourse. He had the constitutional
system of the Islands at his fingers' ends, and to-day, with despair in
his heart, but thinking nothing of them nor recking at all, he
expounded them lucidly. His words, too, had a real effect upon his
hearers; an emotional effect which Sir Ommaney, sitting and listening
seriously, could not but note.
At the conclusion, Mr. Pope rose again, and proposed, and Mr. Fossell
again seconded, that the supreme government of the islands reverted
naturally, for the time being, to the Commandant: so that, for
practical purposes, it may be contended he had spoken superfluously.
But, to one who looked beneath the surface, this did not matter.
The Court rose, with its ancient formalities. "Reginæ et insulis ejus
sit Deus propitius," said the President, closing the Bible, which at
all meetings of the Council lay open on the table before him. "Ita et
laboribus nostris, Amen," duly responded the twelve Councillors,
standing in their places while he walked with his guest to the door. On
the threshold he faced about, and made them a bow, which they as
ceremoniously returned.
Out of doors the afternoon sun shone with a brightness almost dazzling
after the shade of the Court House; but the tonic north-west wind,
blowing across the Roads from Cromwell's Sound, held an autumnal chill,
and the Commandant shivered as he halted a moment to con the _Circe_ in
the offing.
"I travel in state," said Sir Ommaney, with a laugh, as he followed
this glance; "and with the cabins of half-a-dozen Sea Lords to choose
between. In point of fact, our department has no boat at Plymouth
capable of performing the passage comfortably: so, my business being
partly theirs, I applied to the Admiralty, and the Admiralty placed
their yacht at my disposal."
The Commandant did not understand; or perhaps he had not been listening
intently. By tacit consent, the pair bent their steps towards the slope
of Garrison Hill.
"Also," Sir Ommaney resumed, "the Admiral at Plymouth added a word of
advice, to take advantage of this spell of weather and make the passage
at once. No doubt he had a professional distrust of a soldier's
stomach. Still, he meant it kindly. And that accounts for my arriving
some days ahead of scheduled time, and dropping into the midst of this
disquieting business. What's the meaning of it, think you?"
"The meaning of it?" echoed the Commandant.
"You don't doubt the man fell over the cliffs and killed himself?"
The Commandant shook his head. "I don't doubt his having met with an
accident," he answered. "But I have some hope of finding him yet, and
of finding him alive."
"To me, that doesn't seem likely.... But I want to tell you at once
that my business can wait. I repeat, I am ahead of time. I can employ
myself on board, or get out the steam-launch and explore the Islands;
or again (if you will use me), I will gladly make one of a search
party."
The Commandant thanked him. "But I have no particular business, at any
rate for an hour or two. The boats have gone, and I leave it to Mr.
Rogers to direct the search, now that we have laid down the plan of it.
On these occasions, one captain is always better than two." Sir Ommaney
might talk easily of postponing this or that; but the Commandant, poor
man, craved to get the worst over and learn his fate.
"By the bye, Vigoureux--if you'll not mind my saying so--you handled
that Council of yours admirably."
The Commandant flushed. "They are old friends of mine, Sir Ommaney."
"Why, and so am I an old friend; at least, as I supposed. Cannot you
manage to drop the prefix?... Very well.... And now, if you have
nothing better to do, take me over the old fortifications."
They climbed the hill together to the Garrison gate, and thence,
bearing away to the left, started to make the round of the batteries.
He flinched as they came to the first--the King George's Battery--and
stood by the deserted platform. The bitter humiliation to be here,
master of a fortress without one single gun! Almost he dreaded to hear
his guest break forth with a contemptuous laugh.
Sir Ommaney, however, surveyed the ruin in silence, and when he spoke
it was only to ask a question concerning the trajectory of the guns
which had once furnished it. The Commandant walked by his side, a man
torn by many emotions. For the first time in fifteen years he, an
enthusiast in gunnery, had an opportunity to talk with one who really
cared for gunnery and understood it. On the other hand, and eagerly as
he jumped at every question, he could not help perceiving that these
batteries--of which he had been so proud--of which in recollection he
was yet so proud--were to Sir Ommaney but obsolete toys. This visitor
of his, this friend of his gallant youth, had moved with the times, and
the times had carried him to an infinite distance, beyond all
understanding. Thus, as he moved on from battery to battery, at times
our Commandant talked earnestly, wistfully, and at times fell to a
despondent silence; and still between his eagerness and his despondency
the personal question awoke--"He is kind, but he is here to pass
judgment on me. What can the sentence be but disgrace?" Arrived at the
Keg of Butter Battery, Sir Ommaney seated himself on the low wall, hard
by the spot where Vashti had dug at the stones with her sunshade.
"My dear Vigoureux," said Sir Ommaney, after a long look seaward, "I
haven't a doubt you regret your guns, obsolete though you know that
they were. For that matter, your batteries--their build and their very
positions--are quite as hopelessly out of date."
"Man," exclaimed the Commandant, with a sudden rush of blood to the
face, "do you suppose I cannot guess why you are here? Oh, for God's
sake let me hear the worst! If for five years I have been an enforced
idler here, do me at least the justice to believe that I know the range
of modern artillery and something of what a modern battleship can do.
Fifteen years ago when I came to take over the command of the Islands,
the old _Black Prince_ was the last word in ships and gunnery. Think of
it! Yet, the basis of defence, the simple principle, lies here, and has
always lain here. If you had come to discuss this----"
Sir Ommaney lifted a hand. "But that is partly--even chiefly--what I am
come to consider."
"Ah!"
"And I have seen a letter about you, addressed to the War Office by the
Lord Proprietor: an unfriendly letter, I may say."
The Commandant's cheeks were already warm with excitement, but at this
their colour deepened.
"I beg you to believe," said he, heartily, "that if Sir Cæsar has
written about me, my letter was sent without knowledge of it, and in no
desire to anticipate----"
"My dear fellow," Sir Ommaney interrupted; "I have some little sense
left in my head, I hope. But will you put constraint upon yourself for
a moment to forget these letters, to dismiss the personal question, and
simply to resume our talk."
"I will try," agreed the Commandant, after a painful pause. "But it
will be hard; harder perhaps than you can understand. Honours have come
to you--deservedly, I admit----"
"And too late," Sir Ommaney again took him up. "My dear Vigoureux, when
we knew one another in the old days, honours seemed to both of us the
most desirable thing in the world. Believe me, they always come too
late."
The Commandant looked at him for a moment. "Yes," said he at length,
"we have talked enough of ourselves. And what do we matter, after all?"
They walked back to the Barracks together, side by side, discussing, as
one soldier with another, the problem which the one had opened, on
which the other had brooded in silence for years.
Arrived at his quarters, the Commandant applied the poker to his fire,
motioned Sir Ommaney to the worn armchair, excused himself, and hurried
off to seek Archelaus and discuss the chances of a cup of tea.
Sir Ommaney, left to himself, took a glance round the poverty-stricken
room, and stretched out his long legs to the blaze. The evening air
without had been chilly. The sea-coal in the grate, stirred by the
Commandant's poker, woke to a warm glow with a small dancing flame on
top. Sir Ommaney stared into the glow, lost in thought.... A tapping on
the pane awoke him out of his brown study. He sat upright, but almost
with the same motion he sprang to his feet as a hand pushed open the
window behind him.
There was no light in the room save that afforded by the dancing,
uncertain flame. It wavered, as he turned about, upon the figure of a
woman entering confidently across the sill, and upon a face at sight of
which he drew back almost in terror.
"Pass, friend, and all's well!" said Vashti, with a light laugh, as she
effected her entrance. Then, catching sight of the man confronting her,
she caught at the curtain, and said, simply, "O-oh!"
"Lord, bless my soul!" exclaimed Sir Ommaney, in a low voice, but
fervently.
"I--I thought you were the Commandant," stammered Vashti, for once in
this history taken thoroughly aback.
"Mademoiselle Cara!... You? And here, of all places in the world!"
But upon this they both turned, as the door opened and the Commandant
stood on the threshold.
"Miss Vashti!" The Commandant stared from one to the other.
Vashti broke the silence with her ready laugh.
"Sir Ommaney Ward and I have met before. He does not know that this is
my native home; but"--she dropped them both a curtsey--"the point is
that you are both to come with me, and at once."