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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..79383cf --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #60528 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/60528) diff --git a/old/60528-0.txt b/old/60528-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 8b4afdf..0000000 --- a/old/60528-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10565 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Owls' House, by Crosbie Garstin - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Owls' House - -Author: Crosbie Garstin - -Release Date: October 19, 2019 [EBook #60528] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OWLS' HOUSE *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines, John Routh & the online Distributed -Proofreaders Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net - - - - - - - - - - - THE OWLS’ HOUSE - - By CROSBIE GARSTIN - - [Illustration] - - A. L. BURT COMPANY - Publishers New York - - Published by arrangement with Frederick A. Stokes Company - Printed in U. S. A. - - - - - _Copyright, 1923, by_ - FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY - - _All rights reserved_ - - _Printed in the United States of America_ - - The Owls' House - - - - - CHAPTER I - - -It was late evening when John Penhale left the Helston lawyer’s office. -A fine drizzle was blowing down Coinage Hall Street; thin beams of light -pierced the chinks of house shutters and curtains, barred the blue dusk -with misty orange rays, touched the street puddles with alchemic -fingers, turning them to gold. A chaise clattered uphill, the horses’ -steam hanging round them in a kind of lamp-lit nimbus, the post-boy’s -head bent against the rain. - -Outside an inn an old soldier with a wooden leg and very drunk stood -wailing a street ballad, both eyes shut, impervious to the fact that his -audience had long since left him. Penhale turned into “The Angel,” went -on straight into the dining-room and sat down in the far corner with the -right side of his face to the wall. He did so from habit. A trio of -squireens in mud-bespattered riding coats sat near the door and made -considerable noise. They had been hare hunting and were rosy with sharp -air and hard riding. They greeted every appearance of the ripe serving -maid with loud whoops and passed her from arm to arm. She protested and -giggled. Opposite them a local shop-keeper was entertaining a creditor -from Plymouth to the best bottle the town afforded. The company was made -up by a very young ensign of Light Dragoons bound to Winchester to join -his regiment for the first time, painfully self-conscious and aloof, in -his new scarlet. Penhale beat on the table with his knife. The maid -escaped from the festive sportsmen and brought him a plate of boiled -beef and onions. As she was about to set the plate before him one of the -hare hunters lost his balance and fell to the ground with a loud crash -of his chair and a yell of delight from his companions. - -The noise caused Penhale to turn his head. The girl emitted an “ach” of -horror, dropped the plate on the table and recoiled as though some one -had struck her. Penhale pulled the plate towards him, picked up his -knife and fork and quietly began to eat. He was quite used to these -displays. The girl backed away, staring in a sort of dreadful -fascination. A squireen caught at her wrist calling her his “sweet -slut,” but she wrenched herself free and ran out of the door. - -She did not come near Penhale again; the tapster brought him the rest of -his meal. Penhale went on eating, outwardly unmoved; he had been subject -to these outbursts, off and on, for eighteen years. - -Eighteen years previously myriads of birds had been driven south by the -hard winter upcountry. One early morning, after a particularly bitter -snap, a hind had run in to say that the pond on Polmenna Downs, above -the farm, was covered with wild duck. Penhale took an old flintlock -fowling piece of his father’s which had been hanging neglected over the -fireplace for years, and made for Polmenna, loading as he went. - -As the hind had said, the pool was covered with duck. Penhale crouched -under cover of some willows, brought the five-foot gun to his shoulder, -and blazed into the brown. - -An hour later a fisherman setting rabbit snares in a hedge above the -Luddra saw what he described as “a red man” fighting through the scrub -and bramble that fringed the cliff. It was John Penhale; the gun had -exploded, blowing half his face away. Penhale had no intention of -throwing himself over the Luddra, he was blind with blood and pain. The -fisherman led him home with difficulty, and then, being of a practical -mind, returned to the pond to pick up the duck. - -An old crone who had the reputation of being a “white witch” was -summoned to Bosula and managed to stop the bleeding by means of -incantations, cobwebs and dung—principally dung. The hind was sent on -horseback to Penzance to fetch Doctor Spargo. - -Doctor Spargo had been making a night of it with his friend the -Collector of Customs and a stray ship captain who was peculiarly gifted -in the brewing of rum toddies. The doctor was put to bed at dawn by his -household staff, and when he was knocked up again at eleven he was not -the best pleased. He bade his housekeeper tell the Bosula messenger that -he was out—called out to a confinement in Morvah parish and was not -expected back till evening—and turned over on his pillow. - -The housekeeper returned, agitated, to say that the messenger refused to -move. He knew the doctor was in, he said; the groom had told him so. -Furthermore if Spargo did not come to his master’s assistance without -further ado he would smash every bone in his body. Doctor Spargo rolled -out of bed, and opening the window treated the messenger to samples from -a vocabulary enriched by a decade of army life. The messenger listened -to the tirade unmoved and, as Doctor Spargo cursed, it was borne in on -him that he had seen this outrageous fellow before. Presently he -remembered when; he had seen him at Gwithian Feast, a canvas jacket on, -tossing parish stalwarts as a terrier tosses rats. The messenger was -Bohenna, the wrestler. Doctor Spargo closed both the tirade and the -window abruptly and bawled for his boots. - -The pair rode westwards, the truculent hind cantering on the heels of -the physician’s cob, laying into it with an ash plant whenever it showed -symptoms of flagging. The cob tripped over a stone in Bucca’s Pass and -shied at a goat near Trewoofe, on each occasion putting its master -neatly over its head. By the time Spargo arrived at Bosula he was -shaking worse than ever. He demanded more rum to steady his hand, but -there was none. He pulled himself together as best he could and set to -work, trembling and wheezing. - -Spargo was a retired army surgeon; he had served his apprenticeship in -the shambles of Oudenarde and Malplaquet among soldiers who had no -option but to submit to his ministrations. His idea was to patch men up -so that they might fight another day, but without regard to their -appearance. He sewed the tatters of John Penhale’s face together -securely but roughly, pocketed his fee and rode home, gasping, to his -toddies. - -John Penhale was of fine frame and hearty. In a week or two he was out -and about; in a month he had resumed the full business of the farm, but -his face was not a pleasant sight. The left side was merely marked with -a silvery burn on the cheek bone, but the right might have been dragged -by a harrow; it was ragged scars from brow to chin. The eye had gone and -part of an ear, the broken jaw had set concave and his cheek had split -into a long harelip, revealing a perpetual snarl of teeth underneath. He -hid the eye socket with a black patch, but the lower part of his face he -could not mask. - -Three months after his accident he rode into Penzance market. If one -woman squeaked at the sight of him so did a dozen, and children ran to -their mothers blubbering that the devil had come for them. Even the men, -though sympathetic, would not look him in the face, but stared at their -boots while they talked and were plainly relieved when he moved away. -John never went in again, unless driven by the direst necessity, and -then hurried out the moment his affairs were transacted. For despite his -bulk and stoic bearing he was supersensitive, and the horror his -appearance awoke cut him to the raw. Thus at the age of twenty-three he -became a bitter recluse, a prisoner within the bounds of his farm, -Bosula, cared for by a widow and her idiot daughter, mixing only with -his few hinds and odd farmers and fishermen that chance drove his way. - -He had come to Helston on business, to hear the terms of his Aunt -Selina’s will, and now that he had heard them he was eager to be quit of -the place. The serving girl’s behavior had stung him like a whip lash -and the brawling of the drunken squires jarred on his every nerve. He -could have tossed the three of them out of the window if he liked, but -he quailed at the thought of their possible mockery. They put their -heads together and whispered, hiccoughing and sniggering. They were, as -a fact, planning a descent on a certain lady in Pigs Street, but John -Penhale was convinced that they were laughing at him. The baby ensign -had a derisive curl in his lip, John was sure . . . he could feel the -two shop-keepers’ eyes turned his way . . . it was unbearable. - -Sneers, jeers, laughter . . . he hated them all, everybody. He would get -out, go home to Bosula, to sanctuary. He had a sudden longing for -Bosula, still and lonely among the folding hills . . . his own place. He -drank off his ale, paid the score and went out to see what the weather -was like. - -The wind had chopped around easterly and the rain had stopped. The moon -was up breasting through flying ridges of cloud like a naked white -swimmer in the run of surf. Penhale found an ostler asleep on a pile of -straw, roused him and told him to saddle his horse, mounted and rode -westwards out of town. - -He passed a lone pedestrian near Antron and a string of pack horses -under Breage Church, but for the rest he had the road to himself. He -ambled gently, considering the terms of his aunt’s will. She had left -him her strong farm of Tregors, in the Kerrier Hundred, lock, stock and -barrel, on the one condition that he married within twelve months. In -default of his marrying it was to pass to her late husband’s cousin, -Carveth Donnithorne, ship chandler of Falmouth. - -John Penhale paid silent tribute to his aunt’s cleverness. She disliked -the smug and infallible Donnithorne intensely, and in making him her -next heir had passed over four nearer connections with whom she was on -good terms. Her reasons for this curious conduct were that she was a -Penhale by birth with intense family pride and John was the last of her -line. A trivial dispute between John and Carveth over a coursing match -she had fostered with all the cunning that was in her till the men’s -dislike of each other amounted to plain hatred. She knew John would do -anything in his power to keep Donnithorne out of the Tregors’ rents. She -would drive him into matrimony, and then, with reasonable luck, the line -would go on and Penhales rule at Bosula forever and ever. - -John laughed grimly at the thought of his aunt—sly old devil! She had -married and left home before he was born, and he had not seen her a -score of times in his life, but she was a vivid memory. He could see her -now riding into Bosula, a-pillion behind one of her farm hands, her cold -blue eyes taking in every detail of the yard, and hear her first words -of greeting to her brother after a year’s separation. - -“Jan, thou mazed fool, the trash wants cutting back down to Long meadow, -and there’s a cow coughing—bring her in to once and I’ll physick her.” - -The cow came in at once; everybody obeyed Selina without question or -delay both at Bosula and Tregors. Her husband, Jabez Donnithorne, was -the merest cipher whose existence she barely acknowledged. - -On one occasion Jabez, returning very drunk from Helston market, having -neglected to buy the heifers he was sent after, Selina personally -chastised him with a broom handle and bolted him in the pig-sty for the -night, where he was overlaid by a sow and suffered many indignities. -That cured Jabez. - -Selina never stopped long at Bosula—three days at the most—but in that -time she would have inspected the place from bound to bound, set -everybody to rights, and dictated the policy of the farm for twelve -months to come. As she had ruled her brother in boyhood she ruled him to -the day of his death. She was fond of him, but only because he was head -of the family. His wife she looked on merely as a machine for producing -male Penhales. She would see to it that on her death Tregors fell to her -family, and then, doubly endowed, the Penhales of Bosula would be -squires and gentlefolk in the land. - -When, after many years, John remained the only child, Selina bit back -her disappointment and concentrated on the boy. She insisted on his -being sent to Helston Grammar School, paid half the cost of his -education, kept him in plentiful pocket money and saw that his clothes -were of the best. He was a handsome, upstanding lad and did her credit. -She was more than satisfied; he would go far, she told herself; make a -great match. Then came John’s accident. Selina made no move until he was -out and about again, and then rode over to assess the damage. She -stalked suddenly into the kitchen one morning, surveyed the ruins of her -nephew’s comely face, outwardly unmoved, and then stalked out again -without a word of consolation or regret, barked instructions that her -horse was to be baited and ready in two hours and turned up the hill. - -Up the hill she strode, over Polmenna Downs and on to that haunt of her -girlhood, the Luddra Head. Perched high on its stone brows, the west -wind in her cloak and hair, she stared, rigid and unseeing, over the -glitter of the Channel. She was back in the two hours, but her eyelids -were red—for the last time in her life Selina had been crying. - -She slept at the Angel at Helston that night, visited a certain -disreputable attorney next morning and left his office with the -Tregellas mortgage in her pocket. - -Mr. Hugh Tregellas of Tregellas had four daughters and a mania for -gambling. He did not fling his substance away on horse-racing, cock or -man fights—indeed he lifted up his voice loudly against the immorality -of these pursuits—he took shares in companies formed to extract gold -from sea water, in expeditions to discover the kingdom of Prester John, -and such like. Any rogue with an oiled tongue and a project sufficiently -preposterous could win a hearing from the Squire. But though much money -went out few ships came home, and the four Miss Tregellases sat in the -parlor, their dowries dwindling to nothing, and waited for the suitors -who did not come. - -All this was well known to their neighbor, Selina Donnithorne. She knew -that when the four Miss Tregellases were not in the parlor playing at -ladies they were down on their knee bones scrubbing floors. She even had -it on sound authority that the two youngest forked out the cow-byre -every morning. - -She called on the Squire one afternoon, going to Tregellas in state, -dressed in her best, and driving in a cabriolet she had purchased dirt -cheap from a broken-down roisterer at Bodmin Assizes. She saw Mr. -Tregellas in his gunless gun-room and came to the point at once. She -wanted his youngest daughter for John Penhale. Mr. Tregellas flushed -with anger and opened his mouth to reply, but Selina gave him no -opportunity. Her nephew was already a man of moderate means, she said, -living on his own good farm in the Penwith Hundred, with an income of -nearly one hundred pounds per annum into the bargain. When she died he -would have Tregors also. He was well educated, a fine figure of a man -and sound in wind and limb, if a trifle cut about one side of the -face—one side only—but then, after all these wars, who was not? - -Here Mr. Tregellas managed to interpose a spluttering refusal. Selina -nodded amiably. She ventured to remind Mr. Tregellas that since -Arethusina’s dowry had sunk off Cape St. Vincent with the Fowey -privateer, _God’s Providence_, her chances of a distinguished marriage -were negligible—also that she, Selina, was now mortgagee of Tregellas -and the mortgage fell due at Michaelmas. - -Mr. Tregellas was a gambler. As long as there was one chance left to -him, no matter how long, the future was radiant. He laughed at Selina. -He had large interests in a company for trading with the King of certain -South Sea atolls, he said, the lagoons of which were paved with pearl. -It had been estimated that this enterprise could not fail to enrich him -at a rate of less than eleven hundred and fifty-three per centum. A ship -bearing the first fruits was expected in Bristol almost any day now, was -in fact overdue, but these nor’-easterly head winds . . . Mr. Tregellas -saw Selina to the door, his good humor restored, promising her that long -before Michaelmas he would not only be paying off the mortgage on -Tregellas, but offering her a price for Tregors as well. - -Selina rocked home in her cabriolet no whit perturbed by the Squire’s -optimism. Nor’-easterly head winds, indeed! . . . - -Three months from that date Mr. Tregellas returned the call. Selina was -feeding ducks in the yard when he came. She emptied her apron, led the -Squire into the kitchen and gave him a glass of cowslip wine—which he -needed. - -“Come to offer me a price for Tregors?” she asked. - -The old gambler blinked his weak eyes pathetically, like a child -blinking back tears, and buried his face in his hands. Selina did not -twit him further. There was no need. She had him where she wanted him. -She smiled to herself. So the pearl ship had gone the deep road of the -Fowey privateer—and all the other ventures. She clicked her tongue, -“Tchuc—tchuc!” and offered him another glass of wine. - -“I’ll send for John Penhale to-morrow,” said she. “I’ll tell him that if -he don’t take your maid he shan’t have Tregors. You tell your maid if -she don’t take my John I’ll put you all out on the road come Michaelmas. -Now get along wid ’ee.” - -Arethusina came over to Tregors to pay Mrs. Donnithorne a week’s visit, -and John was angled from his retreat by the bait of a roan colt he had -long coveted and which his aunt suddenly expressed herself willing to -sell. - -The sun was down when he reached the farm; Selina met him in the yard, -and leading him swiftly into the stables explained the lay of the land -while he unsaddled his horse, but she did not tell him what pressure had -been brought to bear on the youngest Miss Tregellas. - -John was amazed and delighted. Mr. Hugh Tregellas’ daughter willing to -marry him, a common farmer! Pretty too; he had seen her once, before his -accident, sitting in the family pew in Cury church—plump, fluffy little -thing with round blue eyes, like a kitten. This was incredible luck! - -He was young then and hot-blooded, sick of the loneliness of Bosula and -the haphazard ministrations of the two slatterns. He was for dashing -into the house and starting his love-making there and then, but Selina -held him, haggling like a fish wife over the price of the roan. When he -at length got away from her it was thick dusk. It was dark in the -kitchen, except for the feeble glow of the turf fire, Selina explaining -that she had unaccountably run out of tallow dips—the boy should fetch -some from Helston on the morrow. - -Arethusina came downstairs dressed in her eldest sister’s bombazine -dress, borrowed for the occasion. She was not embarrassed; she, like -John, was eager for change, weary of the threadbare existence and -unending struggle at home, of watching her sisters grow warped and -bitter. She saw ahead, saw four gray old women, dried kernels rattling -in the echoing shell of Tregellas House, never speaking, hating each -other and all things, doddering on to the blank end, four gray nuns -cloistered by granite pride. Anything were better than that. She would -sob off to sleep swearing to take any chance rather than come to that, -and here was a chance. John Penhale stood for life full and flowing in -place of want and decay. He might only be a yeoman, but he would have -two big farms and could keep her in comfort. She would have children, -she hoped, silk dresses and a little lap dog. Some day she might even -visit London. - -She entered the kitchen in good heart and saw John standing before the -fire, a vague but imposing silhouette. A fine figure of a man, she -thought, and her heart lifted still higher. She dropped him a -mischievous curtsey. He took her hand, laughing, a deep, pleasant laugh. -They sat on the settle at the back of the kitchen and got on famously. - -John had barely spoken to any sort of woman for a year, leave alone a -pretty woman; he thought her wonderful. Arethusina had not seen a -presentable man for double that period; all her stored coquetry bubbled -out. John was only twenty-four, the girl but nineteen; they were like -two starved children sitting down to a square meal. - -The brass-studded grandfather clock tick-tocked, in its corner; the -yellow house cat lay crouched on the hearth watching the furze kindling -for mice; Selina nodded in her rocker before the fire, subconsciously -keeping time with the beats of the clock. A whinny of treble laughter -came from the settle, followed by John’s rumbling bass, then -whisperings. - -Selina beamed at her vis-à-vis, the yellow cat. She was elated at the -success of her plans. It had been a good idea to let the girl get to -know John before she could see him. The blow would be softened when -morning came. In Selina’s experience obstacles that appeared -insurmountable at night dwindled to nothing in the morning light; one -came at them with a fresh heart. She was pleased with Arethusina. The -girl was healthy, practical and ambitious—above all, ambitious. She -might not be able to do much with John, marred as he was, but their -children would get all the advantages of the mother’s birth, Selina was -sure. The chariot of the Penhales would roll onwards, steered by small, -strong hands. - -She glanced triumphantly at the pair on the settle and curled her thin -lips. Then she rose quietly and slipped off to bed. The yellow cat -remained, waiting its prey. Arethusina and John did not notice Selina’s -departure, they were engrossed in each other. The girl had the farmer at -her finger ends and enjoyed the experience; she played on his senses as -on a keyboard. He loomed above her on the settle, big, eager, boyish, -with a passionate break in his laughter. She kept him guessing, yielded -and retreated in turn, thrilled to feel how easily he responded to her -flying moods. What simpletons men were!—and what fun! - -John shifted nearer up the settle, his great hot hand closed timorously -over hers; she snatched it free and drew herself up. - -“La! sir, you forget yourself, I think. I will beg you to remember I am -none of your farm wenches! I—I . . .” She shook with indignation. - -John trembled; he had offended, lost her. . . . O fool! He tried to -apologize and stuttered ridiculously. He _had_ lost her! The prospect of -facing a lifetime without this delectable creature, on whom he had not -bestowed a moment’s thought three hours before, suddenly became -intolerable. He bit his nails with rage at his impetuosity. So close -beside him, yet gone forever! Had she gone already? Melted into air? -. . . A dream after all? He glanced sideways. No, she was still there; -he could see the dim pallor of her face and neck against the darkness, -the folds of the bombazine dress billowing out over the edge of the -settle like a great flower. - -A faint sweet waft of perfume touched his nostrils. Something stirred -beside him; he looked down. Her hand . . . her hand was creeping back up -the settle towards him! He heard a sound and looked up again; she was -crying! . . . Stay, _was_ she crying? No, by the Lord in heaven she was -not; she was _laughing_! In a flash he was on his feet, had crushed her -in his arms, as though to grasp the dear dream before it could fade, and -hold it to him forever. He showered kisses on her mouth, throat, -forehead—anywhere. She did not resist, but turned her soft face up to -his, laughing still. Tregors and Bosula were safe, safe for both of them -and all time. - -At that moment the yellow cat sprang, and in so doing toppled a clump of -furze kindling over the embers. The dry bush caught and flared, roaring, -up the chimney. The kitchen turned in a second from black to red, and -John felt the youngest Miss Tregellas go suddenly rigid in his arms, her -blue eyes stared at him big with horror, her full lips were drawn tight -and colorless across her clenched teeth. He kissed her once more, but it -was like kissing the dead. - -Then she came to life, struggled frantically, battered at his mouth with -both fists, giving little “Oh! Ohs!” like a trapped animal mad with -pain. He let her go, amazed. - -She fled across the kitchen, crashing against the table in her blind -hurry, whipped round, stared at him again and then ran upstairs, panting -and sobbing. He heard the bolt of her door click, and then noises as -though she was piling furniture against it. - -John turned about, still amazed, and jumped back startled. Who was that? -. . . that ghoul’s mask lit by flickers of red flame, snarling across -the room? Then he remembered it was himself of course, himself in the -old round mirror. After his accident he had smashed every looking-glass -at home and had forgotten what he looked like. . . . During the few -hours of fool’s paradise he had forgotten about his face altogether -. . . supposed the girl knew . . . had been told. The fatal furze bush -burnt out, leaving him in merciful darkness. - -John opened the door, stumbled across to the stable, saddled his horse -and, riding hard, was at Bosula with dawn. - -When the farm girl went to call Arethusina next morning she found the -room empty and the bed had not been slept in. Selina sent to the Squire -at once, but the youngest Miss Tregellas had not returned. They -discovered her eventually in an old rab pit halfway between the two -houses, her neck broken; she had fallen over the edge in the dark. It -was supposed she was trying to find her way home. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - -Since that night, seventeen years before, John Penhale had done no -love-making nor had he again visited Tregors. The Tregellas affair had -broken his nerve, but it had not impaired that of his aunt in the -slightest degree, and he was frightened of her, being assured that, did -he give her a chance, she would try again. - -And now the old lady was dead, and in dying had tried again. John -pictured her casting her final noose sitting up, gaunt and tall, in her -four-poster bed dictating her last will and testament to the Helston -attorney, awed farm hands waiting to affix their marks, sunset staining -the west window and the black bull roaring in the yard below. And it was -a shrewd cast she had made; John could feel its toils tightening about -him. He had always been given to understand that Tregors was as good as -his, and now it was as good as Carveth Donnithorne’s—Carveth -Donnithorne! John gritted his teeth at the thought of the suave and ever -prospering ship chandler. Tregors had always been a strong farm, but in -the last seventeen years Selina had increased the acreage by a third, by -one hundred acres of sweet upland grazing lopped from the Tregellas -estate. There were new buildings too, built of moor granite to stand -forever, and the stock was without match locally. John’s yeoman heart -yearned to it. Oh, the clever old woman! John pictured Carveth -Donnithorne taking possession, Carveth Donnithorne with his -condescending airs, patronizing wife and school of chubby little boys. -Had not Carveth goods enough in this world but that he must have Tregors -as well? - -John swore he should not have Tregors as well, not if he could stop it. -How could he stop it? He puzzled his wits, but returned inevitably to -the one answer he was trying to evade, “Marry within twelve months! -Marry within twelve months!” His aunt had made a sure throw, he admitted -with grim admiration, the cunning old devil! It was all very well saying -“marry,” but who would marry a man that even the rough fisher girls -avoided and children hid from? He would have no more force or -subterfuge. If any woman consented to marry him it must be in full -knowledge of what she was doing and of her own free will. There should -be no repetition of that night seventeen years before. He shuddered. -“No, by the Lord, no more of that; rather let Tregors go to Carveth.” - -In imagination he saw the Squire’s daughter as he was always seeing her -in the dark nights when he was alone, stricken numb in his arms, glazed -horror in her eyes—saw her running across the blind country, sobbing, -panting, stumbling in furrows, torn by brambles, trying to get home, -away from him—the Terror. He shut his eyes, as though to shut out the -vision, and rode on past Germoe to Kenneggy Downs. - -The moon was flying through clouds like a circus girl through hoops, the -road was swept by winged shadows. Puddles seemed to brim with milk at -one moment, ink the next. At one moment the surrounding country was -visible, a-gleam as with hoar frost, and then was blotted out in -darkness; it was a night of complete and startling transformations. The -shadow of a bare oak leapt upon them suddenly, flinging unsubstantial -arms at man and horse as though to grasp them, a phantom octopus. -Penhale’s mare shied, nearly unseating him. He came out of his somber -thoughts, kicked spurs into her and drove her on at a smart trot. She -swung forward, trembling and uneasy, nostrils swelling, ears twitching, -as though she sensed uncanny presences abroad. They reached the high -ground above Perranuthnoe, waste, gorse-covered downs. To the south the -great indent of Mount’s Bay gloomed and glittered under cloud and -moonshine; westward Paul Hill rose like a wall, a galaxy of ships’ -riding lights pricking the shadow at its base. The track began to drop -downhill, the moors gave over to fields with high banks. An old pack -horse track, choked with undergrowth, broke into the road from the -seaward side. The mare cocked her ears towards it, snorted and checked. -Penhale laid into her with his whip. She bounded forward and shied -again, but with such violence this time that John came out of the saddle -altogether. He saw a shadow rush across the road, heard something thwack -on the mare’s rump as she swerved from under him, and he fell, not on -the road as he expected, but on top of a man, bearing him to the ground. -As John fell he knew exactly what he had to deal with—highwaymen! The -mare’s swerve had saved him a stunning blow on the head. He grappled -with the assailant as they went down and they rolled over and over on -the ground feeling for strangle holds. John was no tyro at the game; he -was muscled like a bull and had been taught many a trick by his hind -Bohenna, the champion, but this thief was strong also and marvelously -elusive. He buckled and twisted under the farmer’s weight, finally -slipped out of his clutch altogether and leapt to his feet. John -scrambled up just in time to kick the heavy oak cudgel from the man’s -reach and close with him again. John cross-buttocked and back-heeled him -repeatedly, but on each occasion the man miraculously regained his feet. -John tried sheer strength, hugged the man to him, straining to break his -back. The man bent and sprang as resilient as a willow wand. John hugged -him closer, trying to crush his ribs. The man made his teeth meet in the -farmer’s ear and slipped away again. - -Once more John was just in time to stop him from picking up the club. He -kicked it into the ditch and set to work with his knuckles. But he could -not land a blow; wherever he planted his fists the fellow was not, -eluding them by a fraction of an inch, by a lightning side-step or a -shake of the head. The man went dancing backwards and sideways, hands -down, bobbing his head, bending, swaying, bouncing as though made of -rubber. He began to laugh. The laugh sent a shiver through John Penhale. -The footpad thought he had him in his hands, and unless help came from -somewhere the farmer knew such was the case; it was only a question of -time and not much time. He was out of trim and cooked to a finish -already, while the other was skipping like a dancing master, had breath -to spare for laughter. - -At that time of night nobody would be on the road, and help was not -likely to drop from Heaven. He had only himself to look to. He thought -over the manifold tricks he had seen in the wrestling ring, thought -swiftly and desperately, hit out with his left and followed with an -upward kick of his right foot—Devon style. His fist missed as he -expected, but his boot caught the thief a tip under the knee cap as he -side-stepped. The man doubled up, and John flung himself at him. The -footpad butted him in the pit of the stomach with his head and skipped -clear, shouting savagely in Romany, but limping, limping! John did not -know the language, but it told him there was a companion to reckon -with—a fresh man; the struggle was hopeless. Nevertheless he turned and -ran for the club. He was not fast enough, not fast enough by half; three -yards from the ditch the lamed thief was on him. John heard the quick -hop-skip of feet behind him and dropped on one knee as the man sprang -for his back. The footpad, not expecting the drop, went too high; he -landed across John’s shoulders, one arm dropping across the farmer’s -chest. In a flash John had him by the wrist and jerked upright, at the -same time dragging down on the wrist; it was an adaptation of the -Cornish master-throw, “the flying mare.” The man went over John’s -shoulders like a rocket, made a wonderful effort to save himself by a -back somersault, but the tug on his wrist was too much, and he crashed -on his side in the road. John kicked him on the head till he lay still -and, picking up the club, whirled to face the next comer. Nobody came -on. John was perplexed. To whom had the fellow been shouting if not to a -confederate? - -Perhaps the cur had taken fright and was skulking in the gorse. Very -well; he would drub him out. He was flushed with victory and had the -club in his hands now. He was stepping towards the furze when he heard a -slight scrunching sound to his left, and, turning, saw a dark figure -squatting on the bank at the roadside. John stood still, breathing hard, -his cudgel ready. The mysterious figure did not stir. John stepped -nearer, brandishing his club. Still the figure made no move. John -stepped nearer yet, and at that moment the moon broke clear of a mesh of -clouds, flooding the road with ghostly light, and John, to his -astonishment, saw that the confederate was a girl, a girl in a tattered -cloak and tarnished tumbler finery, munching a turnip. Strolling -acrobats! That explained the man’s uncanny agility. - -“What are you doing here?” he demanded. - -“Nothing, sir,” said the girl, chewing a lump of the root. - -“I’ll have him hung and you transported for this,” John thundered. - -“I did you no harm,” said the girl calmly. - -That was true enough. John wondered why she had not come to the -assistance of her man; tribe law was strong with these outcasts, he -understood. He asked her. - -The girl shrugged her shoulders. “He beat me yesterday. I wanted to see -him beat. You done it. Good!” - -She thrust a bare, well-molded arm in John’s face. It was bruised from -elbow to shoulder. She spat at the unconscious tumbler. - -“What is he to you?” John asked. - -“Nothing,” she retorted. “Muck,” and took another wolfish bite at the -turnip; she appeared ravenous. - -John turned his back on her. He had no intention of proceeding with the -matter, since to do so meant carrying a stunned footpad, twelve stone at -least, a mile into Market Jew and later standing the publicity of the -Assizes. He was not a little elated at the success of his “flying mare” -and in a mood to be generous. After all he had lost nothing but a little -skin; he would let the matter drop. He picked the man up and slung him -off the road into the gorse of the pack track. Now for his horse. He -walked past the munching girl in silence, halted, felt in his pocket, -found a florin and jerked it to her. - -“Here,” he said, “get yourself an honest meal.” - -The florin fell in the ditch, the girl dropped off the bank onto it as -he had seen a hawk drop on a field vole. - -“Good God!” he muttered. “She must be starved,” and walked on. - -He would knock up the inn in Market Jew and spend the remainder of the -night there, he decided. He would look for his horse in the morning—but -he expected it would trot home. - -A hundred yards short of the St. Hilary turning he came upon the mare; -she was standing quietly, a forefoot planted on a broken rein, holding -herself nose to the ground. He freed her, knotted the rein and mounting -clattered down the single street and out on the beach road on the other -side. Since he had his horse he would push straight through after all; -if he stopped he would have to concoct some story to account for his -battered state, which would be difficult. He went at a walk, pondering -over the events of the night. On his left hand the black mass of St. -Michael’s Mount loomed out of the moon-silvered bay like some basking -sea monster; before him lay Penzance with the spire of St. Mary’s rising -above the masts of the coasters, spearing at the stars. - -At Ponsandane River the mare picked up a stone. John jumped off, hooked -it out and was preparing to remount when he noticed that she had got her -head round and was staring back down the road, ears pricked. There was -some one behind them. He waited a full minute, but could neither see nor -hear anything, so went on again, through Penzance, over Newlyn Green and -up the hill. The wind had died away. It was the still hour that outrides -dawn; the east was already paling. In the farms about Paul, John could -hear the cocks bugling to each other; hidden birds in the blackthorns -gave sleepy twitters; a colt whinnied “good morning” from a near-by -field and cantered along the hedge, shaking the dew from its mane. -Everything was very quiet, very peaceful, yet John could not rid himself -of the idea that he was being followed. He pulled up again and listened, -but, hearing nothing, rode on, calling himself a fool. - -He dropped down into Trevelloe Bottoms, gave the mare a drink in Lamorna -stream and climbed Boleigh. A wall-eyed sheep dog came out of a cottage -near the Pipers and flew, yelping, at the horse’s heels. He cursed it -roundly and it retired whence it came, tail between its legs. As he -turned the bend in the road he heard the cur break into a fresh frenzy -of barking. - -There _was_ somebody behind him after all, somebody who went softly and -stopped when he did. It was as he had suspicioned; the tumbler had come -to and was trailing him home to get his revenge—to fire stacks or rip a -cow, an old gypsy trick. John swung the mare into a cattle track, tied -her to a blackthorn, pulled a heavy stone out of the mud and waited, -crouched against the bank, hidden in the furze. He would settle this -rogue once and for all. Every yeoman instinct aroused, he would have -faced forty such in defense of his stock, his place. - -Dawn was lifting her golden head over the long arm of the Lizard. A -chain of little pink clouds floated above her like adoring cherubs. -Morning mists drifted up from the switch-backed hills to the north, -white as steam. Over St. Gwithian tower the moon hung, haggard and -deathly pale, an old siren giving place to a rosy débutante. In the -bushes birds twittered and cheeped, tuning their voices against the day. -John Penhale waited, bent double, the heavy stone ready in his hands. -The footpad was a long time coming. John wondered if he had taken the -wrong turning—but that was improbable; the mare’s tracks were plain. -Some one might have come out of the cottage and forced the fellow into -hiding—or he might have sensed the ambush. John was just straightening -his back to peer over the furze when he heard the soft thud of bare feet -on the road, heard them hesitate and then turn towards him, following -the hoof prints. He held his breath, judged the time and distance and -sprang up, the stone poised in both hands above his head. He lowered it -slowly and let it drop in the mud. It was the girl! - -She looked at the stone, then at John and her mouth twitched with the -flicker of a smile. John felt foolish and consequently angry. He stepped -out of the bushes. - -“Why are you following me?” he demanded. - -She looked down at her bare feet, then up at him out of the corners of -her deep dark eyes, but made no answer. - -John grasped her by an arm and shook her. “Can’t you speak? Why are you -following me?” - -She did not reply, but winced slightly, and John saw that he was -gripping one of the cruel bruises. He released her, instantly contrite. - -“I did not mean to do that,” he said. Then, hardening again: “But, look -you, I’ll have no more of this. I’ll have none of your kind round here, -burning ricks. If I catch you near my farm I’ll hand you over to the law -for . . . for what you are and you’ll be whipped. Do you hear me?” - -The girl remained silent, leaning up against the bank, pouting, looking -up at John under her long lashes. She was handsome in a sulky, -outlandish way, he admitted. She had a short nose, high cheekbones and -very dark eyes with odd lights in them; her bare head was covered with -crisp black curls and she wore big brass earrings; a little guitar was -tucked under one arm. The tattered cloak was drawn tight about her, -showing the thin but graceful lines of her figure—a handsome trollop. - -“If you won’t speak you won’t . . . but, remember, I have warned you,” -said John, but with less heat, as he untied his horse and mounted. As he -turned the corner he glanced furtively back and met the girl’s eyes -full. He put spurs to the mare, flushing hotly. - -A quarter of an hour later he reined up in his yard. He had been away -rather less than twenty-four hours, but it seemed like as many days. It -was good to be home. A twist of blue smoke at a chimney told him Martha -was stirring and he would get breakfast soon. He heard the blatter of -calves in their shed and the deep, answering moo of cows from the byre, -the splash and babble of the stream. In the elms the rooks had already -begun to quarrel—familiar voices. - -He found Bohenna in the stable wisping a horse and singing his one song, -“I seen a ram at Hereford Fair,” turned the mare over to him and sought -the yard again. - -It was good to be home . . . and yet, and yet . . . things moved briskly -outside, one found adventures out in the world, adventures that set the -blood racing. He was boyishly pleased with his tussle with the vagabond, -had tricked him rather neatly, he thought; he must tell Bohenna about -that. Then the girl. She had not winced at the sight of his face, not a -quiver, had smiled at him even. He wondered if she were still standing -in the cow track, the blue cloak drawn about her, squelching mud through -her bare toes—or was she ranging the fields after more -turnips—turnips! She was no better than an animal—but a handsome -animal for all that, if somewhat thin. Oh, well, she had gone now; he -had scared her off, would never see her again. - -He turned to walk into the house and saw the girl again. She was leaning -against the gate post, looking up at him under her lashes. He stood -stock-still for a moment, amazed as at a vision, and then flung at her: - -“You—you . . . didn’t you hear what I said?” She neither stirred nor -spoke. - -John halted. He felt his fury going from him like wind from a pricked -bladder. In a second he would be no longer master of himself. In the -glow of morning she was handsomer than ever; she was young, not more -than twenty, there was a blue gloss on the black curls, the brass -earrings glinted among them; her skin had a golden sunburnt tint and her -eyes smoldered with curious lights. - -“What do you want?” John stammered, suddenly husky. - -The girl smiled up at him, a slow, full-lipped smile. “You won me . . . -so I came,” she said. - -John’s heart leapt with old pagan pride. To the victor the spoils!—aye, -verily! He caught the girl by the shoulders and whirled her round so -that his own face came full to the sunrise. - -“Do you see this?” he cried. “Look well, look well!” - -The girl stared at him steadily, without a tremor, without the flick of -an eyelid, and then, bending, rubbed her forehead, cat-like, against his -shoulder. - -“Marry,” she purred, “I’ve seen worse than that where I came from.” - -For answer John caught her up in his arms and marched, shouting with -rough laughter, into the house, the tumbler girl clasped tight to his -breast, her arms about his neck. - -To the victor the spoils! - - - - - CHAPTER III - - -Bosula—“The Owls’ House”—lay in the Keigwin Valley, about six miles -southwest of Penzance. The valley drained the peninsula’s bare backbone -of tors, ran almost due south until within a mile and a half of the sea, -formed a sharp angle, ran straight again and met the English Channel at -Monks Cove. A stream threaded its entire length, its source a holy well -on Bartinny Downs (the water of which, taken at the first of the moon, -was reputed a cure for chest complaints). Towards the river’s source the -valley was a shallow swamp, a wide bed of tussocks, flags, willow and -thorn, the haunt of snipe and woodcock in season, but as it neared -Bosula it grew narrower and deeper until it emptied into the sea, -pinched to a sharp gorge between precipitous cliffs. - -It was a surprising valley. You came from the west over the storm-swept, -treeless table-land that drives into the Atlantic like a wedge and is -beaten upon by three seas, came with clamorous salt gales buffeting you -this way and that, pelting you with black showers of rain, came suddenly -to the valley rim and dropped downhill into a different climate, a -serene, warm place of trees with nothing to break the peace but the -gentle chatter of the stream. When the wind set roundabouts of south it -was not so quiet. The cove men had a saw— - - “When the river calls the sea, - Fishing there will be; - When the sea calls the river, - ’Ware foul weather.” - -Bosula stood at the apex of the angle, guarded on all sides, but when -the wind set southerly and strong the boom of the breakers on the Twelve -Apostles reef came echoing up the valley in deep, tremendous organ -peals. So clear did they sound that one would imagine the sea had broken -inland and that inundation was imminent. - -The founder of the family was a tin-streamer from Crowan, who, noting -that the old men had got their claws into every inch of payable dirt in -the parish, loaded his implements on a donkey and went westward looking -for a stream of his own. In due course he and his ass meandered down -Keigwin Valley and pitched camp in the elbow. On the fourth day Penhale -the First, soil-stained and unkempt, approached the lord of the manor -and proposed washing the stream on tribute. He held out no hopes, but -was willing to give it a try, being out of work. The lord of the manor -knew nothing of tin or tinners, regarded the tatterdemalion with casual -contempt and let him draw up almost what terms he liked. In fifteen -years Penhale had taken a small fortune out of the valley, bought -surrounding land and built a house on the site of his original camp. -From thenceforth the Penhales were farmers, and each in his turn added -something, a field, a bit of moorland, a room to the house. - -When John Penhale took possession the estate held three hundred acres of -arable land, to say nothing of stretches of adjoining bog and heather, -useful for grazing cattle. The buildings formed a square, with the yard -in the center, the house on the north and the stream enclosing the whole -on three sides, so that the place was serenaded with eternal music, the -song of running water, tinkling among bowlders, purling over shallows, -splashing over falls. - -Penhale, the tinner, built a two-storied house of four rooms, but his -successor had seven children, and an Elizabethan, attuning himself to a -prolific age, thirteen. The first of these added a couple of rooms, the -second four. Since building forwards encroached on the yard and building -backwards would bring them into the stream they, perforce, extended -sideways and westwards. In John Penhale’s time the house was five rooms -long and one thick, with the front door stranded at the east end and the -thatch coming down so low the upper windows had the appearance of old -men’s eyes peering out under arched and shaggy brows. There was little -distinctive about the house save the chimneys, which were inordinately -high, and the doorway which was carved. Penhale the First, who knew -something of smelting and had ideas about draught, had set the standard -in chimney pots, but the Elizabethan was responsible for the doorway. He -pulled a half-drowned sailor out of the cove one dawn, brought him home, -fed and clothed him. The castaway, a foreigner of some sort, being -unable to express gratitude in words, picked up a hammer and stone -chisel and decorated his rescuer’s doorway—until then three plain slabs -of granite. He carved the date on the lintel and a pattern of interwoven -snakes on the uprights, culminating in two comic little heads, one on -either side of the door, intended by the artist as portraits of his host -and hostess, but which they, unflattered, and doubtless prompted by the -pattern below, had passed down to posterity as Adam and Eve. - -The first Penhale was a squat, burly man and built his habitation to fit -himself, but the succeeding generations ran to height and were in -constant danger of braining themselves against the ceilings. They could -sit erect, but never rose without glancing aloft, and when they stood up -their heads well-nigh disappeared among the deep beams. This had -inculcated in them the habit of stooping instinctively on stepping -through any door. A Dean of Gwithian used to swear that the Penhale -family entered his spacious church bent double. - -The first Penhale, being of small stature, made his few windows low -down; the subsequent Penhales had to squat to see out of them. Not that -the Penhales needed windows to look out of; they were an open-air breed -who only came indoors to eat and sleep. The ugly, cramped old house -served their needs well. They came home from the uplands or the bottoms -at the fall of night, came in from plowing, shooting, hedging or driving -cattle, came mud-plastered, lashed by the winter winds, saw Bosula -lights twinkling between the sheltering trees, bowed their tall heads -between Adam and Eve and, entering the warm kitchen, sat down to mighty -meals of good beef and good vegetables, stretched their legs before the -open hearth, grunting with full-fed content, and yawned off to bed and -immediate sleep, lulled by the croon of the brook and the whisper of the -wind in the treetops. Gales might skim roofs off down in the Cove, ships -batter to matchwood on the Twelve Apostles, upland ricks be scattered -over the parish, the Penhales of Bosula slept sound in the lap of the -hills, snug behind three-foot walls. - -In winter, looking down from the hills, you could barely see Bosula for -trees, in summer not at all. They filled the valley from side to side -and for half a mile above and below the house, oak, ash, elm and -sycamore with an undergrowth of hazel and thorn. Near the house the -stream, narrowed to a few feet, ran between banks of bowlders piled up -by the first Penhale and his tinners. They had rooted up bowlders -everywhere and left them lying anyhow, on their ends or sides, great -uneven blocks of granite, now covered with an emerald velvet of moss or -furred with gray and yellow lichen. Between these blocks the trees -thrust, flourishing on their own leaf mold. The ashes and elms went -straight up till they met the wind leaping from hill to hill and then -stopped, nipped to an even height as a box-hedge is trimmed by shears; -but the thorns and hazels started crooked and grew crooked all the way, -their branches writhing and tangling into fantastic clumps and shapes to -be overgrown and smothered in toils of ivy and honeysuckle. - -In spring the tanglewood valley was a nursery of birds. Wrens, thrushes, -chiffchaffs, greenfinches and chaffinches built their nests in scented -thickets of hawthorn and may; blue and oxeye tits kept house in holes in -the apple and oak trees. These added their songs to that of the brook. -In spring the bridal woods about Bosula rippled and thrilled with liquid -and debonair melody. But it was the owls that were the feature of the -spot. Winter or summer they sat on their boughs and hooted to each other -across the valley, waking the woods with startling and eerie screams. -“To-whoo, wha-aa, who-hoo!” they would go, amber eyes burning, and then -launch themselves heavily from their perches and beat, gray and ghostly, -across the moon. “Whoo, wha-hoo!” - -Young lovers straying up the valley were apt to clasp each other the -tighter and whisper of men murdered and evil hauntings when they heard -the owls, but the first Penhale in his day, camped with his ass in the -crook of the stream, took their banshee salutes as a good omen. He lay -on his back in the leaves listening to them and wondering at their -number. - -“Bos hula enweer ew’n teller na,” said he in Cornish, as he rolled over -to sleep. “Truly this is the owls’ house.” - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - -When John Penhale carried the gypsy girl into Bosula, he thought she -would be off again in a fortnight or a month at most. On the contrary -she curled up as snug as a dormouse, apparently prepared to stay -forever. At first she followed him wherever he went about the farm, but -after a week she gave that up and remained at Bosula absorbed in the -preparation of food. - -The number of really satisfying meals the girl Teresa had had in her -time could be counted on her fingers and toes, almost. Life had been -maintained by a crust here and a bone there. She was only half gypsy; -her mother had been an itinerant herbalist, her father a Basque -bear-leader, and she was born at Blyth Fair. Her twenty-two years had -been spent on the highways, singing and dancing from tavern to tavern, -harried by the law on one side and hunger on the other. She had no love -for the Open Road; her feet were sore from trudging it and she knew it -led nowhere but to starvation; her mother had died in a ditch and her -father had been hanged. For years she had been waiting a chance to get -out of the dust, and when John came along, knocked out the tumbler and -jerked her a florin she saw that possible chance. - -A sober farmer who tossed silver so freely should be a bachelor, she -argued, and a man who could fight like that must have a good deal of the -lusty animal about him. She knew the type, and of all men they were the -easiest to handle. She followed up the clew hot foot, and now here she -was in a land of plenty. She had no intention of leaving in a fortnight, -a month, or ever, if she could help it, no desire to exchange three meat -meals daily, smoking hot, for turnips; or a soft bed for the lee of a -haystack. She would sit on the floor after supper, basking at the -roaring hearth, her back propped against John’s knees, and listen to the -drip of the eaves, the sough of the treetops, the echoed organ crashes -of the sea, snuggle closer to the farmer and laugh. - -When he asked her why she did that she shrugged her shoulders. But she -laughed to think of what she was escaping, laughed to think that the -tumbler was out in it. But for that flung florin and the pricking of her -thumbs she would have been out in it too, crouched under a hedge, maybe, -soaked and shivering. Penhale need have had no fears she would leave -him; on the contrary she was afraid he would tire of her, and strove by -every means to bind him to her irrevocably. She practiced all her wiles -on John, ran to him when he came in, fondled and kissed him, rubbed her -head on his shoulder, swore he didn’t care for her, pretended to cry, -any excuse to get taken in his arms; once there she had him in her -power. The quarter strain of gitano came uppermost then, the blood of -generations of ardent southern women, professional charmers all, raced -in her veins and prompted her, showed her how and when. It was all -instinctive and quite irresistible; the simple northern yeoman was a -clod in her hands. - -Martha had found Teresa some drugget clothes, rummaging in chests that -lay, under the dust of twenty years, in the neglected west wing—oak -chests and mahogany with curious iron clasps and hinges, the spoil of a -score of foundered ships. Teresa had been close behind the woman when -the selection was made and she had glimpsed many things that were not -drugget. When she gave up following John abroad she took to spending -most of her time, between meals, in the west wing, bolting the doors -behind her so that Martha could not see what she was doing. - -John was lurching home down the valley one autumn evening, when, as he -neared Bosula, he heard singing and the tinkling of melodious wires. -There was a small grove of ashes close ahead, encircling an open patch -of ground supposed to be a fairy ring, in May a purple pool of -bluebells, but then carpeted with russet and yellow leaves. He stepped -nearer, peered round an oak bole and saw a sight which made him stagger -and swear himself bewitched. There was a marvelous lady dancing in the -circlet, and as she danced she sang, twanging an accompaniment on a -little guitar. - - “Then, Lovely Boy, bring hither - The Chaplet, e’er it wither, - Steep’d in the various Juices - The Cluster’d Vine produces; - The Cluster’d Vine produces.” - -She was dressed in a straight-laced bodice stitched with silver and low -cut, leaving her shoulders bare; flowing daffodil sleeves caught up at -the elbows and a cream-colored skirt sprigged with blue flowers and -propped out at the hips on monstrous farthingales. On her head she wore -a lace fan-tail—but her feet were bare. She swept round and round in a -circle, very slow and stately, swaying, turning, curtseying to the -solemn audience of trees. - - “So mix’t with sweet and sour, - Life’s not unlike the flower; - Its Sweets unpluck’d will languish, - And gather’d ’tis with anguish; - And gather’d ’tis with anguish.” - -The glare of sunset shot through gaps in the wood in quivering golden -shafts, fell on the smooth trunks of the ashes transforming them into -pillars of gold. In this dazzle of gold the primrose lady danced, in and -out of the beams, now glimmering, now in hazy and delicate shadow. A -puff of wind shook a shower of pale leaves upon her, they drifted about -her like confetti, her bare feet rustled among them, softly, softly. - - “This, round my moisten’d Tresses, - The use of Life expresses: - Wine blunts the thorn of Sorrow, - Our Rose may fade to-morrow: - Our Rose—may—fade—to-morrow.” - -The sun went down behind the hill; twilight, powder-blue, swept through -the wood, quenching the symphony in yellows. The lady made a final -fritter of strings, bowed to the biggest ash and faded among the trees, -towards Bosula. John clung to his oak, stupefied. Despite his Grammar -School education he half believed in the crone’s stories of Pixies and -“the old men,” and if this was not a supernatural being what was it? A -fine lady dancing in Bosula woods at sundown—and in the fairy circle -too! If not a sprite where did she come from? There was not her match in -the parish, or hundred even. He did not like it at all. He would go home -by circling over the hill. He hesitated. That was a long detour, he was -tired and his own orchard was not a furlong distant. His common sense -returned. Damme! he would push straight home, he was big and strong -enough whatever betide. He walked boldly through the woods, whistling -away his fears, snapping twigs beneath his boots. - -He came to a dense clump of hollies at the edge of the orchard and heard -the tinkle-tinkle again, right in front of him. He froze solid and -stared ahead. It was thick dusk among the bushes; he could see nothing. -Tinkle-tinkle—from the right this time. He turned slowly, his flesh -prickling. Nothing. A faint rustle of leaves behind his back and the -tinkle of music once more. John began to sweat. He was pixie-led for -certain—and only fifty yards from his own door. If one listened to this -sort of thing one was presently charmed and lost forever, he had heard. -He would make a dash for it. He burst desperately through the hollies -and saw the primrose lady standing directly in front of him on the -orchard fringe. He stopped. She curtsied low. - -“Oh, Jan, Jan,” she laughed. “Jan, come here and kiss me.” - -“Teresa!” - -She pressed close against him and held up her full, tempting mouth. He -kissed her over and over. - -“Where did you get these—these clothes?” he asked. - -“Out of the old chests,” said she. “You like me thus? . . . love me?” - -For answer he hugged her to him and they went on into the kitchen linked -arm in arm. Martha in her astonishment let the cauldron spill all over -the floor and the idiot daughter threw a fit. - -The drugget dress disappeared after that. Teresa rifled the chests and -got some marvelous results. The chests held the hoardings of a century, -samples of every fashion, washed in from wrecks on the Twelve Apostles, -wardrobes of officers’ mistresses bound for the garrison at Tangier, of -proud ladies that went down with Indiamen, packet ships, and vessels -sailing for the Virginia Colony. Jackdaw pickings that generations of -Penhale women had been too modest to wear and too feminine to part with. -Gowns, under gowns, bodices, smocks and stomachers of silk, taffeta, -sarsenet and satin of all hues and shapes, quilted, brocaded, -embroidered, pleated, scalloped and slashed; cambric and holland ruffs, -collars, bands, kerchiefs and lappets; scarves, trifles of lace pointed -and godrooned; odd gloves of cordovan leather, heavily fringed; vamped -single shoes, red heeled; ribbons; knots; spangled garters; feathers and -fans. - -The clothes were torn and faded in patches, eaten by moth, soiled and -rusted by salt water, but Teresa cared little; they were treasure-trove -to her, the starveling. She put them all on in turn (as the Penhale -wives had done before her—but in secret) without regard to fit, -appropriateness or period and with the delight of a child dressing up -for a masquerade. She dressed herself differently every evening—even -wearing articles with showy linings inside out—aiming only at a blaze -of color and spending hours in the selection. - -The management of the house she left entirely to Martha, which was wise -enough, seeing she knew nothing of houses. John coming in of an evening -never knew what was in store for him; it gave life an added savour. He -approached Adam and Eve, his heart a-flutter—what would she be like -this time?—opened the low door and stepped within. And there she would -be, standing before the hearth waiting for him, mischievous and radiant, -brass earrings winking, a knot of ribbons in her raven curls, dressed in -scarlet, cream, purple or blue, cloth of gold or silver lace—all worn -and torn if you came to examine closely, but, in the leaping firelight, -gorgeous. - -Sometimes she would spend the evening wooing him, sidling into his arms, -rubbing with her cheek and purring in her cat fashion; and sometimes she -would take her guitar and, sitting cross-legged before the hearth, sing -the songs by which she had made her living. Pretty, innocent twitters -for the most part, laments to cruel Chloes, Phyllises and Celias in -which despairing Colins and Strephons sang of their broken hearts in -tripping, tuneful measures; morris and country airs she gave also and -patriotic staves— - - “Tho’ the Spaniards invade - Our Int’rest and Trade - And often our Merchant-men plunder, - Give us but command - Their force to withstand, - We’ll soon make the slaves truckle under.” - -Such stuff stirred John. As the lyrics lulled him, he would inflate his -chest and tap his toe on the flags in time with the tune, very manful. - -All this heady stuff intoxicated the recluse. He felt a spell on the -place, could scarcely believe it was the same dark kitchen in which he -had sat alone for seventeen years, listening to the stream, the rain and -the wind. It was like living in a droll-teller’s story where charcoal -burners fell asleep on enchanted barrows and woke in fairy-land or -immortals put on mortal flesh and sojourned in the homes of men. Reared -on superstition among a race that placed balls on their roofs and hung -rags about holy wells to keep off witches, he almost smelt magic now. At -times he wondered if this strange creature he had met on the high moors -under the moon were what she held to be, if one day she would not get a -summons back to her own people, the earth gape open for her and he would -be alone again. There had been an authentic case in Zennor parish; his -own grandmother had seen the forsaken husband. He would glance at Teresa -half fearfully, see her squatting before the blaze, lozenges of white -skin showing through the rips in her finery, strong fingers plucking the -guitar strings, round throat swelling as she sang— - - “I saw fair Clara walk alone; - The feathered snow came softly down . . .” - -—and scout his suspicions. She was human enough—and even if she were -not, sufficient for the day. . . . - -As for the girl, with the unstinted feeding, she put on flesh and good -looks. Her bones and angles disappeared, her figure took on bountiful -curves, her mouth lost its defiant pout. She had more than even she -wanted to eat, a warm bed, plenty of colorful kickshaws and a lover who -fell prostrate before her easiest artifices. She was content—or very -nearly so. One thing remained and that was to put this idyllic state of -affairs on a permanent basis. That accomplished, her cup of happiness -would brim, she told herself. How to do it? She fancied it was more than -half done already and that, unless she read him wrong, she would -presently have such a grip on the farmer he would never throw her off. -By January she was sure of herself and laid her cards on the table. - -According to her surmise John took her forthwith into St. Gwithian, -a-pillion on the bay mare, and married her, and on the third of July a -boy was born. It was a great day at Bosula; all the employees, including -Martha, got blind drunk, while John spent a delightful afternoon -laboriously scratching a letter to Carveth Donnithorne apprising him of -the happy event. - -Upstairs, undisturbed by the professional chatter of wise women, Teresa -lay quietly sleeping, a fluffy small head in the crook of her arm, a -tired smile on her lips—she was in out of the rain for good. - -It is to be presumed that in the Donnithorne vault of Cury Church the -dust of old Selina at length lay quiet—the Penhales would go on and on. - - - - - CHAPTER V - - -The first boy was born in 1754 and was followed in 1756 by another. They -christened the eldest Ortho, a family name, and the second Eli. - -When his younger son was three months old John died. He got wet, -extricating a horse from a bog-hole, and took no heed, having been wet -through a hundred times before. A chill seized him; he still took no -notice. The chill developed into pneumonia, but he struggled on, saying -nothing. Then Bohenna found him prostrate in the muck of the stable; he -had been trying to yoke the oxen with the intention of going out to -plow. - -Bohenna carried him, protesting, up to bed. Only when he was dying would -he admit he was ill. He was puzzled and angry. Why should he be sick now -who had never felt a qualm before? What was a wetting, i’ faith! For -forty odd winters he had seldom been dry. It was ridiculous! He tried to -lift himself, exhorting the splendid, loyal body that had never yet -failed him to have done with this folly and bear him outside to the -sunshine and the day’s work. It did not respond; might have been so much -lead. He fell back, betrayed, helpless, frightened, and went off into a -delirium. The end was close. He came to his senses once again about ten -o’clock at night and saw Teresa bending over him, the new son in her -arms. She was crying and had a tender look in her tear-bright eyes he -had never seen before. He tried to smile at her. Nothing to cry about. -He’d be all right in the morning—after a night’s sleep—go -plowing—everything came right in the morning. Towards midnight Martha, -who was watching, set up a dreadful screech. It was all over. As if -awaiting the signal came a hooting from the woods about the house, -“Too-whee-wha-ho-oo-oo!”—the Bosula owls lamenting the passing of its -master. - - * * * * * - -Fate, in cutting down John Penhale in his prime, did him no disservice. -He went into oblivion knowing Teresa only as a thing of beauty, half -magical, wholly adorable. He was spared the years of disillusionment -which would have pained him sorely, for he was a sensitive man. - -Teresa mourned for her husband with a passion which was natural to her -and which was very highly considered in the neighborhood. At the funeral -she flung herself on the coffin, and refused to be loosened from it for -a quarter of an hour, moaning and tearing at the lid with her fingers. -Venerable dames who had attended every local interment for half a -century wagged their bonnets and admitted they had never seen a widow -display a prettier spirit. - -Teresa was quite genuine in her way. John had treated her with a -gentleness and generosity she had not suspected was to be found on this -earth, and now this kindly cornucopia had been snatched from her—and -just when she had made so sure of him too! She blubbered in good -earnest. But after the lawyer’s business was over she cheered up. - -In the first flush of becoming a father, John had ridden into Penzance -and made a will, but since Eli’s birth he had made no second; there was -plenty of time, he thought, years and years of it. Consequently -everything fell to Ortho when he came of age, and in the meanwhile -Teresa was sole guardian. That meant she was mistress of Bosula and had -the handling of the hundred and twenty pounds invested income, to say -nothing of the Tregors rents, fifty pounds per annum. One hundred and -seventy pounds a year to spend! The sum staggered her. She had hardly -made that amount of money in her whole life. She sat up that night, long -after the rest of the household had gone to bed, wrapped in delicious -dreams of how she would spend that annual fortune. She soon began to -learn. Martha hinted that, in a lady of her station, the wearing of -black was considered proper as a tribute to the memory of the deceased, -so, finding nothing dark in the chests, she mounted a horse behind -Bohenna and jogged into town. - -A raw farmer’s wife, clutching a bag of silver and demanding only to be -dressed in black, is a gift to any shopman. The Penzance draper called -up his seamstresses, took Teresa’s measure for a silk dress—nothing but -silk would be fitting, he averred; the greater the cost the greater the -tribute—added every somber accessory that he could think of, separated -her from £13.6.4 of her hoard and bowed her out, promising to send the -articles by carrier within three days. Teresa went through the ordeal -like one in a trance, too awed to protest or speak even. On the way home -she sought to console herself with the thought that her extravagance was -on John’s, dear John’s behalf. Still thirteen pounds, six shillings and -fourpence!—more than Bohenna’s wages for a year gone in a finger snap! -Ruin stared her in the face. - -The black dress, cap, flounced petticoat, stiff stays, stockings, apron, -cloak of Spanish cloth and high-heeled shoes arrived to date and set the -household agog. Teresa, its devastating price forgotten, peacocked round -the house and yard all day, swelling with pride, the rustle of the silk -atoning for the agony she was suffering from the stays and shoes. As the -sensation died down she yearned for fresh conquests, so mounting the -pillion afresh, made a tour through the parish, paying special attention -to Gwithian Church-town and Monks Cove. - -The tour was a triumph. Women rushed to their cottage doors and stared -after her, goggling. At Pridden a party of hedgers left work and raced -across a field to see her go by. Near Tregadgwith a farmer fell off his -horse from sheer astonishment. She was the sole topic of the district -for a week or more. John’s memory was duly honored. - -In a month Teresa was tired of the black dress; her fancy did not run to -black. The crisp and shining new silk had given her a distaste for the -old silks, the soiled and tattered salvage of wrecks. She stuffed the -motley rags back in the chests and slammed the lids on them. She had -seen some breath-taking rolls of material in that shop in -Penzance—orange, emerald, turquoise, coral and lilac. She shut her eyes -and imagined herself in a flowing furbelowed dress of each of these -colors in turn—or one combining a little of everything—oh, rapture! - -She consulted Martha in the matter. Martha was shocked. It was unheard -of. She must continue to wear black in public for a year at least. This -intelligence depressed Teresa, but she was determined to be correct, as -she had now a position to maintain, was next thing to a lady. Eleven -months more to wait, heigh-ho! - -Then, drawn by the magnet of the shops, she went into Penzance again. -Penzance had become something more than a mere tin and pilchard port; -visitors attracted by its mild climate came in by every packet; there -was a good inn, “The Ship and Castle,” and in 1752 a coffee house had -been opened and the road to Land’s End made possible for carriages. Many -fine ladies were to be seen fanning themselves at windows in Chapel -Street or strolling on the Green, and Teresa wanted to study their -costumes with a view to her own. - -She dismounted at the Market Cross, moved about among the booths and -peeped furtively in at the shops. They were most attractive, displaying -glorious things to wear and marvelous things to eat—tarts, cakes, Dutch -biscuits, ginger-breads shaped like animals, oranges, plum and sugar -candy. Sly old women wheedled her to buy, enlarging ecstatically on the -excellence and cheapness of their wares. Teresa wavered and reflected -that though she might not be able to buy a new dress for a year there -was no law against her purchasing other things. The bag of silver burnt -her fingers and she fell. She bought some gingerbread animals at four -for a farthing, tasted them, thought them ambrosia and bought -sixpennorth to take with her, also lollipops. She went home trembling at -her extravagance, but when she came to count up what she had spent it -seemed to have made no impression on the bag of silver. In six weeks she -went in again, bought a basketful of edibles and replaced her brass -earrings with large gold half-moons. When these were paid for the bag -was badly drained. Teresa took fright and visited town no more for the -year—but as a matter of fact she had spent less than twenty pounds in -all. But she had got in the way of spending now. - -The tin works in which John’s money was invested paid up at the end of -the year (one hundred and twenty-six pounds, seventeen shillings and -eight-pence on this occasion), and Tregors rent came in on the same day. -It seemed to Teresa that the heavens had opened up and showered -uncounted gold upon her. - -She went into Penzance next morning as fast as the bay mare could carry -her and ordered a dress bordered with real lace and combining all the -hues of the rainbow. She was off. Never having had any money she had not -the slightest idea of its value and was mulcted accordingly. In the -third year of widowhood she spent the last penny of her income. - -The farm she left to Bohenna, the house to Martha, the children to look -after themselves, and rode in to Penzance market and all over the -hundred, to parish feasts, races and hurling matches, a notable figure -with her flaming dresses, raven hair and huge earrings, laying the odds, -singing songs and standing drinks in ale houses like any squire. - -When John died she was at her zenith. The early bloom of her race began -to fade soon after, accelerated by gross living. She still ate -enormously, as though the hunger of twenty-two lean years was not yet -appeased. She was like an animal at table, seizing bones in her hands -and tearing the meat off with her teeth, grunting the while like a -famished dog, or stuffing the pastries she bought in Penzance into her -mouth two at a time. She hastened from girlish to buxom, from buxom to -stout. The bay mare began to feel the increasing weight on the pillion. -Bohenna was left at home and Teresa rode alone, sitting sideways on a -pad, or a-straddle when no one was looking. Yet she was still comely in -a large way and had admirers aplenty. Sundry impecunious gentlemen, -hoping to mend their fortunes, paid court to the lavish widow, but -Teresa saw through their blandishments, and after getting all possible -sport out of them sent them packing. - -With the curate-in-charge of St. Gwithian it was the other way about. -Teresa made the running. She went to church in the first place because -it struck her as an opportunity to flaunt her superior finery in public -and make other women feel sick. She went a second time to gaze at the -parson. This gentleman was an anemic young man with fair hair, pale blue -eyes, long hands and a face refined through partial starvation. (The -absentee beneficiary allowed him eighteen pounds a year.) Obeying the -law of opposites, the heavy dark gypsy woman was vaguely attracted by -him at once and the attraction strengthened. - -He was something quite new to her. Among the clumsy-limbed country folk -he appeared so slim, so delicate, almost ethereal. Also, unable to read -or write herself and surrounded by people as ignorant as she, his easy -familiarity with books and the verbose phrasing of his sermons filled -her with admiration. On Easter Sunday he delivered himself of a -particularly flowery effort. Teresa understood not a word of it, but, -nevertheless, thought it beautiful and wept audibly. She thought the -preacher looked beautiful too, with his clear skin, veined temples and -blue eyes. A shaft of sunlight pierced the south window and fell upon -his fair head as though an expression of divine benediction. Teresa -thought he looked like a saint. Perhaps he was a saint. - -She rode home slowly, so wrapped in meditation that she was late for -dinner, an unprecedented occurrence. She would marry that young man. If -she were going to marry again it must be to some one she could handle, -since the law would make him master of herself and her possessions. The -curate would serve admirably; he would make a pretty pet and no more. He -could keep her accounts too. She was always in a muddle with money. The -method she had devised of keeping tally by means of notched sticks was -most untrustworthy. And, incidentally, if he really were a saint her -hereafter was assured. God could never condemn the wedded wife of a -saint and clergyman to Hell; it wouldn’t be decent. She would marry that -young man. - -She began the assault next day by paying her overdue tithes and throwing -in a duck as makeweight. Two days later she was up again with a gift of -a goose, and on the following Sunday she presented the astonished clerk -with eightpennorth of gingerbreads. Since eating was the occupation -nearest to the widow’s heart she sought to touch the curate’s by -showering food upon him. Something edible went to the Deanery at least -twice a week, occasionally by a hind, but more often Teresa took it -herself. A fortnight before Whitsuntide Teresa, in chasing an errant -boar out of the yard, kicked too violently, snapped her leg and was laid -up for three months. Temporarily unable to reduce the curate by her -personal charms she determined to let her gifts speak for her, doubled -the offerings, and eggs, fowls, butter, cheese and hams passed from the -farm to the Deanery in a constant stream. Lying in bed with nothing to -do, the invalid’s thoughts ran largely upon the clerk. She remembered -him standing in the pulpit that Easter Sunday, uttering lovely, if -unintelligible words, slim and delicate, the benedictory beam on his -flaxen poll; the more she pictured him the more ethereally beautiful did -he become. He would make a charming toy. - -As soon as she could hobble about she put on her best dress (cherry -satin), and, taking the bull by the horns, invited her intended to -dinner. She would settle matters without further ado. The young man -obeyed the summons with feelings divided between fear and determination; -he knew perfectly well what he was in for. Nobody but an utter fool -could have mistaken the meaning of the sighs and glances the big widow -had thrown when visiting him before her accident. There was no finesse -about Teresa. She wanted to marry him, and prudence told him to let her. -Two farms and four hundred pounds a year—so rumor had it—the catch of -the district and he only a poor clerk. He was sick of poverty—Teresa’s -bounty had shown him what it was to live well—and he dreaded returning -to the old way of things. Moreover he admired her, she was so bold, so -luscious, so darkly handsome, possessed of every physical quality he -lacked. But he was afraid of her for all that—if she ever got really -angry with him, good Lord! - -It took every ounce of determination he owned to drive his feet down the -hill to Bosula; twice he stopped and turned to go back. He was a timid -young man. His procrastination made him late for dinner. When he reached -the farm, the meal had already been served. His hostess was hard at -work; she would not have delayed five minutes for King George himself. -She had a mutton bone in her hands when the curate entered. She did not -notice him for the moment, so engrossed was she, but tore off the last -shred of meat, scrunched the bone with her teeth and bit out the marrow. -The curate reeled against the door post, emitting an involuntary groan. -Teresa glanced up and stared at him, her black eyebrows meeting. - -Who was this stranger wabbling about in her doorway, his watery eyes -popping out of his podgy face, his fleshy knees knocking together, his -dingy coat stretched tightly across his protruding stomach? A lost -inn-keeper? A strayed tallow chandler? No, by his cloth he was a clerk. -Slowly she recognized him. He was _her_ curate, ecod! Her pretty toy! -Her slim, transparent saint developed into this corpulent earthling! -_Fat_, ye Gods! She hurled the bone at his head—which was unreasonable, -seeing it was she had fattened him. - -The metamorphosed curate turned and bolted out of the house, through the -yard and back up the hill for home. - -“My God,” he panted as he ran, “biting bones up with her teeth, with her -teeth—my God, it might have been _me_!” - -That was the end of that. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - -In the meanwhile the Penhale brothers grew and grew. Martha took a -sketchy charge of their infancy, but as soon as they could toddle they -made use of their legs to gain the out o’ doors and freedom. At first -Martha basted them generously when they came in for meals, but they soon -put a stop to that by not showing up at the fixed feeding times, -watching her movements from coigns of vantage in the yard and robbing -the larder when her back was turned. Martha, thereupon, postponed the -whippings till they came in to bed. Once more they defeated her by not -coming in to bed; when trouble loomed they spent the night in the loft, -curled up like puppies in the hay. Martha could not reach them there. -She dared not trust herself on the crazy ladder and Bohenna would give -her no assistance; he was hired to tend stock, he said, not children. - -For all that the woman caught the little savages now and again, and when -she did she dressed them faithfully with a birch of her own making. But -she did not long maintain her physical advantage. - -One afternoon when Ortho was eight and Eli six she caught them -red-handed. The pair had been out all the morning, sailing cork boats -and mudlarking in the marshes. They had had no dinner. Martha knew they -would be homing wolfish hungry some time during the afternoon and that a -raid was indicated. There were two big apple pasties on the hearth -waiting the mistress’ supper and Martha was prepared to sell her life -for them, since it was she that got the blame if anything ran short and -she had suffered severely of late. - -At about three o’clock she heard the old sheep dog lift up its voice in -asthmatic excitement and then cease abruptly; it had recognized friends. -The raiders were at hand. She hid behind the settle near the door. -Presently she saw a dark patch slide across the east door-post—the -shadow of Ortho’s head. The shadow slid on until she knew he was peering -into the kitchen. Ortho entered the kitchen, stepping delicately, on -bare, grimy toes. He paused and glanced round the room. His eye lit on -the pasties and sparkled. He moved a chair carefully, so that his line -of retreat might be clear, beckoned to the invisible Eli, and went -straight for the mark. As his hands closed on the loot Martha broke -cover. Ortho did not look frightened or even surprised; he did not drop -the pasty. He grinned, dodged behind the table and shouted to his -brother, who took station in the doorway. - -Martha, squalling horrid threats, hobbled halfway round the table after -Ortho, who skipped in the opposite direction and nearly escaped her. She -just cut him off in time, but she could not save the pasty. He slung it -under her arm to his confederate and dodged behind the table again. Eli -was fat and short-legged. Martha could have caught him with ease, but -she did not try, knowing that if she did Ortho would have the second -pasty. As it was, Ortho was hopelessly cornered; he should suffer for -both. Ortho was behind the table again and difficult to reach. She -thought of the broom, but it was at the other side of the kitchen; did -she turn to get it Ortho would slip away. - -Eli reappeared in the doorway lumpish and stolid; he had hidden the -booty and come back to see the fun. Martha considered, pushed the table -against the wall and upturned it. Ortho sprang for the door, almost -gained it, but not quite. Martha grasped him by the tail of his smock, -drew him to her and laid on. But Ortho, instead of squirming and -whimpering as was his wont, put up a fight. He fought like a little wild -cat, wriggling and snarling, scratching with toes and finger nails. -Martha had all she could do to hold him, but hold him she did, dragged -him across the floor to the peg where hung her birch (a bunch of hazel -twigs) and gave him a couple of vicious slashes across the seat of his -pants. She was about to administer a third when an excruciating pain -nipped her behind her bare left ankle. She yelled, dropped Ortho and the -birch as if white-hot, and grabbed her leg. In the skin of the tendon -was imprinted a semi-circle of red dents—Eli’s little sharp teeth -marks. She limped round the kitchen for some minutes, vowing dreadful -vengeance on the brothers, who, in the meanwhile, were sitting astride -the yard gate munching the pasty. - -The pair slept in the barn for a couple of nights, and then, judging the -dame’s wrath to have passed, slipped in on the third. But Martha was -waiting for Eli, birch in hand, determined to carry out her vengeance. -It did not come off. She caught Eli, but Ortho flew to the rescue this -time. The two little fiends hung on her like weasels, biting, clawing, -squealing with fury, all but dragging the clothes off her. She appealed -to Teresa for help, but the big woman would do nothing but laugh. It was -as good as a bear-bait. Martha shook the brothers off somehow and -lowered her flag for good. Next day Ortho burnt the birch with fitting -ceremony, and for some years the brothers ran entirely wild. - -If Martha failed to inspire any respect in the young Penhales they stood -in certain awe of her daughter Wany on account of her connection with -the supernatural. In the first place she was a changeling herself. In -the second, Providence having denied her wits, had bequeathed her an odd -sense. She was weather-wise; she felt heat, frost, rain or wind days in -advance; her veins might have run with mercury. In the third place, and -which was far more attractive to the boys, she knew the movements of all -the “small people” in the valley—the cows told her. - -The cows were Wany’s special province. She could not be trusted with any -housework however simple, because she could not bring her mind to it for -a minute. She had no control over her mind at all; it was forever -wandering over the hills and far away in dark, enchanted places. - -But cows she could manage, and every morning the cows told her what had -passed in the half-world the night before. - -There were two tribes of “small people” in the Keigwin Valley, Buccas -and Pixies. In the Buccas there was no harm; they were poor foreigners, -the souls of the first Jew miners, condemned for their malpractices to -perpetual slavery underground. They inhabited a round knoll formed of -rocks and rubble thrown up by the original Penhale and were seldom seen, -even by the cows, for they had no leisure and their work lay out of -sight in the earth’s dark, dripping tunnels. Once or twice the cows had -glimpsed a swarthy, hook-nosed old face, caked in red ore and seamed -with sweat, gazing wistfully through a crack in the rocks—but that was -all. Sometimes, if, under Wany’s direction, you set your ear to the -knoll and listened intently, you could hear a faint thump and scrape far -underground—the Buccas’ picks at work. Bohenna declared these sounds -emanated from badgers, but Bohenna was of the earth earthy, a clod of -clods. - -The Pixies lived by day among the tree roots at the north end of Bosula -woods, a sprightly but vindictive people. At night they issued from a -hollow oak stump, danced in their green ball rooms, paid visits to -distant kinsfolk or made expeditions against offending mortals. The -cows, lying out all night in the marshes, saw them going and coming. -There were hundreds of them, the cows said; they wore green jerkins and -red caps and rode rabbits, all but the king and queen, who were mounted -on white hares. They blew on horns as they galloped, and the noise of -them was like a flock of small birds singing. On moonless nights a cloud -of fireflies sped above them to light the way. The cows heard them -making their plans as they rode afield, laughing and boasting as they -returned, and reported to Wany, who passed it on to the spellbound -brothers. - -But this did not exhaust the night life in the valley. According to -Wany, other supernaturals haunted the neighborhood, specters, ghosts, -men who had sold their souls to the devil, folk who had died with curses -on them, or been murdered and could not rest. There was a demon huntsman -who rode a great black stallion behind baying hellhounds; a woman who -sat by Red Pool trying to wash the blood off her fingers; a baby who was -heard crying but never seen. Even the gray druid stones she invested -with periodic life. On such and such a night the tall Pipers stalked -across the fields and played to the Merry Maidens who danced round -thrice; the Men-an-Tol whistled; the Logan rocked; up on misty hills -barrows opened and old Cornish giants stepped out and dined hugely, with -the cromlechs for tables and the stars for tapers. - -The stories had one virtue, namely that they brought the young Penhales -home punctually at set of sun. The wild valley they roamed so fearlessly -by day assumed a different aspect when the enchanted hours of night drew -on; inanimate objects stirred and drew breath, rocks took on the look of -old men’s faces, thorn bushes changed into witches, shadows harbored -nameless, crouching things. The creak of a bough sent chills down their -spines, the hoot of an owl made them jump, a patch of moonlight on a -tree trunk sent them huddling together, thinking of the ghost lady; the -bark of a fox and a cow crashing through undergrowth set their hearts -thumping for fear of the demon huntsman. If caught by dusk they turned -their coats inside out and religiously observed all the rites -recommended by Wany as charms against evil spirits. If they were not -brought up in the love of God they were at least taught to respect the -devil. - -With the exception of this spiritual concession the Penhale brothers -knew no restraint; they ran as wild as stoats. They arose with the sun, -stuffed odds and ends of food in their pockets and were seen no more -while daylight lasted. - -In spring there was plenty of bird’s-nesting to be done up the valley. -Every other tree held a nest of some sort, if you only knew where to -look, up in the forks of the ashes and elms, in hollow boles and rock -crevices, cunningly hidden in dense ivy-clumps or snug behind barbed -entanglements of thorn. Bohenna, a predatory naturalist, marked down -special nests for them, taught them to set bird and rabbit snares and -how to tickle trout. - -In spring they hunted gulls’ eggs as well round the Luddra Head, -swarming perpendicular cliffs with prehensile toes and fingers hooked -into cracks, wriggling on their stomachs along dizzy foot-wide shelves, -leaping black crevices with the assurance of chamois. It was an exciting -pursuit with the sheer drop of two hundred feet or so below one, a sheer -drop to jagged rock ledges over which the green rollers poured with the -thunder of heavy artillery and then poured back, a boil of white water -and seething foam. An exciting pursuit with the back draught of a -southwesterly gale doing its utmost to scoop you off the cliffside, and -gull mothers diving and shrieking in your face, a clamorous snowstorm, -trying to shock you off your balance by the whir of their wings and the -piercing suddenness of their cries. - -The brothers spent most of the summer at Monks Cove playing with the -fisher children, bathing and scrambling along the coast. The tide ebbing -left many pools, big and little, among the rocks, clear basins enameled -with white and pink sea lichen, studded with limpets, yellow snails, -ruby and emerald anemones. Delicate fronds of colored weed grew in these -salt-water gardens, tiny green crabs scuttered along the bottom, -gravel-hued bull-cod darted from shadow to shadow. They spent tense if -fruitless hours angling for the bull-cod with bent pins, limpet baited. -In the largest pool they learnt to swim. When they were sure of -themselves they took to the sea itself. - -Their favorite spot was a narrow funnel between two low promontories, up -which gulf the rollers raced to explode a white puff of spray through a -blow-hole at the end. At the mouth of the funnel stood a rock they -called “The Chimney,” the top standing eight feet above low water level. -This made an ideal diving place. You stood on the “Chimney Pot,” looked -down through glitters and glints of reflected sunshine, down through -four fathoms of bottle-green water, down to where fantastic pennants of -bronze and purple weed rippled and purled and smooth pale bowlders -gleamed in the swaying light—banners and skulls of drowned armies. You -dived, pierced cleanly through the green deeps, a white shooting star -trailing silver bubbles. Down you went, down till your fingers touched -the weed banners, curved and came up, saw the water changing from green -to amber as you rose, burst into the blaze and glitter of sunlight with -the hiss of a breaker in your ears, saw it curving over you, turned and -went shoreward shouting, slung by giant arms, wallowing in milky foam, -plumed with diamond spray. Then a quick dash sideways out of the -sparkling turmoil into a quiet eddy and ashore at your leisure to bask -on the rocks and watch the eternal surf beating on the Twelve Apostles -and the rainbows glimmering in the haze of spindrift that hung above -them. - -Porpoises went by, skimming the surface with beautiful, lazy curves, -solitary cormorants paddled past, popping under and reappearing fifty -yards away, with suspicious lumps in the throat. Now and then a shoal of -pilchards crawled along the coast, a purple stain in the blue, with a -cloud of vociferous gannets hanging over it, diving like stones, rising -and poising, glimmering in the sun like silver tinsel. Sometimes a brown -seal cruised along, sleek, round-headed, big-eyed, like a negro baby. - -There was the Channel traffic to watch as well, smacks, schooners, -ketches and scows, all manner of rigs and craft; Tyne collier brigs, -grimy as chimney-sweeps; smart Falmouth packets carrying mails to and -from the world’s ends; an East Indiaman, maybe, nine months from the -Hooghly, wallowing leisurely home, her quarters a-glitter of -“gingerbread work,” her hold redolent with spices; and sometimes a great -First-Rate with triple rows of gun-ports, an admiral’s flag flying and -studding sails set, rolling a mighty bow-wave before her. - -Early one summer morning they heard the boom of guns and round Black -Carn came a big Breton lugger under a tremendous press of sail, leaping -the short seas like a greyhound. On her weather quarter hung a King’s -Cutter, gaff-topsail and ring-tail set, a tower of swollen canvas. A -tongue of flame darted from the Breton’s counter, followed by a mushroom -of smoke and a dull crash. A jet of white water leapt thirty feet in the -air on the cutter’s starboard bow, then another astern of her and -another and another. She seemed to have run among a school of spouting -whales, but in reality it was the ricochets of a single round-shot. The -cutter’s bow-chaser replied, and jets spouted all round the lugger. The -King’s ship was trying to crowd the Breton ashore and looked in a fair -way to do so. To the excited boys it appeared that the lugger must -inevitably strike the Twelve Apostles did she hold her course. She held -on, passed into the drag of the big seas as they gathered to hurl -themselves on the reef. Every moment the watchers expected to see her -caught and crashed to splinters on the jagged anvil. She rose on a -roaring wave crest, hung poised above the reef for a breathless second -and clawed by, shaking the water from her scuppers. - -The Cove boys cheered the lugger as she raced by, waving strips of -seaweed and dancing with joy. They were not so much for the French as -against the Preventive; a revenue cutter was their hereditary foe, a -spoke in the Wheel of Fortune. - -“Up the Froggy,” they yelled. “Up Johnny Roscoff! Give him saltpeter -soup Moosoo! Hurrah! Hooroo!” - -The two ships foamed out of sight behind the next headland, the boom of -their pieces sounding fainter and fainter. - - * * * * * - -Those were good days for the Penhale brothers, the days of early -boyhood. - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - -Ortho and Wany were in Penzance looking for cows that had been taken by -the Press gang, when they met the Pope of Rome wearing a plumed hat and -Teresa’s second best dress. He had an iron walking stick in his hand -with a negro head carved at the top and an ivory ferrule, and every time -he tapped the road it rang under him. - -“Hollow, you see,” said His Holiness. “Eaten away by miners and -Buccas—scandalous! One more convulsion like the Lisbon earthquake of -fifty-five and we shall all fall in. Everything is hollow, when you come -to think of it—cups, kegs, cannon, ships, churches, crowns and -heads—everything. We shall not only fall in but inside out. If you -don’t believe me, listen.” - -Whereupon he gathered his skirts and ran up Market Jew Street laying -about him with the iron stick, hitting the ground, the houses and -bystanders on the head, and everything he touched rumbled like a big or -little gong, in proportion to its size. Finally he hit the Market House; -it exploded and Ortho woke up. - -There was a full gale blowing from the southwest and the noise of the -sea was rolling up the valley in roaring waves. The Bosula trees creaked -and strained. A shower of broken twigs hit the window and the wind -thudded on the pane like a fist. Ortho turned over on his other side and -was just burying his head under the pillow when he heard the explosion -again. It was a different note from the boom of the breakers, sharper. -He had heard something like that before—where? Then he remembered the -Breton with the cutter in chase—guns! A chair fell over in his mother’s -room. She was up. A door slammed below, boots thumped upstairs, Bohenna -shouted something through his mother’s door and clumped down hurriedly. -Ortho could not hear all he said, but he caught two essential words, -“Wreck” and “Cove.” More noise on the stairs and again the house door -slammed; his mother had gone. He shook Eli awake. - -“There’s a ship ashore down to Cove,” he said; “banging off guns she -was. Mother and Ned’s gone. Come on.” - -Eli was not anxious to leave his bed; he was comfortable and sleepy. “We -couldn’t do nothing,” he protested. - -“Might see some foreigners drowned,” said Ortho optimistically. “She -might be a pirate like was sunk in Newlyn last year, full of blacks and -Turks.” - -“They’d kill and eat us,” said Eli. - -Ortho shook his head. “They’ll be drowned first—and if they ain’t -Ned’ll wrastle ’em.” - -In settlement of further argument he placed his foot in the small of his -brother’s back and projected him onto the floor. They dressed in the -dark, fumbled their way downstairs and set off down the valley. In the -shelter of the Bosula woods they made good progress; it was -comparatively calm there, though the treetops were a-toss and a rotten -bough hurtled to earth a few feet behind them. Once round the elbow and -clear of the timber, the gale bent them double; it rushed, shrieking, up -the funnel of the hills, pushed them round and backwards. Walking -against it was like wading against a strong current. The road was the -merest track, not four feet at its widest, littered with rough bowlders, -punctuated with deep holes. The brothers knew every twist and trick of -the path, but in the dark one can blunder in one’s own bedroom; moreover -the wind was distorting everything. They tripped and stumbled, were -slashed across the face by flying whip-thongs of bramble, torn by -lunging thorn boughs, pricked by dancing gorse-bushes. Things suddenly -invested with malignant animation bobbed out of the dark, hit or -scratched one and bobbed back again. The night was full of mad terror. - -Halfway to the Cove, Ortho stubbed his toe for the third time, got a -slap in the eye from a blackthorn and fell into a puddle. He wished he -hadn’t come and proposed that they should return. But Eli wouldn’t hear -of it. He wasn’t enjoying himself any more than his brother, but he was -going through with it. He made no explanation, but waddled on. Ortho let -him get well ahead and then called him back, but Eli did not reply. -Ortho wavered. The thought of returning through those creaking woods all -alone frightened him. He thought of all the Things-that-went-by-Night, -of hell-hounds, horsemen and witches. The air was full of witches on -broomsticks and demons on black stallions stampeding up the valley on a -dreadful hunt. He could hear their blood-freezing halloos, the blare of -horns, the baying of hounds. He wailed to Eli to stop, and trotted, -shivering, after him. - -The pair crawled into Monks Cove at last plastered with mud, their -clothes torn to rags. A feeble pilchard-oil “chill” burnt in one or two -windows, but the cottages were deserted. Spindrift, mingled with clots -of foam, was driving over the roofs in sheets. The wind pressed like a -hand on one’s mouth; it was scarcely possible to breathe facing it. -Several times the boys were forced down on all fours to avoid being -blown over backwards. The roar of the sea was deafening, appalling. -Gleaming hills of surf hove out of the void in quick succession, -toppled, smashed, flooded the beach with foam and ran back, sucking away -the sands. - -The small beach was thronged with people; all the Covers were there, -men, women and children, also a few farm-folk, drawn by the guns. They -sheltered behind bowlders, peered seawards, and shouted in each other’s -ears. - -“Spanisher, or else Portingal,” Ortho heard a man bellow. - -“Jacky’s George seen she off Cribba at sundown. Burnt a tar barrel and -fired signals southwest of Apostles—dragging by her lights. She’ll -bring up presently and then part—no cables won’t stand this. The -Minstrel’ll have her.” - -“No, the Carracks, with this set,” growled a second. “Carracks for a -hundred poun’. They’ll crack she like a nut.” - -“Carracks, Minstrel or Shark’s Fin, she’m _ours_,” said the first. -“Harken!” - -Came a crash from the thick darkness seawards, followed a grinding noise -and second crash. The watchers hung silent for a moment, as though awed, -and then sprang up shouting. - -“Struck!” - -“Carracks have got her!” - -“Please God a general cargo!” - -“Shan’t be long now, my dears, pickin’s for one and all.” - -Men tied ropes round their waists, gave the ends to their women-folk and -crouched like runners awaiting the signal. - -A dark object was tossed high on the crest of a breaker, dropped on the -beach, dragged back and rolled up again. - -Half a dozen men scampered towards it and dragged it in, a ship’s -pinnace smashed to splinters. Part of a carved rail came ashore, a -poop-ladder, a litter of spars and a man with no head. - -These also were hauled above the surf line; the wreckers wanted a clear -beach. Women set to work on the spars, slashing off tackle, quarreling -over the possession of valuable ropes and block. A second batch of spars -washed in with three more bodies tangled amongst them, battered out of -shape. Then a mass of planking, timbers, barrel staves, some bedding -and, miraculously, a live dog. Suddenly the surf went black with bobbing -objects; the cargo was coming in—barrels. - -A sea that will play bowls with half-ton rocks will toss wine casks -airily. The breakers flung them on the beach; they trundled back down -the slope and were spat up again. The men rushed at them, whooping; -rushed right into the surf up to their waists, laid hold of a prize and -clung on; were knocked over, sucked under, thrown up and finally dragged -out by the women and ancients pulling like horses on the life-lines. A -couple of tar barrels came ashore among the others. Teresa, who was much -in evidence, immediately claimed them, and with the help of some old -ladies piled the loose planking on the wreck of the pinnace, saturated -the whole with tar and set it afire to light the good work. In a few -minutes the gale had fanned up a royal blaze. That done, she knotted a -salvaged halliard about Bohenna, and with Davy, the second farm hand, -Teresa and the two boys holding on to the shore end, he went into the -scramble with the rest. - -Barrels were spewed up by every wave, the majority stove in, but many -intact. The fisher-folk fastened on them like bulldogs, careless of -risk. One man was stunned, another had his leg broken. An old widow, -having nobody to work for her and maddened at the sight of all this -treasure-trove going to others, suddenly threw sanity to the winds, -dashed into the surf, butted a man aside and flung herself on a cask. -The cask rolled out with the back-drag, the good dame with it. A breaker -burst over them and they went out of sight in a boil of sand, gravel and -foam. Bohenna plunged after them, was twice swept off his feet, turned -head over heels and bumped along the bottom, choking, the sand stinging -his face like small shot. He groped out blindly, grasped something solid -and clung on. Teresa, feeling more than she could handle on her line, -yelled for help. A dozen sprang to her assistance, and with a tug they -got Bohenna out, Bohenna clinging to the old woman, she still clinging -to her barrel. She lay on the sand, her arms about her prize, three -parts drowned, spitting salt water at her savior. - -He laughed. “All right, mother; shan’t snatch it from ’ee. ’Tis your -plunder sure ’nough.” Took breath and plunged back into the surf. The -flow of cargo stopped, beams still came in, a top mast, more shattered -bodies, some lengths of cable, bedding, splinters of cabin paneling and -a broken chest, valueless odds and ends. The wreckers set about -disposing of the sound casks; men staggered off carrying them on rough -stretchers, women and children rolled others up the beach, the coils of -rope disappeared. Davy, it turned out, had brought three farm horses and -left them tied up in a pilchard-press. These were led down to the beach -now, loaded (two barrels a horse), and taken home by the men. - -Teresa still had a cask in hand. Bohenna could hardly make a second -journey before dawn. Moreover, it was leaking, so she stove the head in -with a stone and invited everybody to help themselves. Some ran to the -houses for cups and jugs, but others could not wait, took off their -sodden shoes and baled out the contents greedily. It was overproof -Oporto wine and went to their unaccustomed heads in no time. Teresa, -imbibing in her wholesale fashion, was among the first to feel the -effects. She began to sing. She sang “Prithee Jack, prithee Tom, pass -the can around” and a selection of sottish ditties which had found favor -in Portsmouth taverns, suiting her actions to the words. From singing -she passed to dancing, uttering sharp “Ai-ees” and “Ah-has” and waving -and thumping her detached shoe as though it were a tambourine. She -infected the others. They sang the first thing that came into their -heads and postured and staggered in an endeavor to imitate her, -hoarse-throated men dripping with sea water, shrill young women, gnarled -beldames dribbling at the mouth, loose-jointed striplings, -cracked-voiced ancients contracted with rheumatism, squeaky boys and -girls. Drink inspired them to strange cries, extravagant steps and -gesticulations. They capered round the barrel, dipping as they passed, -drank and capered again, each according to his or her own fashion. -Teresa, the presiding genius, lolled over the cask, panting, shrieking -with laughter, whooping her victims on to fresh excesses. They hopped -and staggered round and round, chanting and shouting, swaying in the -wind which swelled their smocks with grotesque protuberances, tore the -women’s hair loose and set their blue cloaks flapping. Some tumbled and -rose again, others lay where they fell. They danced in a mist of flying -spindrift and sand with the black cliffs for background, the blazing -wreckage for light, the fifes and drums of the gale for orchestra. It -might have been a scene from an infernal ballet, a dance of witches and -devils, fire-lit, clamorous, abandoned. - -The eight drowned seamen, providers of this good cheer, lay in a row -apart, their dog nosing miserably from one to the other, wondering why -they were so indifferent when all this merriment was toward, and barking -at any one who approached them. - -When the Preventive men arrived with dawn they thought at first it was -not a single ship that had foundered but a fleet, so thick was the beach -with barrel staves and bodies, but even as they stared some corpses -revived, sat up, rose unsteadily and made snake tracks for the cottages; -they were merely the victims of Teresa’s bounty. Teresa herself was fast -asleep behind a rock when the Preventive came, but she woke up as the -sun rose in her eyes and spent a pleasant hour watching their fruitless -hunt for liquor and offering helpful suggestions. - -Hunger gnawing her, she whistled her two sons as if they had been dogs -and made for home, tacking from side to side of the path like a ship -beating to windward and cursing her Maker every time she stumbled. The -frightened boys kept fifty yards in rear. - -In return for Teresa’s insults the Preventives paid Bosula a visit later -in the day. Teresa, refreshed by some hours’ sleep, followed the -searchers round the steading, jeering at them while they prodded sticks -into hay-stacks and patches of newly dug ground or rapped floors and -walls for hollow places. She knew they would never find those kegs; they -were half a mile away, sunk in a muddy pool further obscured by willows. -Bohenna had walked the horses upstream and down so that there should be -no telltale tracks. The Preventives were drawing a blank cover. It -entertained Teresa to see them getting angrier and angrier. She was -prodigal with jibes and personalities. The Riding Officer retired at -dusk, informing the widow that it would give him great pleasure to tear -her tongue out and fry it for breakfast. Teresa was highly amused. Her -good humor recovered and that evening she broached a cask, hired a -fiddler and gave a dance in the kitchen. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - -The Penhale brothers grew and grew, put off childish things and began to -seek the company of men worshipfully and with emulation, as puppies -imitate grown dogs. Ortho’s first hero was a fisherman whose real name -was George Baragwanath, but who was invariably referred to as “Jacky’s -George,” although his father, the possessive Jacky, was long dead and -forgotten and had been nothing worth mentioning when alive. - -Jacky’s George was a remarkable man. At the age of seventeen, while -gathering driftwood below Pedn Boar, he had seen an intact ship’s -pinnace floating in. The weather was moderate, but there was sufficient -swell on to stave the boat did it strike the outer rocks—and it was a -good boat. The only way to save it was to swim off, but Jacky’s George, -like most fishermen, could not swim. He badly wanted that boat; it would -make him independent of Jacky, whose methods were too slow to catch a -cold, leave alone fish. Moreover, there was a girl involved. He stripped -off his clothes, gathered the bundle of driftwood in his arms, flopped -into the back wash of a roller and kicked out, frog-fashion, knowing -full well that his chances of reaching the boat were slight and that if -he did not reach it he would surely drown. - -He reached the boat, however, scrambled up over the stern and found -three men asleep on the bottom. His heart fell like lead. He had risked -his life for nothing; he’d still have to go fishing with the timorous -Jacky and the girl must wait. - -“Here,” said he wearily to the nearest sleeper. “Here, rouse up; you’m -close ashore . . . be scat in a minute.” - -The sleeper did not stir. Jacky’s George kicked him none too gently. -Still the man did not move. He then saw that he was dead; they were all -dead. The boat was his after all! He got the oars out and brought the -boat safely into Monks Cove. Quite a sensation it made—Jacky’s George, -stark naked, pulling in out of the sea fog with a cargo of dead men. He -married that girl forthwith, was a father at eighteen, a grandfather at -thirty-five. In the interval he got nipped by the Press Gang in a -Falmouth grog shop and sent round the world with Anson in the -_Centurion_, rising to the rank of quarter-gunner. One of the two -hundred survivors of that lucrative voyage, he was paid off with a -goodly lump of prize money, and, returning to his native cove, opened an -inn with a florid, cock-hatted portrait of his old commander for sign. - -Jacky’s George, however, was not inclined to a life of bibulous ease -ashore. He handed the inn over to his wife and went to sea again as -gunner in a small Falmouth privateer mounting sixteen pieces. Off Ushant -one February evening they were chased by a South Maloman of twice their -weight of metal, which was overhauling them hand over fist when her -foremast went by the board and up she went in the wind. Jacky’s George -was responsible for the shot that disabled the Breton, but her parting -broadside disabled Jacky’s George; he lost an arm. - -He was reported to have called for rum, hot tar and an ax. These having -been brought, he gulped the rum, chopped off the wreckage of his -forearm, soused the spurting stump in tar and fainted. He recovered -rapidly, fitted a boat-hook head to the stump and was at work again in -no time, but the accident made a longshoreman of him; he went no more -a-roving in letters of marque, but fished offshore with his swarm of -sons, Ortho Penhale occasionally going with him. - -Physically Jacky’s George was a sad disappointment. Of all the Covers he -was the least like what he ought to have been, the last man you would -have picked out as the desperado who had belted the globe, sacked towns -and treasure ships, been master gunner of a privateer and killed several -times his own weight in hand-to-hand combats. He was not above five feet -three inches in height, a chubby, chirpy, red-headed cock-robin of a man -who drank little, swore less, smiled perpetually and whistled wherever -he went—even, it was said, at the graveside of his own father, in a -moment of abstraction of course. - -His wife, who ran the “Admiral Anson” (better known as the -“Kiddlywink”), was a heavy dark woman, twice his size and very downright -in her opinions. She would roar down a roomful of tipsy mariners with -ease and gusto, but the least word of her smiling little husband she -obeyed swiftly and in silence. It was the same with his children. There -were nine of them—two daughters and seven sons—all red-headed and -freckled like himself, a turbulent, independent tribe, paying no man -respect—but their father. - -Ortho could not fathom the nature of the little man’s power over them; -he was so boyish himself, took such childish delight in their tales of -mischief, seemed in all that boatload of boys the youngest and most -carefree. Then one evening he had a glimpse of the cock-robin’s other -side. They were just in from sea, were lurching up from the slip when -they were greeted by ominous noises issuing from the Kiddlywink, the -crash of woodwork, hoarse oaths, a thump and then growlings as of a -giant dog worrying a bone. Jacky’s George broke into a run, and at the -same moment his wife, terrified, appeared at the door and cried out, -“Quick! Quick do ’ee! Murder!” - -Jacky’s George dived past her into the house, Ortho, agog for any form -of excitement, close behind him. - -The table was lying over on its side, one bench was broken and the other -tossed, end on, into a corner. On the wet floor, among chips of -shattered mugs, two men struggled, locked together, a big man on top, a -small man underneath. The former had the latter by the throat, rapidly -throttling him. The victim’s eyeballs seemed on the point of bursting, -his tongue was sticking out. - -“Tinners!” wailed Mrs. Baragwanath. “Been drinkin’ all day—gert -stinkin’ toads!” - -Jacky’s George did not waste time in wordy remonstrance; he got the -giant’s chin in the crook of his sound arm and tried to wrench it up. -Useless; the maddened brute was too strong and too heavy. The man -underneath gave a ghastly, clicking choke. In another second there would -have been murder done in the “Admiral Anson” and a blight would fall on -that prosperous establishment, killing trade. That would never do. -Without hesitation its landlord settled the matter, drove his stump-hook -into the giant’s face, gaffed him through the cheek as he would a fish. - -“Come off!” said he. - -The man came off. - -“Come on!” He backed out, leading the man by the hook. - -“Lift a hand or struggle and I’ll drag your face inside out,” said -Jacky’s George. “This way, if you please.” - -The man followed, bent double, murder in his eyes, hands twitching but -at his sides. - -At the end of the hamlet Jacky’s George halted. “You owe me your neck, -mate, but I don’t s’pose you’ll thank me, tedd’n in human nature, you -would,” said he, sadly, as though pained at the ingratitude of mortal -man. “Go on up that there road till you’m out of this place an’ don’t -you never come back.” - -He freed the hook deftly and jumped clear. “Now crowd all canvas, do -’ee.” - -The great tinner put a hand to his bleeding cheek, glared at the smiling -cock-robin, clenched his fists and teeth and took a step forward—one -only. A stone struck him in the chest, another missed his head by an -inch. He ducked to avoid a third and was hit in the back and thigh, -started to retreat at a walk, broke into a run and went cursing and -stumbling up the track, his arms above his head to protect it from the -rain of stones, Goliath pursued by seven red-headed little Davids, and -all the Cove women standing on their doorsteps jeering. - -“Two mugs an’ a bench seat,” Jacky’s George commented as he watched his -sons speeding the parting guest. “Have to make t’other poor soul pay for -’em, I s’pose.” He turned back into the Kiddlywink whistling, -“Strawberry leaves make maidens fair.” - -Ortho enjoyed going to sea with the Baragwanath family; they put such -zest into all they did, no slovenliness was permitted. Falls and cables -were neatly coiled or looped over pins, sail was stowed properly, oars -tossed man-o’-war fashion, everything went with a snap. Furthermore, -they took chances. For them no humdrum harbor hugging; they went far and -wide after the fish and sank their crab-pots under dangerous ledges no -other boat would tackle. In anything like reasonable weather they -dropped a tier or two seaward of the Twelve Apostles. Even on the -calmest of days there was a heavy swell on to the south of the reef, -especially with the tide making. It was shallow there and the Atlantic -flood came rolling over the shoal in great shining hills. At one moment -you were up in the air and could see the brown coast with its purple -indentations for miles, the patchwork fields, scattered gray farmhouses, -the smoke of furze fires and lazy clouds rolling along the high moors. -At the next moment you were in the lap of a turquoise valley, shut out -from everything by rushing cliffs of water. There were oars, sheets, -halliards, back-ropes and lines to be pulled on, fighting fish to be -hauled aboard, clubbed and gaffed. And always there was Jacky’s George -whistling like a canary, pointing out the various rigs of passing -vessels, spinning yarns of privateer days and of Anson’s wonderful -voyage, of the taking of Paita City and the great plate ship _Nuestra -Señora de Covadonga_. And there was the racing. - -Very jealous of his craft’s reputation was Jacky’s George; a hint of -defiance from another boat and he was after the challenger instanter, -even though it took him out of his course. Many a good spin did Ortho -get coming in from the Carn Base Wolf and other outer fishing grounds, -backed against the weather-side with the Baragwanath boys, living -ballast, while the gig, trembling from end to end, went leaping and -swooping over the blue and white hillocks on the trail of an ambitious -Penberth or Porgwarra man. Sheets and weather stays humming in the -blast, taut and vibrant as guitar strings; sails rigid as though carved -from wood, lee gunnel all but dipping under; dollops of spray bursting -aboard over the weather bow—tense work, culminating in exultation as -they crept up on the chase, drew to her quarter, came broad abeam -and—with derisive cheers—passed her. Speed was a mania with the -cock-robin; he was in perpetual danger of sailing the _Game Cock_ under; -on one occasion he very nearly did. - -They were tearing, close-hauled, through the Runnelstone Passage, after -an impudent Mouseholeman, when a cross sea suddenly rose out of nowhere -and popped aboard over the low lee gunnel. In a second the boat was full -of water; only her gunnels and thwarts were visible. It seemed to Ortho -that he was standing up to his knees in the sea. - -“Luff!” shouted Jacky’s George. - -His eldest son jammed the helm hard down, but the boat wouldn’t answer. -The way was off her; she lay as dead as a log. - -“Leggo sheets!” shouted the father. “Aft all hands!” - -Ortho tumbled aft with the Baragwanath boys and watched Jacky’s George -in a stupor of fright. The little man could not be said to move; he -flickered, grabbed up an oar, wrenched the boat’s head round, broke the -crest of an oncoming wave by launching the oar blade at it and took the -remainder in his back. - -“Heave the ballast out an’ bale,” he yelled gleefully, sitting in the -bows, forming a living bulwark against the waves. “Bale till your backs -break, my jollies.” - -They bailed like furies, baled with the first things to hand, line tubs, -caps, boots, anything, in the meanwhile drifting rapidly towards the -towering cliffs of Tol-pedn-Penwith. The crash of the breakers on the -ledges struck terror through Ortho. They sounded like a host of ravenous -great beasts roaring for their prey—him. If the boat did not settle -under them they would be dashed to pieces on those rocks; death was -inevitable one way or the other. He remembered the Portuguese seamen -washed in from the Twelve Apostles without heads. He would be like that -in a few minutes—no head—ugh! - -Jacky’s George, jockeying the bows, improvising a weather cloth from a -spare jib, was singing, “Hey, boys, up we go!” This levity in the jaws -of destruction enraged Ortho. The prospect of imminent death might amuse -Jacky’s George, who had eaten a rich slice of life, but Ortho had not -and was terrified. He felt he was too young to die; it was unfair to -snatch a mere boy like himself. Moreover, it was far too sudden; no -warning at all. At one moment they were bowling along in the sunshine, -laughing and happy, and at the next up to their waists in water, to all -intents dead, cold, headless, eaten by crabs—ugh! He thought of Eli up -the valley, flintlock in hand, dry, happy, safe for years and years of -fun; thought of the Owls’ House bathed in the noon glow, the old dog -asleep in the sun, pigeons strutting on the thatch, copper pans shining -in the kitchen—thought of his home, symbol of all things comfortable -and secure, and promised God that if he got out of the mess he would -never set foot in a boat again. - -The roar of the breakers grew louder and he felt cold and sick with -fear, but nevertheless baled with the best, baled for dear life, -realizing for the first time how inexpressibly precious life may be. -Jacky’s George whistled, cracked jokes and sang “The Bold British Tar.” -He made such a din as to drown the noise of the surf. The “British Tar” -had brave words and a good rousing chorus. The boys joined in as they -baled; presently Ortho found himself singing too. - -Six lads toiling might and main can shift a quantity of water. The gig -began to brisk in her movements, to ride easier. Fifty yards off the -foam-draped Hella Rock Jacky’s George laid her to her course again—but -the Mouseholeman was out of sight. - -No Dundee harpooner, home from a five years’ cruise, had a more moving -story of perils on the deep to tell than did Ortho that night. He -staggered about the kitchen, affecting a sea roll, spat over his -shoulder and told and retold the tale till his mother boxed his ears and -drove him up to bed. Even then he kept Eli awake for two hours, baling -that boat out over and over again; he had enjoyed every moment of it, he -said. Nevertheless he did not go fishing for a month, but the -Baragwanath family were dodging off St. Clements Isle before sun-up next -day, waiting for that Mousehole boat to come out of port. When she did -they led her down to the fishing grounds and then led her home again, a -tow-rope trailing derisively over the _Game Cock’s_ stern. They were an -indomitable breed. - -Ortho recovered from his experience off Tol-Pedn and, despite his -promise to his Maker, went to sea occasionally, but that phase of his -education was nearing its close. Winter and its gales were approaching, -and even the fearless cock-robin seldom ventured out. When he did go he -took only his four eldest boys, departed without ostentation, was gone a -week or even two, and returned quietly in the dead of night. - -“Scilly—to visit his sister,” was given by Mrs. Baragwanath as his -destination and object, but it was noted that these demonstrations of -brotherly affection invariably occurred when the “Admiral Anson’s” stock -of liquor was getting low. The wise drew their own conclusions. Ortho -pleaded to be taken on one of these mysterious trips, but Jacky’s George -was adamant, so he had perforce to stop at home and follow the _Game -Cock_ in imagination across the wintry Channel to Guernsey and back -again through the patrolling frigates, loaded to the bends with ankers -of gin and brandy. - -Cut off from Jacky’s George, he looked about for a fresh hero to worship -and lit upon Pyramus Herne. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - -Pyramus Herne was the head of a family of gypsy horse dealers that -toured the south and west of England, appearing regularly in the Land’s -End district on the heels of the New Year. They came not particularly to -do business, but to feed their horses up for the spring fairs. The -climate was mild, and Pyramus knew that to keep a beast warm is to go -halfway towards fattening it. - -He would arrive with a chain of broken-down skeletons, tied head to -tail, file their teeth, blister and fire their game legs and turn them -loose in the sheltered bottoms for a rest cure. At the end of three -months, when the bloom was on their new coats, he would trim their feet, -pull manes and tails, give an artistic touch here and there with the -shears, paint out blemishes, make old teeth look like new and depart -with a string of apparently gamesome youngsters frolicking in his -tracks. - -It was his practice to pitch his winter camp in a small coppice about -two and a half miles north of Bosula. It was no man’s land, sheltered by -a wall of rocks from the north and east, water was plentiful and the -trees provided fuel. Moreover, it was secluded, a weighty consideration, -for the gypsy dealt in other things besides horses, in the handling of -which privacy was of the first import. In short he was a receiver of -stolen goods and valuable articles of salvage. He gave a better price -than the Jew junk dealers in Penzance because his travels opened a wider -market and also he had a reputation of never “peaching,” of betraying a -customer for reward—a reputation far from deserved, be it said, but he -peached always in secret and with consummate discretion. - -He did lucrative business in salvage in the west, but the traffic in -stolen goods was slight because there were no big towns and no -professional thieves. The few furtive people who crept by night into the -little wood seeking the gypsy were mainly thieves by accident, victims -of sudden overwhelming temptations. They seldom bargained with Pyramus, -but agreed to the first price offered, thrust the stolen articles upon -him as if red-hot and were gone, radiant with relief, frequently -forgetting to take the money. - -“I am like their Christ,” said Pyramus; “they come to me to be relieved -of their sins.” - -In England of those days gypsies were regarded with well-merited -suspicion and hunted from pillar to post. Pyramus was the exception. He -passed unmolested up and down his trade routes, for he was at particular -pains to ingratiate himself with the two ruling classes—the law -officers and the gentry—and, being a clever man, succeeded. - -The former liked him because once “King” Herne joined a fair there would -be no trouble with the Romanies, also he gave them reliable information -from time to time. Captain Rudolph, the notorious Bath Road highwayman, -owed his capture and subsequent hanging to Pyramus, as did also a score -of lesser tobymen. Pyramus made no money out of footpads, so he threw -them as a sop to Justice. - -The gentry Pyramus fawned on with the oily cunning of his race. Every -man has a joint in his harness, magistrates no less. Pyramus made these -little weaknesses of the great his special study. One influential land -owner collected snuff boxes, another firearms. Pyramus in his -traffickings up and down the world kept his eyes skinned for snuff boxes -and firearms, and, having exceptional opportunities, usually managed to -bring something for each when he passed their way, an exquisite casket -of tortoise-shell and paste, a pair of silver-mounted pistols with -Toledo barrels. Some men had to be reached by other means. - -Lord James Thynne was partial to coursing. Pyramus kept an eye lifted -for greyhounds, bought a dog from the widow of a Somersetshire poacher -(hung the day before) and Lord James won ten matches running with it; -the Herne tribe were welcome to camp on his waste lands forever. - -But his greatest triumph was with Mr. Hugo Lorimer, J. P., of Stane, in -the county of Hampshire. Mr. Lorimer was death on gypsies, maintaining -against all reason that they hailed from Palestine and were responsible -for the Crucifixion. He harried them unmercifully. He was not otherwise -a devout man; the persecution of the Romanies was his sole form of -religious observance. Even the astute Pyramus could not melt him, charm -he never so wisely. - -This worried King Herne, the more so because Mr. Lorimer’s one passion -was horses—his own line of business—and he could not reach him through -it. - -He could not win the truculent J. P. by selling him a good nag cheap -because he bred his own and would tolerate no other breed. He could not -even convey a good racing tip to the gentleman because he did not bet. -The Justice was adamant; Pyramus baffled. - -Then one day a change came in the situation. The pride of the stud, the -crack stallion “Stane Emperor,” went down with fever and, despite all -ministrations, passed rapidly from bad to worse. All hope was abandoned. -Mr. Lorimer, infinitely more perturbed than if his entire family had -been in a like condition, sat on an upturned bucket in the horse’s box -and wept. - -To him entered Pyramus, pushing past the grooms, fawning, obsequiously -sympathetic, white with dust. He had heard the dire news at Downton and -came instanter, spurring. - -Might he humbly crave a peep at the noble sufferer? . . . Perhaps his -poor skill might effect something. . . . Had been with horses all his -life. . . . Had succeeded with many cases abandoned by others more -learned. . . . It was his business and livelihood. . . . Would His -Worship graciously permit? . . . - -His Worship ungraciously grunted an affirmative. Gypsy horse coper full -of tricks as a dog of fleas. . . . At all events could make the precious -horse no worse. . . . Go ahead! - -Pyramus bolted himself in with the animal, and in two hours it was -standing up, lipping bran-mash from his hand, sweaty, shaking, but -saved. - -Mr. Hugo Lorimer was all gratitude, his one soft spot touched at last. -Pyramus must name his own reward. Pyramus, both palms upraised in -protest, would hear of no reward, honored to have been of any service to -_such_ a gentleman. - -Departed bowing and smirking, the poison he had blown through a grating -into the horse’s manger the night before in one pocket, the antidote in -the other. - -Henceforward the Herne family plied their trade undisturbed within the -bounds of Mr. Lorimer’s magistracy to the exclusion of all other gypsies -and throve mightily in consequence. - -He had been at pains to commend himself to Teresa Penhale, but had only -partly succeeded. She was the principal land owner in the valley where -he wintered and it was necessary to keep on her right side. - -The difficulty with Teresa was that, being of gypsy blood herself, she -was proof against gypsy trickery and exceeding suspicious of her own -kind. He tried to present her with a pair of barbaric gold earrings, by -way of throwing bread upon the waters, but she asked him how much he -wanted for them and he made the fatal mistake of saying “nothing.” - -“Nothing to-day and my skin to-morrow?” she sneered. “Outside with you!” - -Pyramus went on the other tack, pretended not to recognize her as a -Romni, addressed her in English, treated her with extravagant deference -and saw to it that his family did the same. - -It worked. Teresa rather fancied herself as a “lady”—though she could -never go to the trouble of behaving like one—and it pleased her to find -somebody who treated her as such. It pleased her to have the great King -Herne back his horse out of her road and remain, hat in hand, till she -had passed by, to have his women drop curtsies and his bantlings bob. It -worked—temporarily. Pyramus had touched her abundant conceit, lulled -the Christian half of her with flattery, but he knew that the gypsy half -was awake and on guard. The situation was too nicely balanced for -comfort; he looked about for fresh weight to throw into his side of the -scale. - -One day he met Eli, wandering up the valley alone, flintlock in hand, on -the outlook for woodcock. - -Pyramus could be fascinating when he chose; it lubricated the wheels of -commerce. He laid himself out to charm Eli, told him where he had seen a -brace of cock and also some snipe, complimented him on his villainous -old blunderbuss, was all gleaming teeth, geniality and oil. He could not -have made a greater mistake. Eli was not used to charm and had -instinctive distrust of the unfamiliar. He had been reared among boors -who said their say in the fewest words and therefore distrusted a -talker. Further, he was his father’s son, a Penhale of Bosula on his own -soil, and this fellow was an Egyptian, a foreigner, and he had an -instinctive distrust of foreigners. He growled something incoherent, -scowled at the beaming Pyramus, shouldered his unwieldy cannon and -marched off in the opposite direction. - -Pyramus bit his fleshy lip; nothing to be done with that truculent bear -cub—but what about the brother, the handsome dark boy? What about -him—eh? - -He looked out for Ortho, met him once or twice in company with other -lads, made no overtures beyond a smile, but heeled his mare and set her -caracoling showily. - -He did not glance round, but he knew the boy’s eyes were following him. -A couple of evenings after the last meeting he came home to learn that -young Penhale had been hanging about the camp that afternoon. - -The eldest Herne son, Lussha, had invited him in, but Ortho declined, -saying he had come up to look at some badger diggings. Pyramus smiled -into his curly beard; the badger holes had been untenanted for years. -Ortho came up to carry out a further examination of the badger earths -the very next day. - -Pyramus saw him, high up among the rocks of the carn, his back to the -diggings, gazing wistfully down on the camp, its tents, fires, and -horses. He did not ask the boy in, but sent out a scout with orders to -bring word when young Penhale went home. - -The scout returned at about three o’clock. Ortho, he reported, had -worked stealthily down from the carn top and had been lying in the -bracken at the edge of the encampment for the last hour, imagining -himself invisible. He had now gone off towards Bosula. Pyramus called -for his mare to be saddled, brushed his breeches, put on his best coat, -mounted and pursued. He came up with the boy a mile or so above the farm -and brought his mount alongside caracoling and curveting. Ortho’s -expressive eyes devoured her. - -“Good day to you, young gentleman,” Pyramus called, showing his fine -teeth. Ortho grinned in return. - -“Wind gone back to the east; we shall have a spell of dry weather, I -think,” said the gypsy, making the mare do a right pass, pivot on her -hocks and pass to the left. - -“Yeh,” said Ortho, his mouth wide with admiration. - -King Herne and his steed were enough to take any boy’s fancy; they were -dressed to that end. The gypsy had masses of inky hair, curled mustaches -and an Assyrian beard, which frame of black served to enhance the -brightness of his glance, the white brilliance of his smile. He was -dressed in the coat he wore when calling on the gentry, dark blue -frogged with silver lace, and buff spatter-dashes. He sat as though -bolted to the saddle from the thighs down; the upper half of him, hinged -at the hips, balanced gracefully to every motion of his mount, lithe as -a panther for all his forty-eight years. - -And the mare—she was his pride and delight, black like himself, -three-quarter Arab, mettlesome, fine-boned, pointed of muzzle, arched of -neck. Unlike her mates, she was assiduously groomed and kept rugged in -winter so that her coat had not grown shaggy. Her long mane rippled like -silken threads, her tail streamed behind her like a banner. The late -sunshine twinked on the silver mountings of her bridle and rippled over -her hide till she gleamed like satin. She bounded and pirouetted along -beside Ortho, light on her feet as a ballerina, tossed her mane, pricked -her crescent ears, showed the whites of her eyes, clicked the bit in her -young teeth, a thing of steel and swansdown, passion and docility. - -Ortho’s eyes devoured her. Pyramus noted it, laughed and patted the -glossy neck. - -“You like my little sweet—eh? She is of blood royal. Her sire was given -to the Chevalier Lombez Muret by the Basha of Oran in exchange for three -pieces of siege ordnance and a chiming clock. The dam of that sire -sprang from the sacred mares of the Prophet Mahomet, the mares that -though dying of thirst left the life-giving stream and galloped to the -trumpet call. There is the blood of queens in her.” - -“She is a queen herself,” said Ortho warmly. - -Pyramus nodded. “Well said! I see you have an eye for a horse, young -squire. You can ride, doubtless?” - -“Yes—but only pack-horses.” - -“So—only pack-horses, farm drudges—that is doleful traveling. See -here, mount my ‘Rriena,’ and drink the wind.” He dropped the reins, -vaulted off over the mare’s rump and held out his hand for Ortho’s knee. - -“Me! I . . . I ride her?” The boy stuttered, astounded. - -The gypsy smiled his dazzling, genial smile. “Surely—an you will. There -is nothing to fear; she is playful only, the heart of a dove. Take hold -of the reins . . . your knee . . . up you go!” - -He hove the boy high and lowered him gently into the saddle. - -“Stirrups too long? Put your feet in the leathers—so. An easy hand on -her mouth, a touch will serve. Ready? Then away, my chicken.” - -He let go the bridle and clapped his palms. The mare bounded into the -air. Ortho, frightened, clutched the pommel, but she landed again light -as a feather, never shifting him in the saddle. Smoothly she caracoled, -switching her plumy tail, tossing her head, snatching playfully at the -bit. There was no pitch, no jar, just an easy, airy rocking. Ortho let -her gambol on for a hundred yards or so, and then, thinking he’d better -turn, fingered his off rein. He no more than fingered the rein, but the -mare responded as though she divined his thoughts, circled smoothly and -rocked back towards Pyramus. - -“Round again,” shouted the gypsy, “and give her rein; there’s a stretch -of turf before you.” - -Again the mare circled. Ortho tapped her with his heels. A tremble ran -through her, an electric thrill; she sprang into a canter, from a canter -to a gallop and swept down the turf all out. It was flight, no less, -winged flight, skimming the earth. The turf streamed under them like a -green river; bushes, trees, bowlders flickered backwards, blurred, -reeling. The wind tore Ortho’s cap off, ran fingers through his hair, -whipped tears to his eyes, blew jubilant bugles in his ears, drowning -the drum of hoofs, filled his open mouth, sharp, intoxicating, the heady -wine of speed. He was one with clouds, birds, arrows, all things free -and flying. He wanted to sing and did so, a wordless, crazy caroling. -They swept on, drunk with the glory of it. A barrier of thorn stood -across the way, and Ortho came to his senses. They would be into it in a -minute unless he stopped the mare. He braced himself for a pull—but -there was no need; she felt him stiffen and sit back, sat back herself -and came to a full stop within ten lengths. Ortho wiped the happy tears -from his eyes, patted her shoulder, turned and went back at the same -pace, speed-drunk again. They met the gypsy walking towards them, the -dropped cap in hand. He called to the mare; she stopped beside him and -rubbed her soft muzzle against his chest. He looked at the flushed, -enraptured boy. - -“She can gallop, my little ‘Rriena’?” - -“Gallop! Why, yes. Gallop! I . . . I never knew . . . never saw . . . I -. . .” Words failed Ortho. - -Pyramus laughed. “No, there is not her match in the country. But, mark -ye, she will not give her best to anybody. She felt the virtue in you, -knew you for her master. You need experience, polish, but you are a -horseman born, flat in the thigh, slim-waisted, with light, strong -hands.” The gypsy’s voice pulsed with enthusiasm, his dark eyes glowed. -“Tcha! I wish I had the schooling of you; I’d make you a wizard with -horses!” - -“Oh, I wish you would! Will you, will you?” cried Ortho. - -Pyramus made a gesture with his expressive hands. - -“I would willingly—I love a bold boy—but . . .” - -“Yes?” - -Pyramus shrugged his shoulders. “The lady, your mother, has no liking -for me. She is right, doubtless; you are Christian, gentry, I but a poor -Rom . . . still I mean no harm.” - -“She shall never know, never,” said Ortho eagerly. “Oh, I would give -anything if you would!” - -Pyramus shook his head reprovingly. “You must honor your parents, -Squire; it is so written . . . and yet I am loath to let your gifts lie -fallow; a prince of jockeys I could make you.” - -He bit his finger nails as though wrestling with temptation. “See here, -get your mother’s leave and then come, come and a thousand welcomes. I -have a chestnut pony, a red flame of a pony, that would carry you as my -beauty carries me.” - -He vaulted into the saddle, jumped the mare over a furze bush, whirled -about, waved his hat and was gone up the valley, scattering clods. Ortho -watched the flying pair until they were out of sight, and then turned -homewards, his heart pounding, new avenues of delight opening before -him. - -Out of sight, Pyramus eased Rriena to a walk and, leaning forward, -pulled her ears affectionately. “Did he roll all over you and tug your -mouth, my sweetmeat?” he purred. “Well, never again. But we have him -now. In a year or two he’ll be master here and I’ll graze fifty nags -where I grazed twenty. We will fatten on that boy.” - -Ortho reported at the gypsy camp shortly after sun-up next morning; he -was wasting no time. Questioned, he swore he had Teresa’s leave, which -was a lie, as Pyramus knew it to be. But he had covered himself; did -trouble arise he could declare he understood the boy had got his -mother’s permission. - -Ortho did not expect to be discovered. Teresa was used to his being out -day and night with either Bohenna or Jacky’s George and would not be -curious. The gypsies had the head of the valley to themselves; nobody -ever came that way except the cow-girl Wany, and she had no eyes for -anything but the supernatural. - -The riding lessons began straightway on Lussha’s red pony “Cherry.” The -chestnut was by no means as perfect a mount as the black mare, but for -all that a creditable performer, well-schooled, speedy and eager, a -refreshing contrast to the stiff-jointed, iron-mouthed farm horses. -Pyramus took pains with his pupil. Half of what he had said was true; -the boy was shaped to fit a saddle and his hands were sensitive. There -was a good deal of the artist in King Herne. It pleased him to handle -promising material for its own sake, but above all he sought to infect -the boy with horse-fever to his own material gain. - -The gypsy camp saw Ortho early and late. He returned to Bosula only to -sleep and fill his pockets with food. Food in wasteful plenty lay about -everywhere in that slip-shod establishment; the door was never bolted. -He would creep home through the orchard, silence the dogs with a word, -take off his shoes in the kitchen, listen to Teresa’s hearty snores in -the room above, drive the cats off the remains of supper, help himself -and tiptoe up to bed. Nobody, except Eli, knew where he spent his days; -nobody cared. - -The gypsies attracted him for the same reason that they repelled his -brother; they were something new, something he did not understand. - -Ortho did not find anything very elusive about the males; they were much -like other men, if quicker-witted and more suave. It was the women who -intrigued and, at the same time, awed him. He had watched them at work -with the cards, bent over the palm of a trembling servant girl or farm -woman. What did they know? What didn’t they know? What virtue was in -them that they should be the chosen mouthpieces of Destiny? He would -furtively watch them about their domestic duties, stirring the black -pots or nursing their half-naked brats, and wonder what secrets the -Fates were even then whispering into their ringed ears, what enigmas -were being made plain to those brooding eyes. He felt his soul laid bare -to those omniscient eyes. - -But it was solely his own imagination that troubled him. The women gave -him no cause; they cast none but the gentlest glances at the dark boy. -Sometimes of an evening they would sing, not the green English ballads -and folk-songs that were their stock-in-trade, but epics of Romany -heroes, threnodies and canzonets. - -Pyramus was the principal soloist. He had a pliant, tuneful voice and -accompanied himself on a Spanish guitar. - -He would squat before the fire, the women in a row opposite him, toss a -verse across to them, and they would toss back the refrain, rocking to -the time as though strung on a single wire. - -The scene stirred Ortho—the gloomy wood, the overhanging rocks, the -gypsy king, guitar across his knees, trumpeting his wild songs of love -and knavery; and the women and girls, in their filthy, colorful rags, -seen through a film of wood smoke, swaying to and fro, to and fro, -bright eyes and barbaric brass ornaments glinting in the firelight. On -the outer circle children and men lay listening in the leaf mold, and -beyond them invisible horses stamped and shifted at their pickets, an -owl hooted, a dog barked. - -The scene stirred Ortho. It was so strange, and yet somehow so familiar, -he had a feeling that sometime, somewhere he had seen it all before; -long ago and far away he had sat in a camp like this and heard women -singing. He liked the boastful, stormy songs, “Invocation to Timour,” -“The Master Thief,” “The Valiant Tailor,” but the dirges carried him -off, one especially. It was very sweet and sad, it had only four verses -and the women sang each refrain more softly than the one before, so that -the last was hardly above a whisper and dwindled into silence like the -wind dying away—“aië, aië; aië, aië.” Ortho did not understand what it -was about, its name even, but when he heard it he lost himself, became -some one else, some one else who understood perfectly crept inside his -body, forced his tears, made him sway and feel queer. Then the gypsy -women across the fire would glance at him and nudge each other quietly. -“See,” they would whisper, “his Rom grandfather looking out of his -eyes.” - - - - - CHAPTER X - - -One evening, in late February, there was mullet pie for supper which was -so much to Teresa’s taste that she ate more than even her heroic -digestive organs could cope with, rent the stilly night with -lamentations and did not get up for breakfast. Towards nine o’clock, she -felt better, at eleven was herself again and, remembering it was Paul -Feast, dressed in her finery and rode off to see the sport. - -She arrived to witness what appeared to be a fratricidal war between the -seafaring stalwarts of the parish and the farm hands. A mob of boys and -men surged about a field, battling claw and hoof for the possession of a -cow-hide ball which occasionally lobbed into view, but more often lay -buried under a pile of writhing bodies. - -Teresa was very fond of these rough sports and journeyed far and wide to -see them, but what held her interest most that afternoon was a party of -gentry who had ridden from Penzance to watch the barbarians at play. Two -ladies and three gentlemen there were, the elder woman riding pillion, -the younger side-saddle. They were very exquisite and superior, watched -the uncouth mob through quizzing glasses and made witty remarks after -the manner of visitors at a menagerie commenting on near-human antics of -the monkeys. The younger woman chattered incessantly; a thinly pretty -creature, wearing a gold-braided cocked hat and long brown coat cut in -the masculine mode. - -“Eliza, Eliza, I beseech you look at that woman’s stomacher! . . . And -that wench’s farthingale! Elizabethan, I declare; one would imagine -oneself at a Vauxhall masquerade. Mr. Borlase, I felicitate you on your -entertainment.” She waved her whip towards the mob. “Bear pits are -tedious by comparison. I must pen my experiences for _The -Spectator_—‘Elegantia inter Barbaros, or a Lady’s Adventures Among the -Wild Cornish.’ Tell me, pray, when it is all over do they devour the -dead? We must go before that takes place; I shall positively expire of -fright—though my cousin Venables, who has voyaged the South Seas, tells -me cannibals are, as a rule, an amiable and loving people, vastly -preferable to Tories. Captain Angus, I have dropped my kerchief . . . -you neglect me, sir! My God, Eliza, there’s a handsome boy! . . . Behind -you. . . . The gypsy boy on the sorrel pony. What a pretty young rogue!” - -The whole party turned their heads to look at the Romany Apollo. Teresa -followed their example and beheld it was Ortho. Under the delusion that -his mother was abed and, judging by the noise she made, at death’s door, -he had ventured afield in company with four young Hernes. He wore no -cap, his sleeve was ripped from shoulder to cuff and he was much -splashed all down his back and legs. He did not see his mother; he was -absorbed in the game. Teresa shut her teeth, and drew a long, deep -breath through them. - -The battle suddenly turned against the fishermen; the farm hands, -uttering triumphant howls, began to force them rapidly backwards towards -the Church Town. Ortho and his ragged companions wheeled their mounts -and ambled downhill to see the finish. Teresa did not follow them. She -found her horse, mounted and rode straight home. - -“The gypsy boy on the sorrel pony—the _gypsy_ boy!” - -People were taking her Ortho, Ortho Penhale of Bosula and Tregors, for a -vagabond Rom, were they? - -She was furious, but admitted they had cause—dressed like a scarecrow -and mixed up with a crowd of young horse thieves! Teresa swore so -savagely that her horse started. Anyhow she would stop it at once, at -once—she’d settle all this gypsy business—_gypsy_! Time after time she -had vowed to send Ortho to school, but she was always hard up when it -came to the point, and year after year slipped by. He must be somewhere -about sixteen now—fifteen, sixteen or seventeen—she wasn’t sure, and -it didn’t matter to a year or so, she could look it up in the parish -registers if need be. He should go to Helston like his father and learn -to be a gentleman—and, incidentally, learn to keep accounts. It would -be invaluable to have some one who could handle figures; then the damned -tradesmen wouldn’t swindle her and she’d have money again. - -“The gypsy boy!” . . . The words stung her afresh. Had she risen out of -the muck of vagrancy to have her son slip back into it? Never! She’d -settle all that. Not for a moment did she doubt her ability to cope with -Ortho. What must John in heaven be thinking of her stewardship? She wept -with mingled anger and contrition. To-morrow she’d open a clean page. -Ortho should go to school at once. _Gypsy!_ She’d show them! - -She was heavily in debt, but the money should be found somehow. All the -way home she was planning ways and means. - -Ortho returned late that night and went to bed unconscious that he had -been found out. Next morning he was informed that he was to go with his -mother to Penzance. This was good tidings. He liked going to town with -Teresa. She bought all kinds of eatables and one saw life, ladies and -gentlemen; a soldier or two sometimes; blue-water seamen drunk as lords -and big wind-bound ships at anchor. He saddled the dun pony and jogged -alongside her big roan, prattling cheerfully all the way. - -She watched him, her interest aroused. He certainly was good looking, -with his slim uprightness, eager expression, and quick, graceful -movements. He had luminous dark eyes, a short nose, round chin and crisp -black curls—like her own. He was like her in many ways, many ways. Good -company too. He told her several amusing stories and laughed heartily at -hers. A debonair, attractive boy, very different from his brother. She -felt suddenly drawn towards him. He would make a good companion when he -came back from school. His looks would stir up trouble in sundry -dove-cotes later on, she thought, and promised herself much amusement, -having no sympathy for doves. - -It was not until they arrived in Penzance that she broke the news that -he was going to school. Ortho was a trifle staggered at first, but, to -her surprise, took it very calmly, making no objections. In the first -place it was something new, and the prospect of mixing with a herd of -other boys struck him as rather jolly; secondly, he was fancying himself -enormously in the fine clothes with which Teresa was loading him; he had -never had anything before but the roughest of home-spuns stitched -together by Martha and speedily reduced to shreds. He put the best suit -on there and then, and strutted Market Jew Street like a young peacock -ogling its first hen. - -They left Penzance in the early afternoon (spare kit stuffed in the -saddle-bags). In the ordinary way Teresa would have gone straight to the -“Angel” at Helston and ordered the best, but now, in keeping with her -new vow of economy, she sought a free night’s lodging at Tregors—also -she wanted to raise some of the rent in advance. - -Ortho was entered at his father’s old school next day. - -Teresa rode home pleasantly conscious of duty done, and Ortho plunged -into the new world, convinced that he had only to smile and conquer. In -which he erred. He was no longer a Penhale in his own parish, -prospective squire of the Keigwin Valley, but an unsophisticated young -animal thrust into a den of sophisticated young animals and therefore a -heaven-sent butt for their superior humor. Rising seventeen, and set to -learn his A, B, C in the lowest form among the babies! This gave the -wits an admirable opening. That he could ride, sail a boat and shoot -anything flying or running weighed as nothing against his ignorance of -Latin declensions. - -He sought to win some admiration, or even tolerance for himself by -telling of his adventures with Pyramus and Jacky’s George, but it had -the opposite effect. His tormentors (sons of prosperous land owners and -tradesmen) declared that any one who associated with gypsies and -fishermen must be of low caste himself and taunted him unmercifully. -They would put their hands to their mouths and halloo after the manner -of fish-hawkers. “Mackerel! Fresh mack-erel! . . . Say, Penhale, what’s -the price of pilchards to-day?” - -Or “Hello, Penhale, there’s one of your Pharaoh mates at the gate—with -a monkey. Better go and have a clunk over old times.” - -Baiting Penhale became a fashionable pastime. Following the example of -their elders, the small boys took up the ragging. This was more than -Ortho could stand. He knocked some heads together, whereby earning the -reputation of a bully. - -A bulky, freckled lad named Burnadick, propelled by friends and -professing himself champion of the oppressed, challenged Ortho to fight. - -Ortho had not the slightest desire to fight the reluctant champion, but -the noncombatants (as is the way with noncombatants) gave him no option. -They formed a ring round the pair and pulled the coats off them. - -For a moment or two it looked as if Ortho would win. An opening punch -took him under the nose and stung him to such a pitch of fury that he -tumbled on top of the freckled one, whirling like a windmill, fairly -smothering him. But the freckled one was an old warrior; he dodged and -side-stepped and propped straight lefts to the head whenever he got a -chance, well knowing that Ortho could not last the crazy pace. - -Ortho could not, or any mortal man. In a couple of minutes he was -puffing and grunting, swinging wildly, giving openings everywhere. The -heart was clean out of him; he had not wanted to fight in the first -place and the popular voice was against him. Everybody cheered -Burnadick; not a single whoop for him. He ended tamely, dropped his -fists and gave Burnadick best. The mob jeered and hooted and crowded -round the victor, who shook them off and walked away, licking his raw -knuckles. He had an idea of following Penhale and shaking hands with him -. . . hardly knew what the fight had been about . . . wished the other -fellows weren’t always arranging quarrels for him; they never gave his -knuckles time to heal. He’d have a chat with Penhale one of these days -. . . to-morrow perhaps. . . - -His amiable intentions never bore fruit, for on the morrow his mother -was taken ill, and he was summoned home and nobody else had any kindly -feelings for Ortho. He wrestled with incomprehensible primers among -tittering infants during school hours; out of school he slunk about, -alone always, cold-shouldered everywhere. His sociable soul grew sick -within him, he rebelled at the sparse feeding, hated the irritable, -sarcastic ushers, the bewildering tasks, the boys, the confinement, -everything. At night, in bed, he wept hot tears of misery. - -A spell of premature spring weather touched the land. Incautious buds -popped out in the Helston back gardens; the hedgerow gorse was -gilt-edged; the warm scent of pushing greenery blew in from the -hillsides. Armadas of shining cloud cruised down the blue. Ortho, -laboriously spelling C, A, T, cat, R, A, T, rat, in a drowsy classroom, -was troubled with dreams. He saw the Baragwanath family painting the -_Game Cock_ on the Cove slip, getting her summer suit out of store; saw -the rainbows glimmering over the Twelve Apostles, the green and silver -glitter of the Channel beyond; smelt sea-weed; heard the lisp of the -tide. He dreamt of Pyramus Herne wandering northwards with Lussha, and -the other boys behind bringing up the horses, wandering over hill and -dale, new country out-reeling before him every day. He bowed over the -desk and buried his face in the crook of his arm. - -A fly explored the spreading ear of “Rusty Rufus,” the junior usher. He -woke out of his drowse, one little pig eye at a time, and glanced -stealthily round his class. Two young gentlemen were playing noughts and -crosses, two more were flipping pellets at each other; a fifth was -making chalk marks on the back of a sixth, who in turn was absorbed in -cutting initials in the desk; a seventh appeared to be asleep. Rufus, -having slumbered himself, passed over the first six and fell upon his -imitator. - -“Penhale, come here,” he rumbled and reached for his stick. - -Ortho obeyed. The usher usually indulged in much labored sarcasm at the -boy’s expense, but he was too lazy that afternoon. - -“Hand,” he growled. - -Ortho held out his hand. “Rufus” swung back the stick and measured the -distance with a puckered eye. Ortho hated him; he was a loathly sight, -lying back in his chair, shapeless legs straddled out before him, fat -jowl bristling with the rusty stubble from which he got his name, -protuberant waistcoat stained with beer and snuff—a hateful beast! An -icy glitter of cruelty—a flicker as of lightning reflected on a -stagnant pool—suddenly lit the indolent eyes of the junior usher and -down came the cane whistling. But Ortho’s hand was not there to receive -it. How it came about he never knew. He was frightened by the revealing -blaze in Rufus’ eyes, but he did not mean to shirk the stick; his hand -withdrew itself of its own accord, without orders from his brain—a -muscular twitch. However it happened the results were fruitful. Rufus -cut himself along the inside of his right leg with all his might. He -dropped the stick, bounded out of his chair and hopped about the class, -cursing horribly, yelping with pain. Ortho stood transfixed, horrified -at what he had done. A small boy, his eyes round with admiration, hissed -at him from behind his hand: - -“Run, you fool—he’ll kill you!” - -Ortho came to his senses and bolted for the door. - -But Rufus was too quick for him. He bounded across the room, choking, -spluttering, apoplectic, dirty fat hands clawing the air. He clawed -Ortho by the hair and collar and dragged him to him. Ortho hit out -blindly, panicked. He was too frightened to think; he thought Rufus was -going to kill him and fought for his life with the desperation of a -cornered rat. He shut his eyes and teeth, rammed Rufus in the only part -of him he could reach, namely the stomach. One, two, three, four, five, -six, seven—it was like hitting a jelly. At the fourth blow he felt the -usher’s grip on him loosen. At the fifth he was free, the sixth sent the -man to the floor, the seventh was wasted. - -Rufus lay on the boards, clutching his stomach, making the most dreadful -retching noises. The small boys leapt up on their desks cheering and -exhorting Ortho to run. He ran. Out of the door, across the court, out -of the gates, up the street and out into the country. Ran on and on -without looking where he was going, on and on. - -It was fully an hour later before it occurred to him that he was running -north, but he did not change direction. - - * * * * * - -Teresa was informed of Ortho’s sensational departure two days later. The -school authorities sent to Bosula, expecting to find the boy had -returned home and were surprised that he had not. Where had he got to? -Teresa had an idea that he was hiding somewhere in the district, and -combed it thoroughly, but Ortho was not forthcoming. The gypsy camp was -long deserted, and Jacky’s George had gone to visit his Scillonian -sister by the somewhat circuitous route of Guernsey. - -It occurred to her that he might be lying up in the valley, -surreptitiously fed by Eli, and put Bohenna on to beat it out, but the -old hind drew blank. She then determined that he was with the tinners -around St. Just (a sanctuary for many a wanted Cornishman), and since -there was no hope of extricating him from their underground labyrinths -the only thing to do was to wait. He’d come home in time, she said, and -promised the boy a warm reception when he did. - -Then came a letter from Pyramus Herne—dictated to a public letter -writer. Pyramus was at Ashburton buying Dartmoor ponies and Ortho was -with him. Pyramus was profuse with regrets and disclaimed all -responsibility. Ortho had caught up with him at Launceston, foot-sore, -ragged, starving, terrified—but adamant. He, Pyramus, had chided him, -begged him to return, even offered to lend him a horse to carry him back -to Helston or Bosula, but Ortho absolutely refused to do -either—declaring that rather than return he would kill himself. What -was to be done? He could not turn a friendless and innocent boy adrift -to starve or be maltreated by the beggars, snatch-purses and loose women -who swarmed into the roads at that season of the year. What was he to -do? He respectfully awaited Teresa’s instructions, assuring her that in -the meanwhile Ortho should have the best his poor establishment afforded -and remained her ladyship’s obedient and worshipful servant, etc. - -Teresa took the letter to the St. Gwithian parish clerk to be read and -bit her lip when she learnt the contents. The clerk asked her if she -wanted a reply written, but she shook her head and went home. Ortho -could not be brought back from Devon handcuffed and kept chained in his -room. There was nothing to be done. - -So her son had reverted to type. She did not think it would last long. -The Hernes were prosperous for gypsies. Ortho would not go short of -actual food and head cover, but there would be days of trudging against -the wind and rain, soaked and trickling from head to heel, beds in wet -grass; nights of thunder with horses breaking loose and tumbling over -the tents; shuddering dawns chilling the very marrow; parched noons -choked with dust; riots at fairs, cudgels going and stones flying; -filth, blows, bestiality, hard work and hard weather, hand to mouth all -the way. Ortho was no glutton for punishment; he would return to the -warm Owls’ House ere long, curl up gratefully before the fire, cured of -his wanderlust. All was for the best doubtless, Teresa considered, but -she packed Eli off to school in his place; the zest for duty was still -strong in her—and, furthermore, she must have somebody who could keep -accounts. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - -Eli went to school prepared for a bad time. Ortho had not run away for -nothing; he was no bulldog for unprofitable endurance—lessons had been -irksome, no doubt—but he should have been in his element among a horde -of boys. He liked having plenty of his own kind about him and naturally -dominated them. He had won over the surly Gwithian farm boys with ease; -the turbulent Monks Cove fisher lads looked to him as chief, and even -those wild hawks, the young Hernes, followed him unquestioning into all -sorts of mischief. Yet Ortho had fled school as from torment. - -If the brilliant and popular brother had come to grief how much more -trouble was in store for him, the dullard? Eli set his jaw. Come what -might, he would see it through; he would stick at school, willy-nilly, -until he got what he wanted out of it, namely the three R’s. It had been -suddenly borne in on Eli that education had its uses. - -Chance had taken him to the neighboring farm of Roswarva, which bounded -Polmenna moors on the west. There was a new farmer in possession, a -widower by the name of Penaluna, come from the north of the Duchy with a -thirteen-year daughter, an inarticulate child, leggy as a foal. - -Eli, scrambling about the Luddra Head, had discovered an otter’s holt, -and then and there lit a smoke fire to test if the tenant were at home -or not. The otter was at home and came out with a rush. Eli attempted to -tail it, but his foot slipped on the dry thrift and he sprawled on top -of the beast, which bit him in three places. He managed to drop a stone -on it as it slid away over the rocks, but he could hardly walk. Penaluna -met him limping across a field dragging his victim by the tail, and took -him to Roswarva to have his wounds tied up. - -Eli had not been to Roswarva since the days of its previous owners, a -beach-combing, shiftless crew, and he barely recognized the place. The -kitchen was creamy with whitewash; the cupboards freshly painted; the -table scrubbed spotless; the ranked pans gleamed like copper moons; all -along the mantelshelf were china dogs with gilt collars and ladies and -gentlemen on prancing horses, hawks perched a-wrist. In the corner was -an oak grandfather clock with a bright brass face engraved with the -signs of the zodiac and the cautionary words: - - “I mark ye Hours but cannot stay their Race; - Nor Priest nor King may buy a moment’s Grace; - Prepare to meet thy Maker face to face.” - -Sunlight poured into the white kitchen through the south window, setting -everything a-shine and a-twinkle—a contrast to unkempt Bosula, redolent -of cooking and stale food, buzzing with flies, incessantly invaded by -pigs and poultry. Outside Roswarva all was in the same good shape; the -erst-littered yard cleared up, the tumbledown sheds rebuilt and -thatched. Eli limped home over trim hedges, fields cultivated up to the -last inch and plentifully manured and came upon his own land—crumbling -banks broken down by cattle and grown to three times their proper -breadth with thorn and brambles; fields thick with weeds; windfalls -lying where they had dropped; bracken encroaching from every point. - -He had never before remarked anything amiss with Bosula, but, coming -straight from Roswarva, the contrast struck him in the face. He thought -about it for two days, and then marched over to Roswarva. He found -Simeon Penaluna on the cliff-side rooting out slabs of granite with a -crowbar and piling them into a wall. A vain pursuit, Eli thought, -clearing a cliff only fit for donkeys and goats. - -“What are you doing that for?” he asked. - -“Potatoes,” said Simeon. - -“Why here, when you got proper fields?” - -“Open to sun all day, and sea’ll keep ’em warm at night. No frost. I’ll -get taties here two weeks earlier than up-along.” - -“How do you know?” - -“Read it. Growers in Jersey has been doin’ it these years.” - -Eli digested this information and leaned against the wall, watching -Penaluna at work. - -Eli liked the man’s air of patient power, also his economy of speech. He -decided he was to be trusted. “You’re a good farmer, aren’t you?” - -“Yes,” said Penaluna truthfully. - -“What’s wrong with our place, Bosula?” Eli inquired. - -“Under-manned,” said Penaluna. “Your father had two men besides himself -and he worked like a bullock and was clever, I’ve heard tell. Now you’ve -got but two, and not a head between ’em. Place is going back. Come three -years the trash’ll strangle ’e in your beds.” - -Eli took the warning calmly. “We’ll stop that,” he announced. - -Penaluna subjected him to a hard scrutiny, spat on his palms, worked the -crow-bar into a crevice and tried his weight on it. - -“Hum! Maybe—but you’d best start soon.” - -Eli nodded and considered again. “Are you clever?” - -Penaluna swung his bar from left to right; the rock stirred in its bed. - -“No—but I can read.” - -Eli’s eyes opened. That was the second time reading had been mentioned. -What had that school-mastering business to do with real work like -farming? - -“Went to free-school at Truro,” Simeon explained. “There’s clever ones -that writes off books and I reads ’em. There’s smart notions in -books—sometimes. I got six books on farming—six brains.” - -“Um-m,” muttered Eli, the idea slowly taking hold. - -In return for advice given, he helped the farmer pile walls until sunset -and not another word was interchanged. When he got home it was to learn -that Ortho was in Devon with Pyramus and that he was to go to school in -his stead. - -Eli’s feelings were mixed. If Ortho had had a bad time he would -undoubtedly have worse, but on the other hand he would learn to read and -could pick other people’s brains—like Penaluna. He rode to Helston with -his mother, grimly silent all the way, steeling himself to bear the rods -for Bosula’s sake. But Ortho, by the dramatic manner of his exit, had -achieved popularity when it was no longer of any use to him. Eli stepped -in at the right moment to receive the goodly heritage. - -Was he not own brother to the hero who had tricked Rufus into slicing -himself across the leg and followed up this triumph by pummeling seven -bells out of the detested usher and flooring him in his own classroom? -The story had lost nothing in the mouths of the spectators. A -half-minute scramble between a sodden hulk of a man and a terrified boy -had swollen into a Homeric contest as full of incident as the Seven -Years’ War, lasting half an hour and ending in Rufus lying on the floor, -spitting blood and imploring mercy. Eli entered the school surrounded by -a warm nimbus of reflected glory and took Ortho’s place at the bottom of -the lowest form. - -That he was the criminal’s brother did not endear him to Rufus, who gave -him the benefit of his acid tongue from early morn to dewy eve, but -beyond abuse the usher did not go. Eli was not tall, but he was -exceptionally sturdy and Rufus had not forgotten a certain affair. He -was chary of these Penhales—little better than savages—reared among -smugglers and moor-men—utterly undisciplined . . . no saying what they -might do . . . murder one, even. He kept his stick for the disciplined -smaller fry and pickled his tongue for Eli. Eli did not mind the sarcasm -in the least. His mental hide was far too thick to feel the prick—and -anyhow it was only talk. - -One half-holiday bird’s-nesting in Penrose woods, he came upon the -redoubtable Burnadick similarly engaged and they compared eggs. In the -midst of the discussion a bailiff appeared on the scene and they had to -run for it. The bailiff produced dogs and the pair were forced to make a -wide detour via Praze and Lanner Vean. Returning by Helston Mill, they -met with a party of town louts who, having no love for the “Grammar -scholards,” threw stones. A brush ensued, Eli acquitting himself with -credit. The upshot of all this was that they reached school seven -minutes late for roll call and were rewarded with a thrashing. Drawn -together by common pain and adventure, the two were henceforth -inseparable, forming a combination which no boy or party of boys dared -gainsay. With Rufus’ sting drawn and the great Burnadick his ally Eli -found school life tolerable. He did not enjoy it; the food was -insufficient, the restraint burdensome, but it was by no means as bad as -he had expected. By constant repetition he was getting a parrot-like -fluency with his tables and he seldom made a bad mistake in -spelling—providing the word was not of more than one syllable. - - * * * * * - -At the Owls’ House in the meanwhile economy was still the rage. Teresa’s -first step was to send the cattle off to market. In vain did Bohenna -expostulate, pointing out that the stock had not yet come to condition -and further there was no market. It was useless. Teresa would not listen -to reason; into Penzance they went and were sold for a song. After them -she pitched pigs, poultry, goats and the dun pony. Her second step was -to discharge the second hind, Davy. Once more Bohenna protested. He -could hardly keep the place going as it was, he said. The moor was -creeping in to right and left, the barn thatch tumbling, the banks were -down, the gates falling to pieces. He could not be expected to be in -more than two places at once. Teresa replied with more sound than sense -and a shouting match ensued, ending in Teresa screaming that she was -mistress and that if Bohenna didn’t shut his mouth and obey orders she’d -pack him after Davy. - -But if Teresa bore hard on others she sacrificed herself as well. Not a -single new dress did she order that year, and even went to the length of -selling two brooches, her second best cloak and her third best pair of -earrings. Parish feasts, races, bull-baitings and cock-fights she -resolutely eschewed; an occasional stroll down the Cove and a pot of ale -at the Kiddlywink was all the relaxation she allowed herself. By these -self-denying ordinances she was able to foot Eli’s school bills and pay -interest on her debts, but her temper frayed to rags. She railed at -Martha morning, noon and night, threw plates at Wany and became so -unbearable that Bohenna carried all his meals afield with him. - -Eli came home for a few days’ holiday at midsummer, but spent most of -his waking hours at Roswarva. - -On his last evening he went ferreting with Bohenna. The banks were -riddled with rabbit sets, but so overgrown were they it was almost -impossible to work the fitchets. Their tiny bells tinkled here and -there, thither and hither in the dense undergrowth, invisible and -elusive as the clappers of derisive sprites. They gamboled about, -rejoicing in their freedom, treating the quest of fur as a secondary -matter. Bohenna pursued them through the thorns, shattering the holy -hush of evening with blasphemies. - -“This ought to be cut back, rooted out,” Eli observed. - -The old hind took it as a personal criticism and turned on him, a -bramble scratch reddening his cheek, voice shaking with long-suppressed -resentment. “Rooted out, saith a’! Cut back! Who’s goin’ do et then? Me -s’pose.” - -He held out his knotted fists, a resigned ferret swinging in each. - -“Look you—how many hands have I got? Two edden a? Two only. But your ma -do think each o’ my fingers is a hand, I b’lieve. Youp! Comin’ through!” - -A rabbit shot out of a burrow on the far side of the hedge, the great -flintlock bellowed and it turned somersaults as neatly as a circus -clown. - -“There’ll be three of us here when I’ve done schooling next midsummer -and Ortho comes home,” said Eli calmly, ramming down a fresh charge. -“We’ll clear the trash and put the whole place in crop.” - -Bohenna glanced up, surprised. “Oh, will us? An’ where’s cattle goin’?” - -“Sell ’em off—all but what can feed themselves on the bottoms. Crops’ll -fetch more to the acre than stock.” - -“My dear soul! Harken to young Solomon! . . . Who’s been tellin’ you all -this?” - -“Couple of strong farmers I’ve talked with on half holidays near -Helston—and Penaluna.” - -Bohenna bristled. Wisdom in foreign worthies he might admit, but a -neighbor . . . ! - -“What’s Simeon Penaluna been sayin’? Best keep his long nose on his own -place; I’ll give it a brear wrench if I catch it sniffing over here! -What’d he say?” - -“Said he wondered you didn’t break your heart.” - -“Humph!” Bohenna was mollified, pleased that some one appreciated his -efforts; this Penaluna, at least, sniffed with discernment. He listened -quietly while Eli recounted their neighbor’s suggestions. - -They talked farming all the way home, and it was a revelation to him how -much the boy had picked up. He had no idea Eli was at all interested in -it, had imagined, from his being sent to school, that he was destined -for a clerk or something bookish. He had looked forward to fighting a -losing battle, for John’s sake and Bosula’s sake, single-handed, to the -end. Saw himself, a silver ancient, dropping dead at the plow tail and -the triumphant bracken pouring over him like a sea. But now the prospect -had changed. Here was a true Penhale coming back to tend the land of his -sires. With young blood at his back they would yet save the place. He -knew Eli, once he set his face forward, would never look back; his brain -was too small to hold more than one idea. He gloated over the boy’s -promising shoulders, thick neck and sturdy legs. He would root out the -big bowlders as his father had done, swing an ax or scythe from -cock-crow to owl-light without flag, toss a sick calf across his -shoulders and stride for miles, be at once the master and lover of his -land, the right husbandman. But of Ortho, the black gypsy son, Bohenna -was not so sure. Nevertheless hope dawned afresh and he went home to his -crib among the rocks singing, “I seen a ram at Hereford Fair” for the -first time in six months. - - * * * * * - -Eli was back again a few days before Christmas, and on Christmas Eve -Ortho appeared. There was nothing of the chastened prodigal about him; -he rode into the yard on a showy chestnut gelding (borrowed from -Pyramus), ragged as a scarecrow, but shouting and singing. He slapped -Bohenna on the back, hugged Eli affectionately, pinned his mother -against the door post and kissed her on both cheeks and her nose, -chucked old Martha under the chin and even tossed a genial word at the -half-wit Wany. - -With the exception of Eli, no one was particularly elated to see him -back—they remembered him only as an unfailing fount of mischief—but -from Ortho’s manner one would have concluded he was restoring the light -of their lives. He did not give them time to close their front. They -hardly knew he had arrived before he had embraced them all. The warmth -of his greeting melted their restraint. Bohenna’s hairy face split -athwart in a yellow-toothed grin, Martha broke into bird-like twitters, -Wany blushed, and Teresa said weakly, “So you’re back.” - -She had not forgiven him for his school escapade and had intended to -make his return the occasion of a demonstration as to who ruled the -roost at Bosula. But now she thought she’d postpone it. He had foiled -her for the moment, kissed her . . . she couldn’t very well pitch into -him immediately after that . . . not immediately. Besides, deep in her -heart she felt a cold drop of doubt. A new Ortho had come back, very -different from the callow, pliant child who had ridden babbling to -Helston beside her ten months previously. Ortho had grown up. He was -copper-colored with exposure, sported a downy haze on his upper lip and -was full two inches taller. But the change was not so much physical as -spiritual. His good looks were, if anything, emphasized, but he had -hardened. Innocence was gone from his eyes; there was the faintest edge -to his mirth. She had not wanted to be kissed, had struggled against it, -but he had taken her by surprise, handled her with dispatch and -assurance that could only come of practice—Master Ortho had not been -idle on his travels. An idea occurred to her that she had been -forestalled; it was Ortho who had made the demonstration. Their eyes -met, crossed like bayonets and dropped. It was all over in the fraction -of a second, but they had felt each other’s steel. - -Teresa was not alarmed by the sudden development of her first-born. She -was only forty-one, weighed fourteen stone, radiated rude health and -feared no living thing. Since John’s death she had not seen a man she -would have stood a word from; a great measure of her affection for her -husband sprang from the knowledge that he could have beaten her. She -apprised Ortho’s slim figure and mentally promised him a bellyful of -trouble did he demand it, but for the moment she concluded to let -bygones be—just for the moment. - -Ortho flipped some crumbs playfully over Wany, assured Martha she had -not aged a day, told Bohenna they’d have a great time after woodcock, -threw his arm around Eli’s neck and led him out into the yard. - -“See here what I’ve got for you, my old heart,” said he, fishing in his -pocket. “Bought it in Portsmouth.” - -He placed a little brass box in Eli’s hand. It had a picture of a -seventy-four under full sail chased on the lid and the comfortable -words, “Let jealous foes no hearts dismay, Vernon our hope is, God our -stay.” Inside was coiled a flint steel and fuse. Eli was profoundly -touched. Ortho’s toes were showing through one boot, his collar bones -had chafed holes in his shirt and his coat was in ribbons. The late -frost must have nipped him severely, yet he had not spent his few poor -pence in getting himself patched up, but bought a present for him. As a -matter of fact the little box had cost Ortho no small self-denial. - -Eli stammered his thanks—which Ortho laughed aside—and the brothers -went uphill towards Polmenna Down, arms about shoulders, talking, -talking. Eli furnished news of Helston. Burnadick was sorry about that -row he had had with Ortho—the other fellows pushed him on. He was a -splendid fellow really, knew all about hare-hunting and long-dogs. Eli -only wished he could have seen Ortho ironing Rufus out! It must have -been a glorious set-to! Everybody was still talking about it. Rufus had -never been the same since—quaking and shaking. Dirty big -jellyfish!—always swilling in pot-houses and stalking -serving-maids—the whole town had laughed over his discomfiture. - -Ortho was surprised to learn of his posthumous popularity at Helston. -Eli’s version of the affair hardly coincided with his recollection in a -single particular. All he remembered was being horribly frightened and -hitting out blindly with results that astonished him even more than his -victim. Still, since legend had chosen to elevate him to the pinnacle of -a St. George, suppressor of dragons, he saw no reason to disprove it. - -They passed on to other subjects. How had Ortho got on with the -Romanies? Oh, famously! Wonderful time—had enjoyed every moment of it. -Eli would never believe the things he had seen. Mountains twice . . . -three . . . four times as high as Chapel Carn Brea or Sancreed Beacon; -rivers with ships sailing on them as at sea; great houses as big as -Penzance in themselves; lords and ladies driving in six-horse carriages; -regiments of soldiers drilling behind negro drummers, and fairs with -millions of people collected and all the world’s marvels on view; -Italian midgets no higher than your knee, Irish giants taller than -chimneys, two-headed calves and six-legged lambs, contortionists who -knotted their legs round their necks, conjurers who magicked glass balls -out of country boys’ ears; dancing bears, trained wolves and an Araby -camel that required but one drink a month. Prizefights he had seen also; -tinker women battling for a purse in a ring like men, and fellows that -carried live rats in their shirt bosoms and killed them with their teeth -at a penny a time. And cities! . . . Such cities! Huge enough to cover -St. Gwithian parish, with streets so packed and people so elegant you -thought every day must be market day. - -London? No-o, he had not been quite to London. But travelers told him -that some of the places he had seen—Exeter, Salisbury, Plymouth, -Winchester—were every bit as good—in some ways better. London, in the -opinion of many, was overrated. Oh, by the way, in Salisbury he had seen -the cream of the lot—two men hanged for sheep-stealing; they kicked and -jerked in the most comical fashion. A wonderful time! - -The recital had a conflicting effect on Eli. To him Ortho’s story was as -breath-taking as that of some swart mariner returned from fabulous spice -islands and steamy Indian seas—but at the same time he was perturbed. -Was it likely that his brother, having seen the great world and all its -wonders, would be content to settle down to the humdrum life at Bosula -and dour struggle with the wilderness? Most improbable. Ortho would go -adventuring again and he and Bohenna would have to face the problem -alone. Bohenna was not getting any younger. His rosy hopes clouded over. -He must try to get Ortho to see the danger. After all Bosula would come -to Ortho some day; it was his affair. He began forthwith, pointed out -the weedy state of the fields, the littered windfalls, the invasion of -the moor. To his surprise Ortho was immediately interested—and -indignant. - -“What had that lazy lubber Bohenna been up to? . . . And Davy? By Gad, -it was a shame! He’d let ’em know. . . .” - -Eli explained that Davy had been turned off and Bohenna was doing his -best. “In father’s time there were three of ’em here and it was all they -could manage, working like bullocks,” said he, quoting Penaluna. - -“Then why haven’t we three men now?” - -“Mother says we’ve got no money to hire ’em.” - -Ortho’s jaw dropped. “No money! _We?_ . . . Good God! Where’s it all -gone to?” - -Eli didn’t know, but he did know that if some one didn’t get busy soon -they’d have no farm left. “It’s been going back ever since father died,” -he added. - -Ortho strode up and down, black-browed, biting his lip. Then he suddenly -laughed. “Hell’s bells,” he cried. “What are we fretting about? There -are three of us still, ain’t there? . . . You, me ’n Ned. I warrant -we’re a match for a passel of old brambles, heh? I warrant we are.” - -Eli was amazed and delighted. Did Ortho really mean what he said? - -“Then—then you’re not going gypsying again?” he asked. - -Ortho spat. “My Lord, no—done with that. It’s a dog’s life, kicked from -common to heath, living on hedge-hogs, sleeping under bushes, never -dry—mind you, I enjoyed it all—but I’ve had all I want. No, boy”—once -more he hugged his brother to him—“I’m going to stop home long o’ -thee—us’ll make our old place the best in the Hundred—in the -Duchy—and be big rosy yeomen full of good beef and cider. . . . Eh, -look at that!” - -The sun had dipped. Cirrus dappled the afterglow with drifts of -smoldering, crimson feathers. It was as though monster golden eagles -were battling in the upper air, dropping showers of lustrous, -blood-stained plumes. Away to the north the switch-backed tors rolled -against the sky, wine-dark against pale primrose. Mist brimmed the -valleys; dusk, empurpled, shrouded the hills. The primrose faded, a star -outrider blinked boldly in the east, then the green eve suddenly -quivered with the glint of a million million spear-heads—night’s silver -cohorts advancing. So still was it that the brothers on the hilltop -could plainly hear the babble and cluck of the hidden stream below them; -the thump of young rabbits romping in near-by fields and the bark of a -dog at Boskennel being answered by another dog at Trevider. From Bosula -yard came the creak and bang of a door, the clank of a pail—Bohenna’s -voice singing: - - “I seen a ram at Hereford Fair, - The biggest gert ram I did ever behold.” - -Ortho laughed and took up the familiar song, sent his pleasant, tuneful -voice ringing out over the darkling valley: - - “His fleece were that heavy it stretched to the ground, - His hoofs and his horns they was shodden wi’ gold.” - -Below them sounded a gruff crow of mirth from Bohenna and the second -verse: - - “His horns they was curlèd like to the thorn tree, - His fleece was as white as the blossom o’ thorn; - He stamped like a stallion an’ roared like a bull, - An’ the gert yeller eyes of en sparkled wi’ scorn.” - -Among the bare trees a light winked, a friendly, beckoning wink—the -kitchen window. - -Ortho drew a deep breath and waved his hand. “Think I’d change -this—this lew li’l’ place I was born in for a gypsy tilt, do ’ee? No, -no, my dear! Not for all the King’s money and all the King’s gems! I’ve -seen ’s much of the cold world as I do want—and more.” He linked his -arm with Eli’s. “Come on; let’s be getting down-along.” - - * * * * * - -That night the brothers slept together in the same big bed as of old. -Eli tumbled to sleep at once, but Ortho lay awake. Towards ten o’clock -he heard what he had been listening for, the “Te-whoo-whee-wha-ha” of -the brown owls calling to each other. He grunted contentedly, turned -over and went to sleep. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - -Christmas passed merrily at Bosula that year. Martha was an authority on -“feasten” rites and delicacies, and Christmas was the culmination. Under -her direction the brothers festooned the kitchen with ropes of holly and -ivy, and hung the “kissing bush”—two barrel hoops swathed in -evergreens—from the middle beam. - -Supper was the principal event of the day, a prodigious spread; goose -giblet pie, squab pie made of mutton, raisins and onions, and -queer-shaped saffron cakes, the whole washed down with draughts of -“eggy-hot,” an inspiring compound of eggs, hot beer, sugar and rum, -poured from jug to jug till it frothed over. - -The Bosula household sat down at one board and gorged themselves till -they could barely breathe. Upon them in this state came the St. Gwithian -choir, accompanied by the parish fiddler, “Jiggy” Dan, and a score or so -of hangers on. They sang the sweet and simple old “curls” of the West -Country, “I saw three ships come sailin’ in,” “Come and I will sing -you,” “The first good joy that Mary had,” and - - “Go the wayst out, Child Jesus, - Go the wayst out to play; - Down by God’s Holy Well - I see three pretty children - As ever tongue can tell.” - -Part singing is a natural art in Cornwall. The Gwithian choir sang well, -reverently and without strain. Teresa, full-fed after long moderation, -was in melting mood. The carols made her feel pleasantly tearful and -religious. She had not been to church since the unfortunate affair with -the curate, but determined she would go the very next Sunday and make a -rule of it. - -She gave the choir leader a silver crown and ordered eggy-hot to be -served round. The choir’s eyes glistened. Eggy-hot seldom came their -way; usually they had to be content with cider. - -Martha rounded up the company. The apple trees must be honored or they -would withhold their fruit in the coming year. Everybody adjourned to -the orchard, Martha carrying a jug of cider, Bohenna armed with the -flintlock, loaded nearly as full as himself. Wany alone was absent; she -was slipping up the valley to the great barrow to hear the Spriggans, -the gnome-miners, sing their sad carols as was the custom of a Christmas -night. - -The Bosula host grouped, lantern-lit, round the king tree of the -orchard; Martha dashed the jug against the trunk and pronounced her -incantation: - - “Health to thee, good apple tree! - Hatsful, packsful, great bushel-bags full! - Hurrah and fire off the gun.” - -Everybody cheered. Bohenna steadied himself and pulled the trigger. -There was a deafening roar, a yard-long tongue of flame spurted from the -muzzle, Bohenna tumbled over backwards and Jiggy Dan, uttering an -appalling shriek, fell on his face and lay still. - -The scared spectators stooped over the fiddler. - -“Dead is a?” - -“Ess, dead sure ’nough—dead as last year, pore soul.” - -Panegyrics on the deceased were delivered. - -“A brilliant old drinker a was.” - -“Ess, an’ a clean lively one to touch the strings.” - -“Shan’t see his like no more.” - -“His spotty sow coming to her time too—an’ a brearly loved roast -sucking pig, the pretty old boy.” - -Bohenna sat up in the grass and sniffed. - -“There’s a brear strong smell o’ burning, seem me?” - -The company turned on him reproachfully. “Thou’st shotten Jiggy Dan. -Shot en dead an’ a-cold. Didst put slugs in gun by mistake, Ned?” - -Bohenna scratched his head. “Couldn’t say rightly this time o’ night -. . . maybe I did . . . but, look ’ee, there wasn’t no offense meant; -’twas done in good part, as you might say.” He sniffed again and stared -at the corpse of his victim. - -“Slugs or no seem me the poor angel’s more hot than cold. Lord love, -he’s afire! . . . The wad’s catched in his coat!” - -That such was the case became painfully apparent to the deceased at the -same moment. He sprang to his feet and bounded round and round the -group, uttering ghastly howls and belaboring himself behind in a -fruitless endeavor to extinguish the smoldering cloth. The onlookers -were helpless with laughter; they leaned against each other and sobbed. -Teresa in particular shook so violently it hurt her. - -Somebody suggested a bucket of water, between chokes, but nobody -volunteered to fetch it; to do so would be to miss the fun. - -“The stream,” hiccoughed Bohenna, holding his sides. “Sit ’ee down in -stream, Dan, my old beauty, an’ quench thyself.” - -A loud splash in the further darkness announced that the unhappy -musician had taken his advice. - -The apple trees fully secured for twelve months, the party returned to -the kitchen, but the incident of Dan had dissipated the somewhat pious -tone of the preceding events. Teresa, tears trickling down her cheeks, -set going a fresh round of eggy-hot. Ortho pounced on Tamsin Eva, the -prettiest girl in the room, carried her bodily under the kissing bush -and saluted her again and again. Other men and boys followed suit. The -girls fled round the kitchen in mock consternation, pursued by flushed -swains, were captured and embraced, giggling and sighing. Jiggy Dan, -sniffing hot liquor as a pointer sniffs game, limped, dripping, in from -the stream, was given an old petticoat of Martha’s to cover his -deficiencies, a pot of rum, propped up in a corner and told to fiddle -for dear life. The men, headed by Ortho, cleared the kitchen of -furniture, and then everybody danced old heel and toe country dances, -skipped, bowed, sidled, passed up and down the middle and twirled around -till the sweat shone like varnish on their scarlet faces. - -The St. Gwithian choir flung themselves into it heart and soul. They -were expected at Monks Cove to sing carols, were overdue by some hours, -but they had forgotten all about that. - -Teresa danced with the best, with grace and agility extraordinary in a -woman of her bulk. She danced one partner off his feet and all but -stunned another against the corner of the dresser, bringing most of the -crockery crashing to earth. She then produced that relic of her -vagabondage, the guitar, and joined forces with Jiggy Dan. - -The fun became furious. The girls shook the tumbled hair from their -eyes, laughed roguishly; the men whooped and thumped the floor with -their heavy boots. Jiggy Dan, constantly primed with rum by the -attentive Martha, scraped and sawed at his fiddle, beating time with his -toe. Teresa plucked at the guitar till it droned and buzzed like a hive -of melodious bees. Occasionally she sang ribald snatches. She was in -high feather, the reaction from nine months’ abstinence. The kitchen, -lit by a pile of dry furze blazing in the open hearth, grew hotter and -hotter. - -The dancers stepped and circled in a haze of dust, steaming like -overdriven cattle. Eli alone was out of tune with his surroundings. The -first effects of the drink had worn off, leaving him with a sour mouth -and slightly dizzy. The warmer grew the others, the colder he became. - -He scowled at the junketers from his priggish altitude and blundered -bedward to find it already occupied by the St. Gwithian blacksmith, who, -dark with the transferable stains of his toil, lay sprawled across it, -boots where his head should have been. Eli rolled the unconscious -artificer to the floor (an act which in no way disturbed that worthy’s -slumbers) and turned in, sick and sulky. - -With Ortho, on the other hand, things were never better. He had not -drunk enough to cloud him and he was getting a lot of fun out of Tamsin -Eva and her “shiner.” Tamsin, daughter of the parish clerk, was a -bronze-haired, slender creature with a skin like cream and roses and a -pretty, timid manner. Ortho, satiated with swarthy gypsy charmers, -thought her lovely and insisted upon dancing with her for the evening. -That her betrothed was present and violently jealous only added piquancy -to the affair. The girl was not happy—Ortho frightened her—but she had -not enough strength of mind to resist him. She shot appealing glances at -her swain, but the boy was too slow in his movements and fuddled with -unaccustomed rum. The sober and sprightly Ortho cut the girl out from -under his nose time and time again. Teresa, extracting appalling -discords from the guitar, noted this by-play with gratification; this -tiger cub of hers promised good sport. - -Towards one o’clock the supply of spirituous impulse having given out, -the pace slackened down. Chastened husbands were led home by their -wives. Single men tottered out of doors to get a breath of fresh air and -did not return, were discovered at dawn peacefully slumbering under -mangers, in hen roosts and out-of-the-way corners. Tamsin Eva’s -betrothed was one of these. He was entering the house fired with the -intention of wresting his lass from Ortho and taking her home when -something hit him hard on the point of the jaw and all the lights went -out. He woke up next morning far from clear as to whether he had -blundered into the stone door post or somebody’s ready fist. At all -events it was Ortho who took Tamsin home. - -Teresa fell into a doze and had an uncomfortable dream. All the people -she disliked came and made faces at her, people she had forgotten ages -ago and who in all decency should have forgotten her. They flickered out -of the mists, distorted but recognizable, clutched at her with hooked -fingers, pressed closer and closer, leering malevolently. Teresa was -dismayed. Not a friend anywhere! She lolled forward, moaning, “John! Oh, -Jan!” Jiggy Dan’s elbow hit her cheek and she woke up to an otherwise -empty kitchen filled with the reek of burnt pilchard oil, a dead hearth, -and cold night air pouring in through the open door. She shuddered, -rubbed her sleepy lids and staggered, yawning, to bed. - -Jiggy Dan, propped up in the corner, fiddled on, eyes sealed, mind -oblivious, arm sawing mechanically. - -They found him in the morning on the yard muck heap, Martha’s petticoat -over his head, fiddle clasped to his bosom, back to back with a snoring -sow. - - * * * * * - -The Christmas festivities terminated on Twelfth Night with the visit of -goose dancers from Monks Cove, the central figure of whom was a lad -wearing the hide and horns of a bullock attended by other boys dressed -in female attire. Horse-play and crude buffoonery was the feature rather -than dancing, and Teresa got some more of her crockery smashed. - -Next morning Eli went to Helston for his last term and Ortho took off -his coat. - -When Eli came home at midsummer he could hardly credit his eyes. Ortho -had performed miracles. Very wisely he had not attempted to fight back -the moor everywhere, but had concentrated, and the fields he had put in -crop were done thoroughly, deep-plowed, well manured and evenly -sown—Penaluna could not make a better show. - -The brothers walked over the land on the evening of Eli’s return; -everywhere the young crops stood up thick and healthy, pushing forwards -to fruition. Ortho glowed with justifiable pride, talked farming -eagerly. He and Ned had given the old place a hammering, he said. By the -Holy they had! Mended the buildings, whitewashed the orchard trees, -grubbed, plowed, packed ore-weed and sea-sand, harrowed and hoed from -dawn-blink to star-wink, day in, day out—Sundays included. But they’d -get it all back—oh, aye, and a hundredfold. - -Eli had been in the right; agriculture was the thing—the good old soil! -You put in a handful and picked up a bushel in a few months. -Cattle—pah! One cow produced but one calf per annum and that was not -marketable for three or four years. No—wheat, barley and oats forever! - -Now Eli was home they could hold all they’d got and reclaim a field or -so a year. In next to no time they’d have the whole place waving yellow -from bound to bound. Ortho even had designs on the original moor, saw no -reason why they should not do their own milling in time—they had ample -water power. He glowed with enthusiasm. Eli’s cautious mind discounted -much of these grandiose schemes, but his heart went out to Ortho; the -mellowing fields before him had not been lightly won. - -Ortho was as lean as a herring-bone, sweated down to bare muscle and -sinew. His finger nails were broken off short, his hands scarred and -calloused, his face was torn with brambles and leathern with exposure. -He had fought a good fight and was burning for more. Oh, splendid -brother! - -Ned Bohenna was loud in Ortho’s praise. He was a marvel. He was quicker -in the uptake than even John had been and no work was too hard for him. -The old hind was most optimistic. They had seeded a fine area and crops -were looking famous. Come three years at this pace the farm would be -back where it was at John’s death, the pick of the parish. - -For the rest, there was not much news. Martha had been having the cramps -severely of late and Wany was getting whister than ever. Said she was -betrothed to a Spriggan earl who lived in the big barrow. He had -promised to marry her as soon as he could get his place enlarged—he, -he! - -There had been a sea battle fought with gaffs and oars off the Gazells -between Jacky’s George and a couple of Porgwarra boats. Both sides -accused each other of poaching lobster pots. Jacky’s George sank a -Porgwarra boat by dropping a lump of ballast through her—and then -rescued the crew. They had seen a lot of Pyramus Herne, altogether too -much of Pyramus Herne. He had come down with a bigger mob of horses and -donkeys than usual and grazed them all over the farm—after dark. Seeing -the way he had befriended Ortho, they could not well say much to him, -especially as they had grass to spare at present; but it could not go on -like that. - -Eli buckled to beside the others. They got the hay in, and, while -waiting for the crops to ripen, pulled down a bank (throwing two small -fields into one), rebuilt a couple more, cleaned out the orchard, hoed -the potatoes and put a new roof on the stables. They were out of bed at -five every morning and into it at eight of an evening, dead-beat, soiled -with earth and sweat, stained with sun and wind. They worked like -horses, ate like wolves and slept like sloths. - -Ortho led everywhere. He was first afoot in the morning, last to bed at -night. His quick mind discerned the easiest way through difficulties, -but when hard labor was inevitable he sprang at it with a cheer. His -voice rang like a bugle round Bosula, imperious yet merry. He was at -once a captain and a comrade. - -Under long days of sunshine and gentle drenches of rain the crops went -on from strength to strength. It would be a bumper year. - -Then came the deluge. Wany, her uncanny weather senses prickling, -prophesied it two days in advance. Bohenna was uneasy, but Ortho, -pointing to the serene sky, laughed at their fears. The next day the -heat became oppressive, and he was not so sure. He woke at ten o’clock -that night to a terrific clap of thunder, sat up in bed, and watched the -little room flashing from black to white from the winks of lightning, -his own shadow leaping gigantic across the illuminated wall; heard the -rain come up the valley, roaring through the treetops like surf, break -in a cataract over the Owls’ House and sweep on. “This’ll stamp us out -. . . beat us flat,” he muttered, and lay wondering what he should do, -if there was anything to do, and as he wondered merciful sleep came upon -him, weary body dragging the spirit down with it into oblivion. - -The rain continued with scarcely less violence for a week, held off for -two days and came down again. August crept out blear-eyed and -draggle-tailed. - -The Penhales saved a few potatoes and about one-fifth of the -cereals—not enough to provide them with daily bread; they would -actually have to buy meal in the coming year. Bohenna, old child of the -soil, took the calamity with utter calm; he was inured to these bitter -caprices of Nature. Ortho shrugged his shoulders and laughed. It was -nobody’s fault, he said; they had done all they could; Penaluna had -fared no better. The only course was to whistle and go at it again; that -sort of thing could hardly happen twice running. He whistled and went at -it again, at once, breaking stone out of a field towards Polmenna, but -Eli knew that for all his brave talk the heart was out of him. There was -a lassitude in his movements; he was merely making a show of courage. - -Gradually he slowed down. He began to visit the Kiddlywink of a night, -and lay abed long after sunrise. - -At the end of October a fresh bolt fell out of the blue. The Crowan tin -works, in which the Penhale money was invested, suddenly closed down. It -turned out that they had been running at a loss for the last eight -months in the hope of striking a new lode, a debt of three hundred -pounds had been incurred, the two other shareholders were without -assets, so, under the old Cost Book system current in Cornish mining, -Teresa was liable for the whole sum. - -She was at first aghast, then furious; swore she’d have the law of the -defaulters and hastened straightway into Penzance to set her lawyer at -them. Fortunately her lawyer was honest; she had no case and he told her -so. When she returned home she was confronted by her sons; they demanded -to know how they stood. She turned sulky and refused details, but they -managed to discover that there was not five pounds in the house, that -there would be no more till the Tregors rent came in, and even then was -pledged to money-lenders and shop-keepers—but as to the extent of her -liabilities they could not find out. She damned them as a pair of -ungrateful whelps and went to bed as black as thunder. - -Ortho had a rough idea as to the houses Teresa patronized, so next day -the brothers went to town, and after a door to door visitation -discovered that she owed in the neighborhood of four hundred pounds! -Four plus three made seven—seven hundred pounds! What was it to come -from? The Penhales had no notion. By selling off all their stock they -might possibly raise two hundred. Two hundred, what was that? A great -deal less than half. Their mother would spend the rest of her life in a -debtor’s prison! Oh, unutterable shame! - -They doddered about Penzance, sunk in misery. Then it occurred to Ortho -to consult the lawyer. These quill-driving devils were as cunning as dog -foxes; what they couldn’t get round or over they’d wriggle through. - -The lawyer put them at their ease at once. Mortgage Bosula or Tregors -. . . nothing simpler. Both strong farms should produce the required -sum—and more. He explained the system, joined his finger-tips and -beamed at the pair over the top. - -The brothers shifted on their chairs and pronounced for Tregors -simultaneously. The lawyer nodded. Very well then. As soon as he got -their mother’s sanction he would set to work. Ortho promised to settle -his mother and the two left. - -Ortho had no difficulty with Teresa. He successfully used the hollow -threat of a debtor’s prison to her, for she had been in a lock-up -several times during her roving youth and had no wish to return. - -Besides she was sick of debt, of being pestered for money here, there -and everywhere. - -She gave her consent readily enough, and within a fortnight was called -upon to sign. - -Carveth Donnithorne, the ever-prospering ship chandler of Falmouth, was -the mortgagee; nine hundred and fifty pounds was the sum he paid, and -very good value it was. - -Teresa settled the Crowan liabilities with the lawyer, and, parading -round the town, squared all her other accounts in a single afternoon. -She did it in style, swept into the premises of those who had pressed -her, planked her money down, damned them for a pack of thieves and -leeches, swore that was the end of her custom and stamped majestically -out. - -She finished up in a high state of elation. She had told a number of her -enemies exactly what she thought of them, was free of debt and had a -large sum of ready money in hand again—two hundred and fifty pounds in -three canvas bags, the whole contained in a saddle wallet. - -Opposite the market cross she met an old crony, a retired ship captain -by the name of Jeremiah Gish, and told him in detail what she had said -to the shop-keepers. The old gentleman listened with all his ears. He -admired Teresa immensely. He admired her big buxom style, her strength, -her fire, but most of all he revered her for her language. Never in -forty years seafaring had he met with such a flow of vituperation as -Teresa could loose when roused, such range, such spontaneity, such -blistering invention. It drew him like music. He caught her -affectionately by the arm, led her to a tavern, treated her to a pot of -ale and begged her to repeat what she had said to the shop-keepers. - -Teresa, nothing loth, obliged. The old tarpaulin listened rapt, nodded -his bald head in approval, an expression on his face of one who hears -the chiming of celestial spheres. - -A brace of squires jingled in and hallooed to Teresa. Where had she been -hiding all this time? The feasten sports had been nothing without her. -She ought to have been at Ponsandane the week before. They had a black -bull in a field tied to a ship’s anchor. The ring parted and the bull -went loose in the crowd with two dogs hanging on him. Such a screeching -and rushing you never did see! Old women running like two-year-olds and -young women climbing like squirrels and showing leg. . . . Oh, mercy! -The squire hid his face in his hands and gulped. - -Teresa guffawed, took a pound out of one of the bags, strapped up the -wallet again and sat on it. Then she called the pot boy and ordered a -round of drinks. To blazes with economy for that one evening! - -The company drank to her everlasting good health, to her matchless eyes -and cherry lips. One squire kissed her; she boxed his ears—not too -hard. He saluted the hand that smote him. His friend passed his arm -round her waist—she let it linger. - -Jerry Gish leaned forward and tapped her on the knee. “Tell ’em what you -said to that draper, my blossom—ecod, yes, and to the Jew . . . tell -’em.” - -Once more Teresa obliged. The company applauded. Very apt; that was the -way to talk to the sniveling swine! But her throat must be dry as a -brick. They banged their pots. “Hey, boy! Another round, damme!” - -Other admirers drifted in and greeted Teresa with warmth. Where had she -been all this time? They had missed her sorely. There was much rejoicing -among the unjust over one sinner returned. - -Teresa’s soul expanded as a sunflower to the sun. They were all old -friends and she was glad to be with them again. Twice more for the -benefit of newcomers did Captain Gish prevail on her to repeat what she -had said to her creditors, and by general request she sang three songs. -The pot boy ran his legs off that night. - -Towards eleven p. m. she shook one snoring admirer from her shoulder, -removed the hand of another from her lap, dropped an ironical curtsey to -the prostrate gentlemen about her and, grasping the precious wallet, -rocked unsteadily into the yard. She had to rouse an ostler to girth her -horse up for her, and her first attempts at mounting met with disaster, -but she got into the saddle at last, and once there nothing short of -gunpowder could dislodge her. Her lids were like lead; drowsiness was -crushing her. She kept more or less awake until Bucca’s Pass was behind, -but after that she abandoned the struggle and sleep swallowed her whole. - -She was aroused at Bosula gate by the barking of her own dogs, -unstrapped the wallet, turned the roan into the stable as it stood, and -staggered upstairs. Five minutes later she was shouting at the top of -her lungs. She had been robbed; one of the hundred pound bags was -missing! - -The household ran to her call. When had she missed it? Who had she been -with? Where had she dropped it? Teresa was not clear about anything. She -might have dropped it anywhere between Penzance and home, or again she -might have been robbed in the tavern or the streets. The point was that -she had lost one hundred pounds and they had got to find it—now, at -once! They were to take the road back, ransack the town, inform the -magistrates. Out with them! Away! - -Having delivered herself, she turned over and was immediately asleep. - -Ortho went back to bed. He would go to Penzance if necessary, he said, -but it was useless before dawn. Let the others look close at home first. - -Wany and Martha took a lantern and prodded about in the yard, clucking -like hens. Eli lit a second lantern and went to the stable. Perhaps his -mother had dropped the bag dismounting. He found the roan horse standing -in its stall, unsaddled it, felt in the remaining wallet, turned over -the litter—nothing. As he came out he noticed that the second horse was -soaking wet. Somebody had been riding hard, could only have just got in -before Teresa. Ortho of course. He wondered what his brother was up to. -After some girl probably . . . he had heard rumors. - -Martha reported the yard bare, so he followed the hoof tracks up the -lane some way—nothing. - -Ortho was up at dawn, ready to go into town, but Teresa, whose -recuperative powers were little short of marvelous, was up before him -and went in herself. She found nothing on the road and got small -consolation from the magistrates. - -People who mixed their drinks and their company when in possession of -large sums of ready money should not complain if they lost it. She ought -to be thankful she had not been relieved of the lot. They would make -inquiries, of course, but held out no hope. There was an officer with a -string of recruits in town, an Irish privateer and two foreign ships in -the port, to say nothing of the Guernsey smugglers—the place was -seething with covetous and desperate characters. They wagged their wigs -and doubted if she would ever see her money again. - -She never did. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - -Some three weeks after Teresa’s loss Eli found his brother in the yard -fitting a fork-head to a new haft. - -“Saw William John Prowse up to Church-town,” said he. “He told me to -tell you that you must take the two horses over to once because he’s got -to go away.” - -Ortho frowned. Under his breath he consigned William John Prowse to -eternal discomfort. Then his face cleared. - -“I’ve been buying a horse or two for Pyramus,” he remarked casually. -“He’ll be down along next week.” - -Eli gave him a curious glance. Ortho looked up and their eyes met. - -“What’s the matter?” - -“It was you stole that hundred pounds from mother, I suppose.” - -Ortho started and then stared. “Me! My Lord, what next! Me steal that -. . . well, I be damned! Think I’d turn toby and rob my own family, do -you? Pick my right pocket to fill my left? God’s wrath, you’re a sweet -brother!” - -“I do think so, anyhow,” said Eli doggedly. - -“How? Why?” - -“’Cos King Herne can do his own buying and because on the night mother -was robbed you were out.” - -Ortho laughed again. “Smart as a gauger, aren’t you? Well, now I’ll tell -you. William John let me have the horses on trust, and as for being out, -I’m out most every night. I’d been to Churchtown. I’ve got a sweetheart -there, if you must know. So now, young clever!” - -Eli shrugged his shoulders and turned away. - -“Don’t you believe me?” Ortho called. - -“No.” - -“Why not?” - -“’Cos ’tis well known William John Prowse wouldn’t trust his father with -a turnip, and that Polly mare hadn’t brought you two miles from -Gwithian. She’d come three times that distance and hard. She was as wet -as an eel; I felt her.” - -Ortho bit his lip. “So ho, steady!” he called softly. “Come round here a -minute.” - -He led the way round the corner of the barn and Eli followed. Ortho -leaned against the wall, all smiles again. - -“See here, old son,” said he in a whisper, “you’re right. I did it. But -I did it for you, for your sake, mind that.” - -“Me!” - -Ortho nodded. “Surely. Look you, in less than two years Tregors and this -here place fall to me, don’t they?” - -“Yes,” said Eli. - -Ortho tapped him on the chest. “Well, the minute I get possession I’m -going to give you Tregors, lock, stock and barrel. That’s the way father -meant it, I take it—only he didn’t have time to put it in writing. But -now Tregors is in the bag, and how are we going to get it out if mother -will play chuck-guinea like she does?” - -“So that’s why you stole the money?” - -“That’s why—and, harkee, don’t shout ‘stole’ so loud. It ain’t stealing -to take your own, is it?” Ortho whistled. “My Lord, I sweated, Eli! I -thought some one would have it before I did. The whole of Penzance knew -she’d been about town all day with a bag of money, squaring her debts -and lashing it about. To finish up she was in a room at the ‘Star’ with -a dozen of bucks, all of ’em three sheets in the wind and roaring. I -seen them through a chink in the shutters and I tell you I sweated -blood. But she’s cunning. When she sat down she sat on the wallet and -stopped there. It would have taken a block and tackle to pull her off. I -went into the ‘Star’ passage all muffled up about the face like as if I -had jaw-ache. The pot boy came along with a round of drinks for the -crowd inside. ‘Here, drop those a minute and fetch me a dash of brandy -for God Almighty’s sake,’ says I, mumbling and talking like an -up-countryman. ‘I’m torn to pieces with this tooth. Here’s a silver -shilling and you can keep the change if you’re quick. Oh, whew! Ouch!’ - -“I tossed him the shilling—the last I’d got—and he dropped the pots -there and then and dived after the brandy. I gave the pots a good -dusting with a powder Pyramus uses on rogue horses to keep ’em quiet -while he’s selling ’em. Then the boy came back. I drank the brandy and -went outside again and kept watch through the shutters. It worked pretty -quick; what with the mixed drinks they’d had and the powder, the whole -crew was stretched snoring in a quarter hour. But not she. She’s as -strong as a yoke of bulls. She yawned a bit, but when the others went -down she got up and went after her horse, taking the wallet along. I -watched her mount from behind the rain barrel in the yard and a pretty -job she made of it. The ostler had to heave her up, and the first time -she went clean over, up one side and down t’other. Second time she saved -herself by clawing the ostler’s hair and near clawed his scalp off; he -screeched like a slit pig. - -“I watched that ostler as well, watched in case he might chance his -fingers in the wallet, but he didn’t. She was still half awake and would -have brained him if he’d tried it on. A couple of men—stranded seamen, -I think—came out of an alley by the Abbey and dogged her as far as -Lariggan, closing up all the time, but when they saw me behind they gave -over and hid in under the river bank. She kept awake through Newlyn, -nodding double. I knew she couldn’t last much longer—the wonder was she -had lasted so long. On top of Paul Hill I closed up as near as I dared -and then went round her, across country as hard as I could flog, by -Chyoone and Rosvale. - -“A dirty ride, boy; black as pitch and crossed with banks and soft -bottoms. Polly fell down and threw me over her head twice . . . thought -my neck was broke. We came out on the road again at Trevelloe. I tied -Polly to a tree and walked back to meet ’em. They came along at a walk, -the old horse bringing his cargo home like he’s done scores of times. - -“I called his name softly and stepped out of the bushes. He stopped, -quiet as a lamb. Mother never moved; she was dead gone, but glued to the -saddle. She’s a wonder. I got the wallet open, put my hand in and had -just grabbed hold of a bag when Prince whinnied; he’d winded his mate, -Polly, down the road. You know how it is when a horse whinnies; he -shakes all through. Hey, but it gave me a start! It was a still night -and the old brute sounded like a squad of trumpets shouting ‘Ha!’ like -they do in the Bible. ‘Ha, ha, ha, he, he, he!’ - -“I jumped back my own length and mother lolled over towards me and said -soft-like, ‘Pass the can around.’” - -“That’s part of a song she sings,” said Eli, “a drinking song.” - -Ortho nodded. “I know, but it made me jump when she said it; she said it -so soft-like. I thought the horse had shaken her awake, and I ran for -dear life. Before I’d gone fifty yards I knew I was running for nothing, -but I couldn’t go back. It was the first time I’d sto . . . I’d done -anything like that and I was scared of Prince whinnying again. I ran -down the road with the old horse coming along clop-clop behind me, -jumped on Polly and galloped home without looking back. I wasn’t long in -before her as it was.” He drew a deep breath. “But I kept the bag and -I’ve got it buried where she won’t find it.” He smiled at his own -cleverness. - -“What are you going to do with the money?” Eli asked. - -“Buy horses cheap and sell ’em dear. I learnt a trick or two when I was -away with Pyramus and I’m going to use ’em. There’s nothing like it. -I’ve seen him buy a nag for a pound and sell it for ten next week. I’m -going to make Pyramus take my horses along with his. They’ll be bought -as his, so that people won’t wonder where I got the money, and they’ll -go up-country and be sold with his—see? I’ve got it all thought out.” - -“But will Pyramus do it?” - -Ortho clicked his even white teeth. “Aye, I reckon he will . . . if he -wants to winter here again. How many two-pound horses can I buy for a -hundred pounds?” - -“Fifty.” - -“And fifty sold at ten pounds each, how much is that?” - -“Five hundred pounds.” - -“How long will it take me to pay off the mortgage at that rate?” - -“Two years . . . at that rate. But there’s the interest too, and . . .” - -Ortho smote him on the back. “Oh, cheerily, old long-face, all’s well! -The rent’ll pay the interest, as thou thyself sayest, and I’ll fetch in -the money somehow. We’ll harvest a mighty crop next season and the -horses’ll pay bags full. In two years’ time I’ll put my boot under that -fat cheese-weevil Carveth and you shall ride into Tregors like a king. -If only I could have got hold of that second hundred! You don’t know -where mother hides her money, do you?” - -“No.” - -“No more do I . . . but I will. I’ll sit over her like a puss at a mouse -hole. I’ll have some more of it yet.” - -“Leave it alone,” said Eli; “she’s sure to find out and then there’ll be -the devil to pay. Besides, whatever you say about it being our money it -don’t seem right. Leave it be.” - -Ortho threw an arm about his neck and laughed at him. - - * * * * * - -Pyramus Herne arrived on New Year’s Eve and was not best pleased when -Ortho announced his project. He had no wish to be bothered with extra -horses that brought no direct profit to himself, but he speedily -recognized that he had a new host to deal with, that young Penhale had -cut his wisdom teeth and that if he wanted the run of the Upper Keigwin -Valley he’d have to pay for it. So he smiled his flashing smile and -consented, on the understanding that he accepted no responsibility for -any mishap and that Ortho found his own custom. The boy agreed to this -and set about buying. - -He picked up a horse here and there, but mainly he bought broken-down -pack mules from the mines round St. Just. He bought wisely. His -purchases were a ragged lot, yet never so ragged but that they could be -patched up. When not out looking for mules he spent practically all his -time in the gypsy camp, firing, blistering, trimming misshapen hoofs, -shotting roarers, filing and bishoping teeth. The farm hardly saw him; -Eli and Bohenna put the seed in. - -Pyramus left with February, driving the biggest herd he had ever taken -north. This, of course, included Ortho’s lot, but the boy had not got -fifty beasts for his hundred pounds—he had got thirty-three only—but -he was still certain of making his four hundred per cent, he told Eli; -mules were in demand, being hardy, long-lived and frugal, and his string -were in fine fettle. With a few finishing touches, their blemishes -stained out, a touch of the clippers here and there, a pinch of ginger -to give them life, some grooming and a sleek over with an oil rag, there -would be no holding the public back from them. He would be home for -harvest, his pockets dribbling gold. - -He went one morning before dawn without telling Teresa he was going, -jingled out of the yard, dressed in his best, astride one of Pyramus’ -showiest colts. His tirade against gypsy life and his eulogy of the -delights of home, delivered to Eli on his return from his first trip -with Pyramus, had been perfectly honest. He had had a rough experience -and was played out. - -But he was tired no longer. He rode to join Pyramus, singing the Helston -Flurry Song: - - “Where are those Span-i-ards - That made so brave a boast—O? - They shall eat the gray goose feather - And we will eat the roast—O.” - -Eli, leaning over the gate, listened to the gay voice dwindling away up -the valley, and then turned with a sigh. - -Dawn was breaking, the mists were rolling up, the hills loomed gigantic -in the half-light, studded with granite escarpments, patchworked with -clumps of gorse, thorn and bracken—his battlefield. - -Ortho had gone again, gone singing to try his fortune in the great world -among foreign multitudes. For him the dour grapple with the -wilderness—and he was glad of it. He disliked foreigners, disliked -taking chances. Here was something definite, something to lock his teeth -in, something to be subdued by sheer dogged tenacity. He broke the news -that Ortho had gone gypsying again that evening at supper. - -Teresa exploded like a charge of gun-powder. She announced her intention -of starting after her son at once, dragging him home and having Pyramus -arrested for kidnapping. Then she ramped up and down the kitchen, -cursing everybody present for not informing her of Ortho’s intentions. -When they protested that they had been as ignorant as herself, she -damned them for answering her back. - -Eli, who came in for most of her abuse, slipped out and over the hill to -Roswarva, had a long farming talk with Penaluna and borrowed a pamphlet -on the prevention of wheat diseases. - -The leggy girl Mary sat in a corner sewing by the light of a pilchard -chill and saying never a word. Just before Eli left she brought him a -mug of cider, but beyond drinking the stuff he hardly noticed the act -and even forgot to thank her. He found Teresa sitting up for him. She -had her notched sticks and the two remaining money bags on the table in -front of her. She looked worried. - -“Here,” she growled as her younger son entered. “Count this.” Eli -counted. There was a round hundred pounds in the one bag and thirty-one -pounds, ten shillings and fourpence in the other. He told her. - -“There was fifty,” said she. “How much have I spent then?” - -“Eighteen pounds, ten shillings and eightpence.” Eli made a -demonstration on his fingers. - -Teresa’s black eyebrows first rose and then crumpled together ominously. - -“Eighteen!” she echoed, and began to tick off items on her own fingers, -mumbling sotto voce. She paused at the ninth finger, racked her brains -for forgotten expenditures and began the count over again. - -Eli sat down before the hearth and pulled his boots off. He could feel -his mother’s suspicious eyes on him. Twice she cleared her throat as if -to speak, but thought better of it. He went to bed, leaving her still -bent over the table twiddling her notched stick. Her eyes followed him -up the stairs, perplexed, angry, with a hot gleam in them like a spark -in coal. - -So Ortho had found her hiding place after all and had robbed her so -cleverly that she was not perfectly sure she had been robbed. Eli -tumbled into bed wishing his brother were not quite so clever. He fell -asleep and had a dream in which he saw Ortho hanging in chains which -creaked as they swung in the night winds. - -Scared by the loss of her money, Teresa had another attack of -extravagant economy during which the Tregors lease fell in. She promptly -put up the rent; the old tenant refused to carry on and a new one had to -be found. An unknown hind from Budock Water, near Falmouth, accepted the -terms. - -Teresa congratulated herself on a bright stroke of business and all went -on as before. - -Eli and Bohenna worked out early and late; the weather could not have -been bettered and the crops promised wonders. Eli, surveying the -propitious fields, was relieved to think Ortho would be back for -harvest, else he did not know how they would get it home. - -No word had come from the wanderer. None was expected, but he was sure -to be back for August; he had sworn to be. Ortho was back on the fourth -of July. - -Eli came in from work and, to his surprise, found him sitting in the -kitchen relating the story of his adventures. He had a musical voice, a -Gallic trick of gesticulation and no compunction whatever about laughing -at his own jokes. His recital was most vivacious. - -Even Teresa guffawed—in spite of herself. She had intended to haul -Master Ortho over an exceedingly hot bed of coals when he returned, but -for the moment she could not bring herself to it. He had started talking -before she could, and his talk was extremely diverting; she did not want -to interrupt it. Moreover, he looked handsomer than ever—tall, -graceful, darkly sparkling. She was proud of him, her mother sense -stirred. He was very like herself. - -From hints dropped here and there she guessed he had met with not a few -gallant episodes on his travels and determined to sit up after the -others had gone to bed and get details out of him. They would make spicy -hearing. Such a boy must be irresistible. The more women he had ruined -the better she would be pleased, the greater the tribute to her -offspring. She was a predatory animal herself and this was her own cub. -As for the wigging, that could wait until they fell out about something -else and she was worked up; fly at him in cold blood she could not, not -for the moment. - -Ortho jumped out of his chair when Eli entered and embraced him with -great warmth, commented on his growth, thumped the boy’s deep chest, -pinched his biceps and called to Bohenna to behold the coming champion. - -“My Lord, but here’s a chicken that’ll claw the breast feathers out o’ -thee before long, old fighting cock—thee or any other in Devon or -Cornwall—eh, then?” - -Bohenna grinned and wagged his grizzled poll. - -“Stap me, little brother, I’d best keep a civil tongue before thee, seem -me. Well, as I was saying—” - -He sat down and continued his narrative. - -Eli leaned against the settle, listening and looking at Ortho. He was -evidently in the highest spirits, but he had not the appearance of a man -with five hundred pounds in his possession. He wore the same suit of -clothes in which he had departed and it was in an advanced state of -dilapidation; the braid edging hung in strings, one elbow was -barbarously patched with a square of sail-cloth and the other was out -altogether. His high wool stockings were a mere network and his boots -lamentable. However that was no criterion; gypsying was a rough life and -it would be foolish to spoil good clothes on it. Ortho himself looked -worn and thin; he had a nasty, livid cut running the length of his right -cheek bone and the gesticulating palms were raw with open blisters, but -his gay laugh rang through the kitchen, melodious, inspiring. He bore -the air of success; all was well, doubtless. - -Eli fell to making calculations. Ortho had five hundred pounds, Teresa -still had a hundred; that made six. Ortho would require a hundred as -capital for next year, and then, if he could repeat his success, they -would be out of the trap. He felt a rush of affection for his brother, -ragged and worn from his gallant battle with the world—and all for his -sake. Tregors mattered comparatively little to Ortho, since he was -giving it up and was fully provided for with Bosula. Ortho’s generosity -overwhelmed him. There was nobody like Ortho. - -The gentleman in question finished an anecdote with a clap of laughter, -sprang to his feet, pinned his temporarily doting mother in her chair -and kissed her, twitched Martha’s bonnet strings loose, punched Bohenna -playfully in the chest, caught Eli by the arm and swung him into the -yard. - -“Come across to the stable, my old dear; I’ve got something to show -you.” - -“Horse?” - -“Lord, no! I’ve got no horse. Walked from Padstow.” - -“You!—walked!” - -“Yes, heel and toe . . . two days. God, my feet are sore!” - -“How did you come to get to Padstow?” - -“Collier brig from Cardiff. Had to work my passage at that; my hands are -like raw meat from hauling on those damned braces—look! Slept in a -cow-shed at Illogan last night and milked the cows for breakfast. I’ll -warrant the farmer wondered why they were dry this morning—ha, ha! -Never mind, that’s all over. What do you think of this?” - -He reached inside the stable door and brought out a new fowling piece. - -“Bought this for you in Gloucester,” said he; “thought of you the minute -I saw it. It’s pounds lighter than father’s old blunderbuss, and look -here . . . this catch holds the priming and keeps it dry; pull the -trigger, down comes the hammer, knocks the catch up and bang! See? -Clever, ain’t it? Take hold.” - -Eli took hold of the gun like a man in a dream. Beautiful weapon though -it was, he did not even look at it. - -“But why . . . why did you work your passage?” he asked. - -“Because they wouldn’t carry me for nothing, wood-head.” - -“Were you trying to save money?” - -“Eh?—er—ye-es.” - -“Have you done as well as you expected, Ortho?” - -“N-o, not quite. I’ve had the most damnable luck, old boy.” He took -Eli’s arm. “You never heard of such bad luck in your life—and none of -it my fault. I sold a few mules at first at good prices, but the money -went—a man must eat as he goes, you know—and then there was that gun; -it cost a pretty penny. Then trouble began. I lost three beasts at -Tewkesbury. They got scared in the night. One broke a shoulder and two -went over a quarry. But at Hereford . . . Oh, my God!” - -“What happened?” - -“Glanders. They went like flies. Pyramus saw what it was right off, and -we ran for it, south, selling horses to the first bid; that is, we tried -to, but they were too sick and word went faster than we. The crowd got -ugly, swore we’d infected the country and they’d hang us; they would -have, too, if we’d waited. They very nearly had me, boy, very nearly.” - -“Did they mark your face like that?” - -“They did, with a lump of slate. And that isn’t all. I’ve got half a -dozen more like it scattered about.” He laughed. “But no matter; they -didn’t get me and I’m safe home again, thank God!” - -“And the horses?” - -“They killed every one of ’em to stop the infection.” - -“Then you haven’t got any money?” - -Ortho shook his head. “Not a penny.” - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - -Misfortune did not daunt Ortho for long; the promising state of the home -fields put fresh heart in him. He plunged at the work chanting a pæan in -praise of agriculture, tore through obstacles and swept up his tasks -with a speed and thoroughness which left Eli and Bohenna standing -amazed. - -The Penhale brothers harvested a record crop that season—but so did -everybody else. The market was glutted and prices negligible. Except -that their own staple needs were provided for, they were no better off -than previously. Eli did not greatly care—he had done what he had set -out to do, bring a good crop home—but Ortho fell into a state of -profound gloom; it was money that he wanted. - -It seemed to make little difference in agriculture whether you harvested -a bumper yield or none at all. He had no capital to start in the -second-hand horse trade again—even did he wish to—and he had no -knowledge of any other business. He was on the desperate point of -enlisting in the army on the chance of being sent abroad and gathering -in a little loot, when opportunity rapped loudly on his door. - -He had run down towards Tol-Pedn-Penwith with Jacky’s George one -afternoon in late September. It was a fine afternoon, with a smooth sea, -and all the coves between Merther Point and Carn Scathe were full of -whitebait. They crowded close inshore in dense shoals, hiding from the -mackerel. When the mackerel charged them they stampeded in panic, -frittering the surface like wind-flaws. The gig’s crew attacked the -attackers and did so well that they did not notice the passage of time. - -Jacky’s George came to his senses as the sun slipped under, and clapped -on all sail for home. He appeared in a hurry. By the time they were -abreast of the Camper, the wind, which had been backing all the -afternoon, was a dead-muzzler. Jacky’s George did what he was seldom -known to do; he blasphemed, ported his helm and ran on a long leg out to -sea. By ten o’clock they had leveled Boscawen Point, but the wind fell -away altogether and they were becalmed three miles out in the Channel. -Jacky’s George blasphemed again and ordered oars out. The gig was heavy -and the tide against them. It took Ortho and three young Baragwanaths an -hour and a half to open Monks Cove. - -Ortho could not see the reason of it, of wrenching one’s arms out, when -in an hour or two the tide would carry them in. However, he knew better -than to question Jacky’s George’s orders. Even when Monks Cove was -reached the little man did not go in, but pointed across for Black Carn. -As they paddled under the lee of the cape there came a peculiar whistle -from the gloom ahead, to which the bow-oar responded, and Ortho made out -a boat riding to a kedge. They pulled alongside and made fast. It was -the second Baragwanath gig, with the eldest son, Anson, and the -remainder of the brothers aboard. - -“Who’s that you got wid ’e?” came the hushed voice of Anson. - -“Ortho Penhale,” his father replied. “Hadn’t time to put en -ashore—becalmed way out. Has a showed up yet?” - -“Naw, a’s late.” - -“Ess. Wind’s felled away. All quiet in Cove?” - -“Ess, sure. Every road’s watched and Ma’s got a furze stacked up to -touch off if she gets warning.” - -“All right . . . well, keep your eye peeled for his signal.” - -Light suddenly broke on Ortho. There was a run on and he was in -it—thrilling! He leaned towards Jacky’s George and whispered, “Who’s -coming? Roscoff boat?” - -Jacky’s George uttered two words which sent an electric quiver through -him: - -“King Nick.” - -King Nick. Captain Nicholas Buzza, prince of Free Traders, the man who -had made more runs than all the rest put together, who owned a fleet of -armed smugglers and cheated the Revenue of thousands a year. Who had -fooled the riding officers times out of number and beaten off the -Militia. Who had put to sea after a big privateer sent to suppress him, -fought a running fight from Godrevy to Trevose and sent her diving down -the deep sea. The mercurial, dare-devil King Nick who was said to be -unable to sleep comfortably unless there was a price on his head; who -had raided Penzance by the light of the moon and recaptured a lost -cargo; who had been surprised by the gaugers off Cawsand, chopped to -bits with cutlasses, left for dead—and then swam ashore; who was -reported to walk through Peter Port with all the Guernsey merchants -bowing low before him, was called “Duc de Roscoff” in Brittany, and -commanded more deference in Schiedam than its own Burgomaster. King -Nick, the romantic idol of every West Country boy, coming to Monks Cove -that very night, even then moving towards them through the dark. Ortho -felt as if he were about to enter the presence of Almighty God. - -“Is it a big run?” he whispered to Jacky’s George, trembling with -excitement. - -“Naw, main run was at Porthleven last night. This is but the leavings. A -few trifles for the Kiddlywink to oblige me.” - -“Is King Nick a friend of yours, then?” said Ortho, wide-eyed. - -“Lord save you, yes! We was privateering together years ago.” - -Ortho regarded the fisherman with added veneration. - -“If a don’t come soon a’ll miss tide,” Anson hissed from the other boat. - -“He’ll come, tide or no tide,” snapped his father. “Hold tongue, will -’e? Dost want whole world to hear?” - -Anson subsided. - -There was a faint mist clouding the sea, but overhead rode a splendor of -stars, an illimitable glitter of silver dust. Nothing was to be heard -but the occasional scrape of sea-boots as one cramped boy or other -shifted position, the wail of a disturbed sea bird from the looming -rookeries above them, the everlasting beat of surf on the Twelve -Apostles a mile away to the southwest and the splash and sigh of some -tired ninth wave heaving itself over the ledges below Black Carn. - -An hour went by. Ashore a cock crowed, and a fisherman’s donkey, -tethered high up the cliff-side, roared asthmatically in reply. The -boats swung round as the tide slackened and made. The night freshened. -Ripples lapped the bows. The land wind was blowing. Ortho lay face-down -on the stroke thwart and yawned. Adventure—if adventure there was to -be—was a long time coming. He was getting cold. The rhythmic lift and -droop of the gig, the lisp and chuckle of the water voices had a -hypnotic effect on him. He pillowed his cheek on his forearms and -drowsed, dreamt he was swaying in gloomy space, disembodied, -unsubstantial, a wraith dipping and soaring over a bottomless void. -Clouds rolled by him big as continents. He saw the sun and moon below -him no bigger than pins’ heads and world upon glittering world strewn -across the dark like grains of sand. He could not have long lain thus, -could not have fallen fully asleep, for Anson’s first low call set him -wide awake. - -“Sail ho!” - -Both boats’ crews sat up as one man. - -“Where away?” - -“Sou’-east.” - -Ortho’s eyes bored into the hollow murk seawards, but could distinguish -nothing for the moment. Then, as he stared, it seemed to him that the -dark smudge that was the corner of the Carn was expanding westwards. It -stretched and stretched until, finally, a piece detached itself -altogether and he knew it was a big cutter creeping close inshore under -full sail. Never a wink of light did the stranger show. - -“Hast lantern ready?” hissed Jacky’s George. - -“Aye,” from Anson. - -“Cast off there, hoist killick and stand by.” - -“Aye, aye!” - -The blur that was the cutter crept on, silent as a shadow, almost -indistinguishable against the further dark, a black moth on black -velvet. All eyes watched her. Suddenly a green light glowed amidships, -stabbing the inky waters with an emerald dagger, glowed steadily, -blinked out, glowed again and vanished. Ortho felt his heart bound into -his throat. - -“Now,” snapped Jacky’s George. “Show lantern . . . four times, -remember.” - -Anson stood up and did as he was bid. - -The green lantern replied, the cutter rounded up in the wind and drifted -towards them, tide-borne. - -“Out oars and pull,” said Jacky’s George. - -They swept within forty yards of the cutter. - -“’Vast pulling,” came a voice from her bows. - -“Back water, all!” Jacky’s George commanded. - -“Is that George Baragwanath?” came the voice again, a high-pitched, -kindly voice, marvelously clear. - -“Aye, aye!” - -“What’s the word then, my dear?” - -“Hosannah!” - -“What’s that there boat astern of ’e?” - -“Mine—my second boat.” - -“Well, tell him to keep off a cable’s length till I’ve seen to ’e,” the -amiable voice continued. “If he closes ’fore I tell en I’ll blow him -outer the water as God is my salvation. No offense meant, but we can’t -take chances, you understand. Come ahead, you.” - -The gig’s crew gave way and brought their craft alongside the smuggler. - -“One at a time,” said the voice somewhere in the darkness above them, -mild as a ringdove. “George, my dear soul, step up alone, will ’e, -please?” - -Jacky’s George went over the rail and out of sight. - -Ortho heard the voice greet him affectionately and then attend to the -helmsman. - -“Back fore-sail, Zebedee; she’ll jam ’tween wind and tide. No call to -anchor. We’ll have this little deck load off in ten minutes, please God, -amen! There it is all before you, George—low Hollands proof, brandy, -sugar, and a snatch of snuff. Tally it, will you, please. We’re late, -I’m afraid. I was addressing a few earnest seekers after grace at -Rosudgeon this afternoon and the word of the Lord came upon me and I -spake overlong, I fear, trembling and sweating in my unworthiness—and -then the wind fell very slight. I had to sweep her along till, by God’s -infinite mercy, I picked up this shore draught. Whistle up your second -boat and we’ll load ’em both sides to once. You haven’t been washed in -the blood of the Lamb as yet, have you, George? Ah, that it might be -vouchsafed this unworthy vessel to purge you with hyssop! I must have a -quiet talk with you. Steady with them tubs, Harry; you’ll drop ’em -through the gig.” - -For the next quarter of an hour Ortho was busy stowing casks lowered by -the cutter’s crew, but all the time the sweet voice went on. It seemed -to be trying to persuade Jacky’s George into something he would not do. -He could hear the pair tramping the deck above him side by side—one, -two, three, four and roundabout, one, two, three, four and -roundabout—the voice purling like a melodious brook; Jacky’s George’s -gruff negatives, and the brook purling on again unruffled. Nobody else -on the cutter uttered a sound; it might have been manned by a company of -mutes. - -Anson called from the port side that he was loaded. Jacky’s George broke -off his conversation and crossed over. - -“Pull in then. Soon’s you’ve got ’em stowed show a spark and I’ll -follow.” - -Anson’s gig disappeared shorewards, wallowing deep. Jacky’s George -gripped a stay with his hook and swung over the rail into his own boat. - -“I can’t do it, cap’n,” he called. “Good night and thank ’e kindly all -the same. Cast off!” - -They were away. It burst upon Ortho that he had not seen his hero—that -he never would. In a minute the tall cutter would be fading away -seawards as mysteriously as she had come and the great King Nick would -be never anything to him but a voice. He could have cried out with -disappointment. - -“Push off,” said Jacky’s George. - -Ortho leant on his oar and pushed and, as he did so, somebody sprang -from the cutter’s rail, landed on the piled casks behind him as lightly -as a cat, steadied himself with a hand on his shoulder and dropped into -the stern-sheets beside the fisherman. - -“Coming ashore wid ’e, George,” said the voice, “and by God’s grace I’ll -persuade ’e yet.” - -King Nick was in the boat! - -“Mind what I bade ’e, Zebedee,” he hailed the cutter. “Take she round to -once and I’ll be off to-morrow night by God’s providence and loving -kindness.” The cutter swung slowly on her heel, drifted beam on to the -lapping tide, felt her helm and was gone, blotted out, swallowed up, -might never have been. - -But King Nick was in the boat! Ortho could not see him—he was merely a -smudged silhouette—but he was in the stern-sheets not a yard distant. -Their calves were actually rubbing! Could such things be? - -They paddled in and hung a couple of cables’ length off shore waiting -Anson’s signal. The smuggler began his argument again, and this time -Ortho heard all; he couldn’t help it. - -“Think of the money in it, George. You’ve got a growing family. Think o’ -your duty to them.” - -“I reckon they won’t starve—why won’t the bay men do ’e?” - -“’Cos there’s a new collector coming to Penzance and a regiment o’ -dragoons, and you know what they rogues are—‘their mouth is full of -cursing and bitterness, their feet are swift to shed blood’—nothing -like they poor lambs the militia. Won’t be able to move a pack horse -between Mousehole and Marazion wid they lawless scum about—God ha’ -mercy on ’em and pardon ’em!” - -“Who told ’e new collector and sojers is coming?” - -“The old collector, Mr. Hawkesby. Took him a pin o’ crafty old Jamaica -with my respects only last Tuesday and he showed me the letter signed -and sealed. An honorable Christian gentleman is Mr. Hawkesby; many a -holy discourse have I had with him. He wouldn’t deceive me. No, George, -‘Strangers are risen up against me and tyrants.’ . . . ‘Lo, the ungodly -bend their bow.’” - -“Umph! Well, why don’t ’e run it straight on north coast, handy to -market?” - -King Nick’s voice took on a slightly pained tone. “George, George, my -dear life, ponder, will ’e? Consider where between St. Ives and Sennen -_can_ I run a cargo. And how many days a week in winter can I land at -Sennen—eh? Not one. Not one in a month hardly. ‘He gathereth the waters -of the sea together, as it was upon a heap.’ Psalm thirty-three. And -it’s in winter that the notable hard drinking’s done, as thou well -knowest. What else is the poor dear souls to do in the long bitter -evenings? Think o’ they poor St. Just tinners down in the damp and dark -all day. ’Tis the duty of any man professing Christian love and charity -to assist they poor souls to get a drop of warm liquor cheap. What saith -the Book? ‘Blessed is he that considereth the poor and needy.’ Think on -that, George.” There were tears in the melodious brook. - -Jacky’s George grunted. “Dunno as I’ve got any turrible love for -tinners. The last pair o’ they mucky toads as comed here pretty nigh -clawed my house down. Why not Porgwarra or Penberth?” - -“’Cos there aren’t a man there I’d trust, George. I wouldn’t put my -trust en nobody but you—‘The faithful are minished from among the sons -o’ men.’ You run a bit for yourself; why can’t ’e run a bit more and -make a fortune? What’s come over ’e, my old and bold? ’Fraid, are ’e, -all to once? What for? You’ve got a snug landing and a straight track -over the moors, wid never a soul to see ’e pass. Riders can’t rush ’e -here in this little crack o’ the rocks; they’d break their stiff necks. -‘Let their way be dark and slippery and let the angel of the Lord -persecute them: and we shall wash our footsteps in the blood of the -ungodly.’ What makes ’e hold back, old shipmate?” - -“Horses,” said Jacky’s George. “Lookee, Cap’n Nick, the money’s good and -I do respect it as much as the next man. I aren’t ’fraid of riders nor -anything else—save tumors—and if it were only a matter of landing, -why, I’d land ’s much stuff as you’ve a mind to. But carry goods to St. -Just for ’e, I won’t, for that means horses, and horses means farmers. -I’m bred to the sea myself and I can’t abide farmers. I’ve tried it -before and there’s always trouble. It do take a week walking round the -earth collecting ’em, and then some do show up and some don’t, and where -are we then? Why, where the cat was—in the tar-barrel. Paul farmers -won’t mix wid Gwithian, and Sancreed can’t stomach neither. And, what is -more, they do eat up all your profits—five shillings here, ten -shillings there—and that ain’t the end of it. When you think you’ve -done paying a farmer, slit me, you’ve only just begun. I won’t be -plagued wid ’em, so that’s the finish.” - -“Listen to me a minute,” King Nick purled on, quite undeterred. “I’ll -tell ’e. . . .” - -“T’eddn no manner of use, cap’n,” said Jacky’s George, standing up. -“There’s the light showing. Way all! Bend to it!” - -The gig shot shorewards for the slip. - -The manner in which the Baragwanath family disposed of a run contained -the elements of magic. It was a conjuring trick, no less—“now you see -it, now you don’t.” At one moment the slip-head was chockablock with -bales and barrels; at the next it was bare. They swooped purposefully -out of nowhere, fell upon the goods and—hey, presto!—spirited -themselves back into nowhere, leaving the slip wiped clean. - -Including one son and two daughters-in-law, the tribe mustered fourteen -in all, and in the handling of illicit merchandise the ladies were as -gifted as the gentlemen. Ortho was laboriously trundling a cask up the -slip when he encountered one of the Misses Baragwanath, who gave him a -push and took the matter out of his hands. By the time he had recovered -his balance she had gone and so had the cask. It was too dark to see -which way she went. Not that he was interested; on the contrary, he -wanted to think. He had a plan forming in his head, a money-making plan. - -He strode up and down the bare strip by the boat capstan getting the -details clear. It did not take him long, being simplicity itself. He -hitched his belt and marched up the little hamlet hot with inspiration. - -Subdued mysterious sounds came from the surrounding darkness, whispering -thuds, shovel scrapings, sighs as of men heaving heavy weights. A shed -suddenly exploded with the clamour of startled hens. In another a sow -protested vocally against the disturbance of her bed. There was a big -bank running beside the stream in front of “The Admiral Anson.” As Ortho -passed by the great mass of earth and bowlders became articulate. A -voice deep within its core said softly, “Shift en a bit further up, -Zack; there’s three more to come.” - -Ortho saw a thin chink of light between two of the bowlders, grinned and -strode into the kitchen of the Kiddlywink. There was a chill burning on -the table and a kettle humming on the hearth. Jacky’s George sat before -the fire, stirring a mug of grog which he held between his knees. -Opposite him sat a tall old man dressed in unrelieved black from neck to -toe. A wreath of snowy hair circled his bald pate like a halo. A pair of -tortoise-shell spectacles jockeyed the extreme tip of his nose, he -regarded Jacky’s George over their rims with an expression benign but -pained. - -Jacky’s George looked up at Ortho’s entrance. - -“Hallo, what is it?” - -“Where’s King Nick? I want to see him.” - -The tortoise-shell spectacles turned slowly in his direction. - -“There is but one King, my son, omnipotent and all-merciful. One -King—on High . . . but my name is certainly Nicholas.” - -Ortho staggered. This the master-smuggler, the swashbuckling, -devil-may-care hero of song and story! This rook-coated, bespectacled, -white-headed old Canorum [Methodist] local preacher, King Nick! His -senses reeled. It could never be, and yet he knew it was. It was the -same voice, the voice that had blandly informed Anson he would blow him -out of the water if he pulled another stroke. He felt for the door post -and leaned against it goggling. - -“Well?” - -Ortho licked his lips. - -“Well? I eddn no fiery dragon to eat ’e, boy. Say thy say.” - -Ortho drew a long breath, hesitated and let it out with a rush. - -“I can find the horses you’re wanting. I can find thirty horses a night -any time after Twelfth Night, and land your goods in St. Just under four -hours.” - -King Nick screwed round in his chair, turning the other side of his face -to the light, and Ortho saw, with a shock of revulsion, that the ear had -been sheared off and his face furrowed across and across with two -terrible scars—relics of the Cawsand affair. It was as though the old -man was revealing the other side of him, spiritual as well as physical. - -“Come nearer, lad. How do ’e knaw I want horses?” - -“I heard you. I was pulling stroke in boat.” - -“Son o’ yourn, George? He don’t favor ’e, seem me.” - -“Naw. Young Squire Penhale from Bosula up-valley.” - -“You knaw en?” - -“Since he were weaned.” - -“Ah, ha! Ah, ha!” The smuggler’s blue eyes rested on Ortho, benevolent -yet probing. “And where can you find thirty horses, my son? ’Tis a brear -passell.” - -“Gypsy Herne rests on my land over winter; he has plenty.” - -“An Egyptian! An idolater! A worshiper after false gods! Put not thy -trust in such, boy—though I do hear many of the young ones is baptized -and coming to the way of Light. Hum! Ha! . . . But how do ’e knaw he’ll -do it!” - -“’Cos he wants the money bad. He lost three parts of his stock in Wales -this summer. I was with en.” - -“Oh, wid en, were ’e? So you knawn en well. And horse leaders?” - -“There’s seven Romanies and three of us up to farm.” - -“You knaw the country, s’pose?” - -“Day or night like my own yard.” - -King Nick turned on Jacky’s George, a faint smile curling the corners of -his mouth. “What do ’e say now, George? Can this young man find the -horses, think you?” - -“Ess, s’pose.” - -“Do ’e trust en?” - -A nod. - -“Then what more ’ave ’e got to say, my dear?” - -The fisherman scratched his beard, breathed heavily through his nostrils -and said, “All right.” - -King Nick rose to his feet, rubbing his hands together. - -“‘Now let Jacob rejoice and Israel be glad.’ That’s settled. Welcome -back to the fold, George, my old soul. ‘This is my brother that was dead -but is alive again.’ Soon’s you give me word the Romany is agreeable -I’ll slip ’e the cargoes, so shall the poor tinner be comforted at a -reasonable price and the Lord be praised with cymbals—‘yea, with -trumpets also and shawms.’ Gather in all the young men and maidens, -George, that we may ask a blessing on our labors! Fetch ’em in to once, -for I can feel the word of the Lord descending upon me!” - - * * * * * - -Dawn peering through the bottle-panes of Jacky’s George’s Kiddlywink saw -the entire Baragwanath family packed shoulder to shoulder singing -lustily, while before them, on a chair, stood a benevolent old gentleman -in black beating time with one of John Wesley’s hymnals, white hair -wreathing his head like a silver glory. - -“Chant, my dear beauties!” he cried. “Oh, be cheerful! Be jubilant! Lift -up your voices unto the Lord! ‘Awake up, my glory, Awake lute and harp!’ -Now all together!” - - “When passing through the watery deep - I ask in faith His promised aid; - The waves an awful distance keep - And shrink from my devoted head.” - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - -Pyramus came down earlier than usual that year. The tenth of December -saw his smoke-grimed wigwams erected in the little wood, the cloaks and -scarves of the Romany women making bright blots of color among the -somber trees, bronze babies rolling among bronze leaves. - -Ortho was right; the gypsy chief had been hard hit and was open to any -scheme for recouping his fortunes. After considerable haggling he -consented to a fee of six shillings per horse per run—leaders thrown -in—which was a shilling more than Ortho had intended to give him and -two shillings more than he would have taken if pressed. The cavalry had -not arrived as yet, and Ortho did not think it politic to inform Pyramus -they were expected; there were the makings in him of a good business -man. - -The first run was dated for the night of January the third, but the -heavy ground swell was rolling in and the lugger lay off until the -evening of the fifth. King Nick arrived on the morning of the third, -stepped quietly into the kitchen of the “Admiral Anson” as the -Baragwanath family were sitting down to breakfast, having walked by -night from Germoe. The meal finished, he gave melodious thanks to -Heaven, sent for Ortho, asked what arrangements had been made for the -landing, condemned them root and branch and substituted an entirely -fresh lot. That done, he rode off to St. Just to survey the proposed -pack route, taking Ortho with him. - -He was back again by eight o’clock at night and immediately held a -prayer-meeting in the Kiddlywink, preaching on “Lo, he thirsteth even as -a hart thirsteth after the water brooks”—a vindication of the gin -traffic—and passing on to describe the pains of hell with such graphic -detail that one Cove woman fainted and another had hysterics. - -The run came off without a hitch two nights later. Ortho had his horses -loaded up and away by nine o’clock. At one-thirty a crowd of -enthusiastic diggers (all armed with clubs) were stripping his load and -secreting it in an old mine working on the outskirts of St. Just. He was -home in bed before dawn. Fifty-six casks of mixed gin, claret and brandy -they carried that night, not to mention five hundredweight of tea. - -On January 17th he carried forty-three casks, a bale of silk and a -hundredweight of tea to Pendeen, dumping some odds and ends outside -Gwithian as he passed by. And so it went on. - -The consumption of cheap spirits among the miners was enormous. John -Wesley, to whose credit can be placed almost the whole moral -regeneration of the Cornish tinner, describes them as “those who feared -not God nor regarded man,” accuses them of wrecking ships and murdering -the survivors and of taking their pleasure in “hurling, at which limbs -are often broken, fighting, drinking, and all other manner of -wickedness.” - -In winter their pastimes were restricted to fighting and -drinking—principally drinking—in furtherance of which Ortho did a -roaring trade. Between the beginning of January and the end of March he -ran an average of five landings a month without any one so much as -wagging a finger at him. The dragoons arrived at Christmas, but instead -of a regiment two troops only appeared and they speedily declared a -policy of “live and let live.” Their commanding officer, Captain Hambro, -had not returned to his native land after years of hard campaigning to -spend his nights galloping down blind byways at the behest of a civilian -riding officer. - -He had some regard for his horses’ legs and more for his own comfort. He -preferred playing whist with the local gentry, who had fair daughters -and who were the soul of hospitality. He temporized good-humoredly with -the collector, danced quadrilles with the fair daughters at the “Ship -and Castle,” and toasted their bright eyes in excellent port and claret, -the knowledge that it had not paid a penny of duty in nowise detracting -from its flavor. Occasionally—when he had no other appointment and the -weather was passable—he mounted his stalwarts and made a spectacular -drive—this as a sop to the collector. But he never came westwards; the -going was too rough, and, besides, St. Just was but small potatoes -compared with big mining districts to the east. - -For every cask landed at Monks Cove, King Nick and his merry men landed -twenty either at Prussia Cove, Porthleven, Hayle or Portreath—sometimes -at all four places simultaneously. Whenever Capt. Hambro’s troopers -climbed into their saddles and took the road to Long Rock, a simple but -effective system of signals flashed ahead of them so that they found -very little. - -There was one nasty affair on Marazion Beach. Owing to a -misunderstanding the cavalry came upon a swarm of tinners in process of -making a landing. The tinners (who had broached a cask and were full of -spirit in more senses than one) foolishly opened hostilities. The result -was two troopers wounded, six miners killed—bearing out King Nick’s -warning that the soldiers might easily be fooled, but they were by no -means so easily frightened. The trade absorbed this lesson and there -were no more regrettable incidents that season. - -Ortho was satisfied with his winter’s work beyond all expectations. It -was a common tenet among Free Traders of those days that one cargo saved -would pay for two lost, and Ortho, so far from losing a single cargo, -had only lost five tubs in all—three stove in transshipping and two -when the mule carrying them fell into a pit. Everybody was satisfied. -The district was flooded with cheap liquor. All the Covers in turn -assisted in the boat-work and so picked up money in the off-season, when -they needed it most. Pyramus, with his animals in constant employment, -did so well that he delayed his northern trip for a month. - -The only person (with the exception of His Majesty’s Collector of -Customs) who was not entirely pleased was Eli. In defrauding the Revenue -he had no scruples whatever, but it interfered with his farming. This -smuggling was all very fine and remunerative, but it was a mere side -line. Bosula was his lifework, his being. If he and Bohenna had to be up -all night horse leading they could not be awake all day. The bracken was -creeping in again. However, they were making money, heaps of it; there -was no denying that. - -With the instinctive dislike of a seaman for a landsman, and vice versa, -neither Jacky’s George nor Pyramus would trust each other. The -amphibious Ortho was the necessary link between them and, as such, paid -out more or less what he thought fit—as has been the way with middlemen -since the birthday of the world. He paid Jacky’s George one and six per -cask for landing and Pyramus three shillings for packing (they went two -to a horse), making a profit of ten shillings clear himself. Eli, the -only person in the valley who could read, write or handle figures, kept -the accounts and knew that at the end of March they were three hundred -and forty pounds to the good. He asked Ortho where the money was. - -“Hid up the valley,” said his brother. “Put away where the devil himself -wouldn’t find it.” - -“What are you hiding it like that for?” Eli asked. - -“Mother,” said Ortho. “That last rip-roar she had must have nigh baled -her bank dry and now she’s looking for more. I think she’ve got a notion -who bubbled her last year and she’s aiming to get a bit of her own back. -She knows I’ve got money and she’s spying on me all the time. I’d tell -you where it is only I’m afeard you’d let it out without meaning to. I’m -too sly for her—but you, you’re like a pane of glass.” - -Wholesale smuggling finished with the advent of spring. The shortening -nights did not provide sufficient cover for big enterprises; dragoons -and preventive men had not the same objections to being out of their -beds in summer as in winter, and, moreover, the demand for liquor had -fallen to a minimum. - -This was an immense relief to Eli, who now gave himself heart and soul -to the farm, haling Bohenna with him; but two disastrous seasons had -impaired Ortho’s vaunted enthusiasm for “the good old soil,” and he was -absent most of the week, working up connections for next winter’s -cargo-running—so he told Eli—but it was noticeable that his business -appointments usually coincided with any sporting events held in the -Hundred, and at hurling matches, bull-baitings, cock-fights and -pony-races he became almost as familiar a figure as his mother had been, -backing his fancy freely and with not infallible judgment. However, he -paid his debts scrupulously and with good grace, and, though he drank -but little himself, was most generous in providing, gratis, refreshment -for others. He achieved strong local popularity, a priceless asset to a -man who lives by flouting the law. - -The money was not all misspent. - -He developed in other ways, began to be particular about his person in -imitation of the better-class squires, visited a Penzance tailor of -fashion and was henceforth to be seen on public occasions in a -wide-skirted suit of black broadcloth frogged with silver lace, high -stockings to match and silver-buckled shoes, very handsome altogether. - -He had his mother’s blue-black hair, curling, bull-like, all over his -head, sparkling eyes and strong white teeth. When he was fifteen she had -put small gold rings in his ears—to improve his sight, so she said. At -twenty he was six feet tall, slim and springy, moving among the boorish -crowds like a rapier among bludgeons. His laugh was ready and he had a -princely way with his money. Women turned their eyes his way, -sighing—and he was not insensible. - -Rumors of his brother’s amorous affairs drifted home to Eli from time to -time. He had cast off the parish clerk’s daughter, Tamsin Eva, and was -after a farmer’s young widow in St. Levan. Now he had quarreled with the -widow and was to be seen in Trewellard courting a mine captain’s -daughter. Again he had put the miner’s daughter by, and St. Ives gossips -were coupling his name with that of the wife of a local preacher and -making a great hoity-toity about it—and so on. It was impossible to -keep track of Ortho’s activities in the game of hearts. - -He came home one morning limping from a slight gunshot wound in the -thigh, and on another occasion brought his horse in nearly galloped to -death, but he made no mention of how either of these things came about. -Though his work on the farm was negligible, he spent a busy summer one -way and another. - -Pyramus was down by the eighth of November, and on the night of the -fourteenth the ball was opened with a heavy run of goods, all of which -were safely delivered. From then on till Christmas cargo after cargo was -slipped through without mishap, but on St. Stephen’s day the weather -broke up, the wind bustled round to the southeast and blew great guns, -sending the big seas piling into Monks Cove in foaming hills. The Cove -men drew their boats well up, took down snares and antique blunderbusses -and staggered inland rabbiting. - -Eli turned back to his farm-work with delight, but prosaic hard labor -had no further attraction for Ortho. He put in a couple of days sawing -up windfalls, a couple more ferreting with Bohenna, then he went up to -Church-town and saw Tamsin Eva again. - -It was at a dance in the long room of the “Lamb and Flag” tavern and she -was looking her best, dressed in blue flounced out at the hips, with a -close-fitting bodice. She was what is known in West Cornwall as a “red -Dane,” masses of bright auburn hair she had and a soft white skin. -Ortho, whose last three little affairs had been pronounced brunettes, -turned to her with a refreshened eye, wondering what had made him leave -her. She was dancing a square dance with her faithful swain, Tom -Trevaskis, when Ortho entered, circling and curtseying happily to the -music of four fiddles led by Jiggy Dan. - -The mine captain’s daughter glowed as rosy as a pippin, too rosy; the -preacher’s spouse was an olive lady, almost swarthy. Tamsin Eva’s -slender neck might have been carved from milk-ivory and she was tinted -like a camellia. Ortho’s dark eyes glittered. But it was her hair that -fascinated him most. The room was lit by dips lashed to decorated barrel -hoops suspended from the rafters, and as Tamsin in her billowy blue -dress swept and sidled under these the candlelight played tricks with -her burnished copper head, flicked red and amber lights over and into -it, crowned her with living gold. The black Penhale felt his heart leap; -she was most lovely! Why on earth had he ever dropped her? Why? - -Deep down he knew; it was because, for all her physical attraction, she -wearied him utterly, seemed numbed in his presence, had not a word to -say. That Trewellard wench at least had a tongue in her head and the -widow had spirit; he could still almost feel his cheek tingle where she -had hit him. But that queenly crown of hair! He had an over-mastering -desire to pull it down and bury his face in the shining golden torrent. -He would too, ecod! Dull she might have been, but that was two years -ago. She’d grown since then, and so had he, and learnt a thing or two; a -score of women had been at pains to teach him. He hadn’t gone far with -Tamsin previously—she’d been too damned soft—but he would now. He’d -stir her up. Apparently shallow women were often deep as the sea, deep -enough to drown one. He’d take the risk of drowning; he fed on risks. -That the girl was formally betrothed to Trevaskis did not deter him in -the slightest. There was no point in the game in which he could not -out-maneuver the slovenly yokel. - -He waited till the heated boy went to get himself a drink, and then -shouldered through the press and claimed Tamsin for the next dance, -claiming her smilingly, inevitably, as though she was his private -property and there had not been a moment’s break between them. The -girl’s eyes went blank with dismay, she tried to decline. He didn’t seem -to hear, but took her hand. She hung back weakly. There was no weakness -in Ortho’s grip; he led her out in spite of herself. She couldn’t resist -him, she never had been able to resist him. Fortunately for her he had -never demanded much. Poor Tamsin! Two years had not matured her -mentally. She had no mind to mature; she was merely a pretty chattel, -the property of the strongest claimant. Ortho was stronger than -Trevaskis, so he got her. - -When the boy returned she was dancing with the tall Free Trader; the -golden head drooped, the life had gone out of her movements, but she was -dancing with him. Trevaskis tried to get to her at every pause, but -always Ortho’s back interposed. The farmer went outside and strode up -and down the yard, glaring from time to time through the window; always -Tamsin was dancing with Penhale. Trevaskis ground his teeth. Two years -ago he had been jockeyed in the same way. Was this swart gypsy’s whelp, -whose amorous philanderings were common talk, to have first call on his -bright girl whenever he deigned to want her? Trevaskis swore he should -not, but how to frustrate him he did not know. Plainly Tamsin was -bewitched, was incapable of resistance; she had admitted as much, -weeping. Thrash Ortho to a standstill he could not; he was not a brave -man and he dared not risk a maul with the smuggler. Had Penhale been a -“foreigner” he could have roused local feeling against him, but Penhale -was no stranger; he was the squire of Bosula and, moreover, most -popular, far more popular than he was himself. He had a wild idea of -trying a shot over a bank in the dark—and abandoned it, shuddering. -Supposing he missed! What would Penhale do to him? What wouldn’t he do -to him? Trevaskis hadn’t courage enough even for that. He strode up and -down, oblivious of the rain gusts, trying to discover a chink in the -interloper’s armor. - -As for Ortho, he went on dancing with Tamsin, and when it was over took -her home; he buried his face in that golden torrent. He was up at -Church-town the very next night and the next night and every night till -the gale blew out. - -Trevaskis, abandoning a hopeless struggle, followed in the footsteps of -many unlucky lovers and drowned his woes in drink. It was at the -Kiddlywink in Monks Cove that he did his drowning and not at the “Lamb -and Flag,” but as his farm lay about halfway between the two there was -nothing remarkable in that. - -What did cause amusement among the Covers, however, was the -extraordinary small amount of liquor it required to lay him under the -bench and the volume of his snores when he was there. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - - - 1 - -The southeasterly gale blown out, Ortho’s business went forward with a -rush. In the second week in January they landed a cargo a night to make -up for lost time, and met with a minor accident—Jacky’s George breaking -a leg in saving a gig from being stove. This handicapped them somewhat. -Anson was a capable boatsman, but haphazard in organization, and Ortho -found he had to oversee the landings as well as lead the pack-train. -Despite his efforts there were hitches and bungles here and there; the -cogs of the machinery did not mate as smoothly as they had under the -cock-sparrow. Nevertheless they got the cargoes through somehow and -there was not much to fear in the way of outside interruptions; the -dragoons seemed to have settled to almost domestic felicity in Penzance -and the revenue cutter had holed her garboard strake taking a short cut -round the Manacles and was docked at Falmouth. Ortho got so confident -that he actually brought his horses home in plain daylight. - -Then on the fourteenth of February, when all seemed so secure, the roof -fell in. - -Mr. William Carmichael was the person who pulled the props away. Mr. -William Carmichael, despite his name, was an Irishman, seventeen years -of age, and, as a newly-joined cornet of dragoons, drawing eight -shillings a day, occupied a position slightly less elevated than an -earth-worm. However, he was very far from this opinion. Mr. Carmichael, -being young and innocent, yearned to let blood, and he wasn’t in the -least particular whose. Captain Hambro and his two somewhat elderly -lieutenants, on the other hand, were experienced warriors, and -consequently the most pacific of creatures. Nothing but a direct order -from a superior would induce them to draw the sword except to poke the -fire. Mr. Carmichael’s martial spirit was in a constant state of -effervescence; he hungered and thirsted for gore—but without avail. -Hambro positively refused to let him run out and chop anybody. The -captain was a kindly man; his cornet’s agitation distressed him and he -persuaded one of the dimpled Miss Jagos to initiate his subordinate in -the gentler game of love (the boy would come into some sort of Kerry -baronetcy when his sire finally bowed down to delirium tremens, and it -was worth her while). But Mr. Carmichael was built of sterner stuff. He -was proof against her woman’s wiles. Line of attack! At ’em! The -lieutenants, Messrs. Pilkington and Jope, were also gentle souls, -Pilkington was a devotee of chess, Jope of sea-fishing. Both sought to -engage the fire-eater in their particular pastimes. It was useless; he -disdained such trivialities. Death! Glory! - -But Hambro, whose battle record was unimpeachable, knew that in civil -police work, such as he was supposed to be doing, there is precious -little transient glory to be picked up and much adhesive mud. He knew -that with the whole population against him he stood small chance of -laying the smugglers by the heels, and if he did the county families -(who were as deeply implicated as any) would never rest until they had -got him broken. He sat tight. - -This did not suit the martial Carmichael at all. He fumed and fretted, -did sword exercise in the privacy of his bedroom till his arm ached, and -then gushed his heart out in letters to his mother, which had the sole -effect of eliciting bottles of soothing syrup by return, the poor lady -thinking his blood must be out of order. - -But his time was to come. - -On the eighth of February Pilkington was called away to Axminster to the -bedside of his mother (at least that is what he called her) and -Carmichael was given his troop to annoy. On the morning of the -fourteenth Hambro left on three days’ leave to shoot partridges at -Tehidy, Jope and Carmichael only remaining. Jope blundered in at five -o’clock on the same afternoon sneezing fit to split himself. He had been -off Low Lee after pollack and all he had succeeded in catching was a -cold. He growled about the weather, which his boatman said was working -up for a blow, drank a pint of hot rum bumbo and sneezed himself up to -bed, giving strict orders that he was not to be roused on any account. - -Carmichael was left all alone. - -To him, at seven of the clock, came Mr. Richard Curral, riding officer, -a conscientious but blighted man. - -He asked for Hambro, Pilkington and Jope in turn, and groaned resignedly -when he heard they were unavailable. - -“Anything I can do for you?” Carmichael inquired. - -Curral considered, tapping his rabbit teeth with his whip handle. Mr. -Carmichael was terribly young, the merest babe. - -“N-o. I don’t think so; thank you, sir. No, never mind. Pity they’re -away, though . . . seems a chance,” he murmured, talking to himself. -“Lot of stuff been run that way of late . . . ought to be stopped by -rights . . . pity!” he sighed. - -“What’s a pity? What are you talking about?” said Mr. Carmichael, his -ears pricking. “Take that whip out of your mouth!” - -Mr. Curral withdrew the whip; he was used to being hectored by military -officers. - -“Er—oh! . . . er, the Monks Cove men are going to make a run to-night.” - -Mr. Carmichael sat upright. “Are they, b’God! How d’you know?” - -“An informer has just come in. Gives no name, of course, but says he’s -from Gwithian parish; looks like a farmer. Wants no reward.” - -“Then what’s his motive?” - -Mr. Curral shrugged his shoulders. “Some petty jealousy, I presume; it -usually is among these people. I’ve known a man give his brother away -because he got bested over some crab-pots. This fellow says he overheard -them making their plans in the inn there—lay under the table pretending -to be drunk. Says that tall Penhale is the ringleader; I’ve suspected as -much for some time. Of course it may only be a false scent after all, -but the informer seems genuine. What are you doing, sir?” - -Mr. Carmichael had danced across the room, opened the door and was -howling for his servant. His chance had come. Gore! - -“Doing! . . . Why, going to turn a troop out and skewer the lot of ’em -of course. What d’you think?” shouted that gentleman, returning. “I’d -turn out the squadron, only half the nags are streaming with strangles. -Toss me that map there. Now where is this Monks Cove?” - -Mr. Curral’s eyes opened wide. He was not used to this keenness on the -part of the military. One horse coughing slightly would have been -sufficient excuse for Hambro to refuse to move—leave alone half a -squadron sick with strangles. It promised to be a dirty night too. He -had expected to meet with a diplomatic but nevertheless definite -refusal. It was merely his three-cornered conscience that had driven him -round to the billet at all—yet here was an officer so impatient to be -off that he was attempting the impossible feat of pulling on his boots -and buckling on his sword at the same time. Curral’s eyes opened wider -and wider. - -“Ahem!—er—do you mean . . . er . . . are you in earnest, sir?” - -“Earnest!” The cornet snorted, his face radiant. “Damn my blood but I am -in very proper earnest, Mr. What’syourname—as these dastardly -scoundrels shall discover ere we’re many hours older. Earnest, b’gob!” - -“But Mr. Jope, sir . . . hadn’t you better consult Mr. Jope? . . . He -. . .” - -“Mr. Jope be dam . . . Mr. Jope has given orders that he’s not to be -disturbed on any account, on _any_ account, sir. _I_ am in command here -at the moment, and if you will have the civility to show me where this -plaguy Monks Cove hides itself instead of standing there sucking your -whip you will greatly assist me in forming my plan of action.” - -Curral bent over the map and pointed with his finger. - -“Here you are, sir, the merest gully.” - -“Then I shall charge down the gully,” said Carmichael with that quick -grasp of a situation displayed by all great commanders. The riding -officer coughed: “Then you’ll have to charge at a walk, sir, and in -single file; there’s only a rough pack-track. Further, the track is -picketed at the head; as soon as you pass a gun will be fired and when -you reach the cove there won’t be a cat stirring.” - -Carmichael, like all great commanders, had his alternative. “Then I -shall charge ’em from the flank. Can I get up speed down this slope?” - -Curral nodded. “Yes, sir. You can ride from top to bottom in a moment of -time.” - -“How d’you mean?” - -“It is practically a precipice, sir.” - -“Humph!—and this flank?” - -“The same, sir.” - -Carmichael scratched his ear and for the first time took thought. -“Lookee,” he said presently. “If I stop the pack track here and there -are precipices on either side how can they get their horses out? I’ve -got ’em bottled.” - -Curral shook his head. “I said _practically_ precipices, sir. Precipices -to go _down_, but not to come _up_. As you yourself have probably -observed, sir, a horse can scramble up anything, but he is a fool going -down. A horse falling uphill doesn’t fall far, but a horse falling down -a slope like that rolls to the bottom. A horse . . .” - -“Man,” snapped the cornet, “don’t talk to me about horses. My father -keeps twenty. I know.” - -Curral coughed. “I beg your pardon, sir. The informer tells me there are -a dozen places on either side by which these fellows can get their -beasts to the level. Remember it is their own valley; they’re at home -there, while we are strangers and in the dark.” - -“I wish you could get out of this habit of propounding the obvious,” -said Carmichael. He dabbed his finger down on the map. “Look—supposing -we wait for them out here across their line of march?” - -“They’d scatter all over the moor, sir. We’d be lucky if we caught a -couple on a thick night like this.” - -Carmichael plumped down on a chair and savagely rubbed his curls. - -“Well, Mr. Riding Officer, I presume that in the face of these -insurmountable difficulties you propose to sit down and do nothing—as -usual. Let these damned ruffians run their gin, flout the law, do -exactly as they like. Now let me tell you I’m of a different kidney, I -. . .” - -“You will pardon me, sir,” said Curral quietly, “but I haven’t as yet -been given the opportunity of proposing anything.” - -“What’s your plan then?” - -“How many men can you mount, sir?” - -“Forty with luck. I’ll have to beat the taverns for ’em.” - -“Very good, sir. Send a small detachment to stop the head of the track; -not to be there before ten o’clock. The rest, under yourself, with me -for guide, will ride to the top of the cliff which overhangs the village -from the east and there leave the horses. The informer tells me there is -a sheep-track leading down from there and they picket the top of it—an -old man with a gun to fire if he hears anything. That picket will have -to be silenced.” - -“Who’s going to do that?” the cornet inquired. - -“I’ve got a man of my own I think can do it. He was a great poacher -before he got religion.” - -“And then?” - -“Then we’ll creep, single file, down the sheep-track, muster behind the -pilchard sheds and rush the landing—the goods should be ashore by then. -I trust that meets with your approval, sir?” - -The cornet nodded, sobered. “It does—you seem to be something of a -tactician, Mr. . . . er . . . Curral.” - -“I served foreign with Lord Mark Kerr’s Regiment of Horse Guards, sir,” -said the riding officer, picking up his whip. - -Carmichael’s jaw dropped. “Horse Guards! . . . Abroad! . . . One of -_us_! Dash my guts, man, why didn’t you say so before?” - -“You didn’t ask me, sir,” said Curral and sucked his whip. - - 2 - -Uncle Billy Clemo sat behind a rock at the top of the sheep-path and -wished to Heaven the signal would go up. A lantern run three times to -the truck of the flag-pole was the signal that the horses were away and -the pickets could come in. Then he would be rewarded with two shillings -and a drop of hot toddy at the Kiddlywink—and so to bed. - -He concentrated his thoughts on the hot toddy, imagined it tickling -bewitchingly against his palate, wafting delicious fumes up his -nostrils, gripping him by the throat, trickling, drop by drop, through -his chilled system, warm and comforting, trickling down to his very -toes. He would be happy then. He had been on duty since seven-thirty; it -was now after ten and perishing cold. The wind had gone round suddenly -to the northeast and was gaining violence every minute. Before dawn it -would be blowing a full gale. Uncle Billy was profoundly thankful he was -not a horse leader. While Penhale and Company were buffeting their way -over the moors he would be in bed, praise God, full of toddy. In the -meanwhile it was bitter cold. He shifted his position somewhat so as to -get more under the lee of the rock and peered downwards to see how they -were getting on. He could not see much. The valley was a pit of -darkness. A few points of light marked the position of the hamlet, -window lights only. The fisher-folk knew their own place as rats know -their holes and made no unnecessary show of lanterns. A stranger would -have imagined the hamlet slept; in reality it was humming like a hive. - -A dim half-moon of foam marked the in-curve of the Cove; seaward was -blank darkness again. Uncle Billy, knowing what to look for and where to -look, made out a slightly darker blur against the outer murk—the lugger -riding to moorings, main and mizzen set. She was plunging a goodish bit, -even down there under shelter of the cliffs. Uncle Billy reckoned the -boat’s crews must be earning their money pulling in against wind and -ebb, and once more gave thanks he was not as other men. - -The wind came whimpering over the high land, bending the gorse plumes -before it, rattling the dead brambles, rustling the grass. Something -stirred among the brambles, something living. He picked up his old Brown -Bess. A whiff of scent crossed his nostrils, pungent, clinging. He put -the Bess down again. Fox. He was bitter cold, especially as to the feet. -He was a widower and his daughter-in-law kept him short in the matter of -socks. He stood up—which was against orders—and stamped the turf till -he got some warmth back in his toes, sat down again and thought about -the hot toddy. The lugger was still there, lunging at her moorings. They -were a plaguy time landing a few kegs! Jacky’s George would have -finished long before—these boys! Whew! it was cold up there! - -The gale’s voice was rising to a steady scream; it broke against Uncle -Billy’s rock as though it had been a wave. Shreds of dead bracken and -grass whirled overhead. The outer darkness, which was the sea, showed -momentary winks of gray—breakers. When the wind lulled for a second, a -deep melancholy bay, like that of some huge beast growling for meat, -came rolling in from the southwest—the surf on the Twelve Apostles. - -There were stirrings and snappings in the brambles. That plaguy fox -again, thought Uncle Billy—or else rabbits. His fingers were numb now. -He put the Bess down beside him, blew on his hands, thrust them well -down in his pockets and snuggled back against the rock. The lugger would -slip moorings soon whether she had unloaded or not, and then toddy, -scalding his throat, trickling down to his . . . - -Something heavy dropped on him from the top of the rock, knocking him -sideways, away from the gun, pinning him to the ground; hands, big and -strong as brass, took him round the throat, drove cruel thumbs into his -jugular, strangling him. - -“Got him, Joe,” said a voice. “Bring rope and gag quick!” He got no hot -toddy that night. - - 3 - -“That the lot?” the lugger captain bellowed. - -“Aye,” answered his mate. - -“Cast off that shore boat then and let go forward soon’s she’m clear.” - -“Aye, aye. Pull clear, you; look lively!” - -The _Gamecock’s_ crew jerked their oars into the pins and dragged the -gig out of harm’s way. - -The moorings buoy splashed overboard, the lugger, her mainsail backed, -came round before the wind and was gone. - -“Give way,” said Anson; “the wind’s getting up a fright.” He turned to -Ortho. “You’ll have a trip to-night . . . rather you nor me.” - -Ortho spat clear of the gunwale. “Have to go, I reckon; the stuff’s -wanted, blast it! Has that boat ahead unloaded yet?” - -“She haven’t signaled,” the bowman answered. - -“No matter, pull in,” said Anson. “We haven’t no more than the leavings -here; we can land this li’l’ lot ourselves. Give way, all.” - -Four blades bit the water with a will, but the rowers had to bend their -backs to wrench the gig in against the wind and tide. It was a quarter -of an hour before they grounded her nose on the base of the slip. - -“Drag her up a bit, boys,” said Anson. “Hell!—what’s that?” - -From among the dark huddle of houses came a woman’s scream, -two—three—and then pandemonium, shouts, oaths, crashes, horses -stamping, the noise of people rushing and struggling, and, above all, a -boy’s voice hysterically shouting, “Fire! Curse you! Fire!” - -“Christ!” said Ortho. “The Riders! Hey, push her off! For God’s sake, -push!” - -The two bowmen, standing in the water, put their backs to the boat and -hove; Ortho and Anson in the stern used their oars pole-wise. - -“All together, he-ave!” - -Slowly the gig began to make stern-way. - -“Heave!” - -The gig made another foot. Feet clattered on the slip-head and a voice -cried, “Here’s a boat escaping! Halt or I fire!” - -“Hea-ve!” Ortho yelled. The gig made another foot and was afloat. There -was a spurt of fire from the slip and a bullet went droning overhead. -The bowman turned and dodged for safety among the rocks. - -“Back water, back!” Anson exhorted. - -There were more shouts from the shore, the boy’s voice crowing shrill as -a cockerel, a quick succession of flashes and more bullets went wailing -by. The pair in the boat dragged at their oars, teeth locked, terrified. - -Wind and tide swept them up, darkness engulfed them. In a couple of -minutes the shots ceased and they knew they were invisible. They lay on -their oars, panting. - -“What now?” said Ortho. “Go after the lugger? We can’t go back.” - -“Lugger’s miles away, going like a stag,” said Anson. “Best chance it -across the bay to Porthleven.” - -“Porthleven?” - -“Where else? Wind’s dead nor’east. Lucky if we make that. Throw this -stuff out; she’s riding deep as a log.” - -They lightened the gig of its entire load and stepped the mast. Anson -was at the halliards hoisting the close-reefed mainsail. Ortho kept at -the tiller until there was a spit of riven air across his cheek and down -came the sail on the run. - -He called out, “What’s the matter?” - -There was no answer for a minute, and then Anson said calmly from under -the sail, “Shot, I b’lieve.” - -“What is—halliards?” - -“Me, b’lieve.” - -“You! Shot! What d’you mean? Where?” - -“In chest. Stray shot, I reckon; they can’t hit nawthing when they aim. -Thee’ll have to take her thyself now. . . . O-ooh. . . .” He made a -sudden, surprised exclamation as if the pain had only just dawned on him -and began to cough. - -“Hoist sail . . . thou . . . fool. . . A-ah!” - -Ortho sprang forward and hoisted the sail; the gig leapt seawards. The -coughing began again mingled with groans. They stabbed Ortho to the -heart. Instead of running away they should be putting back; it was a -doctor they wanted. He would put back at once and get Anson attended to. -That he himself would be arrested as the ringleader, tried and either -hung or transported did not occur to him. Half his happy boyhood had -been spent with Anson; the one thing was to ease his agony. - -“Going to put back,” he yelled to the prostrate man under the bow -thwart. “Put back!” - -“You can’t,” came the reply . . . and more coughing. - -Of course he couldn’t. If he had thought for a moment he would have -known it. Wind and tide would not let him put back. There was nothing -for it but the twelve-mile thrash across the open bay to Porthleven; he -prayed there might be a doctor there. - -He luffed, sheeted home, rounded the great mass of Black Carn, braced as -sharp as he dared and met a thunder clap of wind and sea. It might have -been waiting for him round the corner, so surely did it pounce. It -launched itself at him roaring, a ridge of crumbling white high -overhead, a hill of water toppling over. - -The loom and bellow of it stunned his senses, but habit is a strong -master. His mind went blank, but his hand acted, automatically jamming -the helm hard over. The gig had good way on; she spun as a horse spins -on its hocks and met the monster just in time. Stood on her stern; rose, -seesawed on the crest, three quarters of her keel bare, white tatters -flying over her; walloped down into the trough as though on a direct -dive to the bottom, recovered and rose to meet the next. The wild soar -of the bows sent Anson slithering aft. Ortho heard him coughing under -the stroke thwart. - -“She’ll never do it,” he managed to articulate. “Veer an’ let . . . let -. . . her drive.” - -“Where for?” Ortho shouted. “Where for? D’you hear me?” - -“Scilly,” came the answer, broken by dreadful liquid chokings. - -The waves broke with less violence for a minute or two and Ortho managed -to get the _Gamecock_ away before the wind, though she took a couple of -heavy dollops going about. - -Scilly! A handful of rocks thirty miles away in the open Atlantic, pitch -dark, no stars, no compass, the Runnelstone to pass, then the Wolf! At -the pace they were going they would be on the Islands long before dawn -and then it would be a case of exactly hitting either Crow Sound or St. -Mary’s Sound or being smashed to splinters. Still it was the only -chance. He would hug the coast as near as he dared till past the -Runnelstone—if he ever passed the Runnelstone—and then steer by the -wind; it was all there was to steer by. - -It was dead northeast at present, but if it shifted where would he be -then? It did not bear thinking on and he put it from his mind. He must -get past the Runnelstone first; after that . . . - -He screwed up every nerve as tight as it would go, forced his senses to -their acutest, set his teeth—swore to drive the boat to Scilly—but he -had no hope of getting there, no hope at all. - -The _Gamecock_, under her rag of canvas, ran like a hunted thing. It was -as though all the crazy elements were pouring southwest, out to the open -sea, and she went with them, a chip swept headlong in a torrent of -clamorous wind and waters. On his right Ortho could just discern the -loom of the coast. Breaker-tops broke, hissing, astern, abeam, ahead. -Spindrift blew in flat clouds, stinging like hail. Flurries of snow fell -from time to time. - -He was wet through, had lost all feeling in his feet, while his hands on -the sheet and tiller were so numbed he doubted if he could loosen them. - -On and on they drove into the blind turmoil. Anson lay in the water at -the bottom, groaning and choking at every pitch. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - - -The Monks Cove raid was not an unmixed success. The bag was very slight -and the ringleader got clear away. Mr. Carmichael’s impetuosity was -responsible for this. The riding officer was annoyed with him; he wished -he would go home to Ireland and get drowned in a bog. Had any other -officer been in charge of the soldiers they would have made a fine coup; -at the same time, he reflected that had any one else commanded, the -soldiers would not have been there at all. There were two sides to it. -He consoled himself with the thought that, although the material results -were small, the morale of the Monks Cove Free Traders had suffered a -severe jolt; at any rate, he hoped so. At the outset things had promised -well. It was true that the cornet had only mustered thirty-one sabers -instead of forty (and two of these managed to drop out between Penzance -and Paul), but they had reached the cliff-top not more than fifty -minutes behind schedule, to find the picket trussed up like a boiled -chicken and all clear. - -Carmichael led the way down the sheep-path; he insisted on it. “An -officer’s place is at the head of his men,” he chanted. The sentiment is -laudable, but he led altogether too fast. Seventeen and carrying nothing -but his sword, he gamboled down the craggy path with the agility of a -chamois. His troopers, mainly elderly heroes, full of beer (they had -been dragged blaspheming out of taverns just as they were settling down -to a comfortable evening) and burdened with accoutrements, followed with -all the caution due to their years and condition. The result was that -Carmichael arrived at the base alone. - -He crouched behind the corner of the pilchard shed and listened. The -place was alive. It was inky dark; he could see nothing, but he could -hear well enough. - -“He-ave, a’. Up she goes! Stan’ still, my beauty! Fast on that side, -Jan? Lead on, you!” - -“Bessie Kate, Bessie Kate, bring a hank o’ rope; this pack’s slippin’.” - -“Whoa, mare, blast ’e! Come along wid that there lot, Zacky; want to be -here all night, do ’e?” - -“Next horse. Pass the word for more horses . . . ahoy there . . . -horses.” - -Grunts of men struggling with heavy objects, subdued exhortations, -complaints, oaths, laughter, women’s chatter, hoof beats, the shrill -ki-yi of a trampled dog. The darkness ahead was boiling with invisible -people, smugglers all and engaged on their unlawful occupations. - -Carmichael’s hackles stood on end. He gripped his sword. - -“Is that all?” a voice called, louder, more authoritative than the rest. -“Get them horses away then.” - -The voice was referring to the boat-load, but the cornet thought the -whole run was through. In a minute the last horse would be off and he -would lose the capture. Without looking to see how many of his men had -collected behind him he shouted “Huzza!” and plunged into the thick of -it. Death! Glory! - -He plunged head-first into Uncle Billy Clemo’s daughter-in-law, butting -her over backwards. She clutched out to save herself, clutched him round -the neck and took him with her. She lay on the ground, still grasping -the cornet to her, and screamed her loudest. Mr. Carmichael struggled -frantically; here was a pretty situation for a great military genius at -the onset of his first battle! The woman had the hug of a she-bear, but -his fury gave him the strength of ten. He broke her grip and plunged on, -yelling to his men to fire. The only two who were present obeyed, but as -he had neglected to tell them what to fire at they very prudently fired -into the air. - -The cornet plunged on, plunged into somebody, shouted to the somebody to -stop or be hewn limb from limb. The somebody fled pursued by Carmichael, -turned at bay opposite a lighted window and he saw it was a woman. -Another woman! Death and damnation! Were there nothing but damnation -women in this damnation maze? - -He spun about and galloped back, crashed into something solid—a man at -last!—launched out at him. His sword met steel, a sturdy wrist-snapping -counter, and flipped out of his hand. - -“S’render!” boomed the voice of his own servant. “Stand or I’ll carve -your heart out, you . . . Oh, begging your pardon, sir, I’m sure.” - -Carmichael cursed him, picked up his sword again and rushed on. By the -sound of their feet and breathing he knew there were people, scores of -them, scurrying hither and thither about him in the blank darkness, but -though he challenged and clutched and smote with the flat of his sword -he met with nothing—nothing but thin air. It was like playing -blindman’s buff with ghosts. He heard two or three ragged volleys in the -direction of the sea and galloped towards it, galloped into a cul-de-sac -between two cottages, nearly splitting his head against a wall. He was -three minutes fumbling his way out of that, blubbering with rage, but -this time he came out on the sea-front. - -Gun-flashes on the slip-head showed him where his men were (firing at a -boat or something), and he ran towards them cheering, tripped across a -spar and fell headlong over the cliff. It was only a miniature cliff, a -bank of earth merely, not fifteen feet high, with mixed sand and -bowlders beneath. - -The cornet landed wallop on the sand and lay there for some minutes -thinking he was dead and wondering what style of monument (if any) his -parents would erect to his memory:— - - “_Hic jacet William Shine Carmichael, cornet of His Majesty’s - Dragoons, killed while gallantly leading an attack on smugglers. - Militavi non sine gloria. Aged 17._” - -Aged only seventeen; how sad! He shed a tear to think how young he was -when he died and then slowly came to the conclusion that perhaps he -wasn’t quite dead—only stunned—only half-stunned—hardly stunned at -all. - -A stray shot went wailing eerily out to sea. His men were in action; he -must go to them. He tried to get up, but found his left leg was jammed -between two bowlders, and, tug as he might, he could not dislodge it. He -shouted for help. Nobody took any notice. Again and again he shouted. No -response. He laid his curly head down on the wet sand and with his tears -wetted it still further. When at length (a couple of hours later) he was -liberated it was by two of the smuggler ladies. They were most -sympathetic, bandaged his sprained ankle, gave him a hot drink to revive -his circulation and vowed it was a shame to send pretty boys of his age -out so late. - -Poor Mr. Carmichael! - -Eli and Bohenna were the first to load, and consequently led the -pack-train which was strung out for a quarter of a mile up the valley -waiting for Ortho. When they heard the shots go off in the Cove they -remembered King Nick’s standing orders and scattered helter-skelter up -the western slope. There were only three side-tracks and thirty-two -horses to be got up. This caused jamming and delay. - -The sergeant at the track-head heard the volleys as well, and, not -having the least regard for Mr. Carmichael’s commandments, pushed on to -see the fun. Fortunately for the leaders the chaotic state of the track -prevented him from pushing fast. As it was he very nearly blundered into -the tail end of the train. A mule had jibbed and stuck in the bushes, -refusing to move either way. Eli and two young Hernes tugged, pushed and -whacked at it. Suddenly, close beside, they heard the wild slither of -iron on stone, a splash and the voice of a man calling on Heaven to -condemn various portions of his anatomy. It was the sergeant; his horse -had slipped up, depositing him in a puddle. He remounted and floundered -on with his squad, little knowing that in the bushes that actually -brushed his knee was standing a loaded mule with three tense boys -clinging to its ears, nose and tail to keep it quiet. It was a close -call. - -Eli took charge of the pack train. He was terribly anxious about Ortho, -but hanging about and letting the train be taken would only make bad -worse, and Ortho had an uncanny knack of slipping out of trouble. He -felt sure that if anybody was arrested it would not be his brother. - -King Nick had thought of everything. In case of a raid by mounted men -who could pursue it would be folly to go on to St. Just. They were to -hide their goods at some preordained spot, hasten home and lie doggo. - -The preordained spot was the “Fou-gou,” an ancient British dwelling -hidden in a tangle of bracken a mile to the northwest, a subterranean -passage roofed with massive slabs of granite, lined with moss and -dripping with damp, the haunt of badgers, foxes and bats. By midnight -Eli had his cargo stowed away in that dark receptacle thoughtfully -provided by the rude architects of the Stone Age, and by one o’clock he -was at home in bed prepared to prove he had never left it. But he did -not sleep, tired as he was. Two horses had not materialized, and where -was Ortho? If he had escaped he should have been home by now . . . long -ago. The gale made a terrific noise, moaning and buffeting round the -house; it must be awful at sea. - -Where _was_ Ortho? - -Eli might just as well have taken his goods through to St. Just for all -the Dragoons cared. Had the French landed that night they would have -made no protest. They would have drunk their very good healths. - -When the sergeant and his detachment, the snow at their backs, finally -stumbled into Monks Cove it was very far from a scene of battle and -carnage that met their gaze. “Homely” would better describe it. The -cottages were lit up and in them lounged the troopers, attended by the -genial fisher-folk in artistic _déshabillé_, in the clothes in which -they, at that moment, had arisen from bed (so they declared). The -warriors toasted their spurs at the hearths and drank to everybody’s -everlasting prosperity. - -The sergeant made inquiries. What luck? - -None to speak of. Four fifths of the train was up the valley when they -broke in, and got away easily. That little whelp Carmichael had queered -the show, charging and yapping. Where was he now? Oh, lying bleating -under the cliff somewhere. Pshaw! Let him lie a bit and learn wisdom, -plaguy little louse! Have a drink, God bless us. - -They caught nothing then? - -Why, yes, certainly they had. Four prisoners and two horses. Two of the -prisoners had since escaped, but no matter, the horses hadn’t, and they -carried the right old stuff—gin and brandy. That was what they were -drinking now. Mixed, it was a lotion fit to purge the gullet of the -Great Mogul. Have a drink, Lord love you! - -The sergeant was agreeable. - -It was not before dawn that these stalwarts would consent to be -mustered. They clattered back to Penzance in high fettle, joking and -singing. Some of the younger heads (recruits only) were beginning to -ache, but the general verdict was that it had been a very pleasant -outing. - -Mr. Carmichael rode at their head. His fettle was not high. His ankle -was most painful and so were his thoughts. Fancy being rescued by a pair -of damnation girls! Moreover, two or three horses were going lame; what -would Jope say to him when he returned—and Hambro? Brrh! Soldiering -wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. - -Mr. Curral rode at the tail of the column. He too was a dejected man. -That silly little fool of a Carmichael had bungled the haul of the year, -but he didn’t expect the Collector would believe it; he was sure to get -the blame. He and his poacher had captured two horses to have them taken -from them by the troopers, the tubs broached and the horses let go. -Dragoons!—they had known what discipline was in the Horse Guards! It -was too late to go to Bosula or the gypsy camp now; all tracks would -have been covered up, no evidence. The prisoners had by this time -dwindled to a solitary youth whom Curral suspected of being a half-wit -and who would most assuredly be acquitted by a Cornish jury. He sighed -and sucked the head of his whip. It was a hard life. - - * * * * * - -Phineas Eva, parish clerk of St. Gwithian, came to call on Teresa one -afternoon shortly after the catastrophe. He was dressed in his best, -which was not very good, but signified that it was a visit of -importance. - -He twittered some platitudes about the weather, local and foreign -affairs—the American colonists were on the point of armed rebellion, he -was creditably informed—tut, tut! But meeting with no encouragement -from his hostess he dwindled into silence and sat perched on the edge of -the settle, blinking his pale eyes and twitching his hat in his -rheumatic claws. Teresa seemed unaware of his presence. She crouched -motionless in her chair, chin propped on knuckles, a somber, brooding -figure. - -Phineas noted that her cheeks and eyelids were swollen, her raven hair -hanging in untidy coils, and feared she had been roistering again. If so -she would be in an evil mood. She was a big, strong woman, he a small, -weak man. He trembled for his skin. Still he must out with it somehow, -come what might. There was his wife to face at the other end, and he was -no less terrified of his wife. He must out with it. Of the two it is -better to propitiate the devil you live with than the devil you don’t. -He hummed and hawed, squirmed on his perch, and then with a gulp and a -splutter came out with it. - -His daughter Tamsin was in trouble, and Ortho was the cause. He had to -repeat himself twice before Teresa would take any notice, and then all -she did was to nod her head. - -Phineas took courage; she had neither sworn nor pounced at him. He spoke -his piece. Of course Ortho would do the right thing by Tamsin; she was a -good girl, a very good girl, docile and domestic, would make him an -excellent wife. Ortho was under a cloud at present, but that would blow -over—King Nick had powerful influence and stood by his own. Parson -Coverdale of St. Just was always friendly to the Free Traders; he would -marry them without question. He understood Ortho was in hiding among the -St. Just tinners; it would be most convenient. He . . . Teresa shook her -head slowly. - -Not at St. Just? Then he had been blown over to Scilly after all. Oh, -well, as soon as he could get back Parson Coverdale would . . . Again -Teresa shook her head. - -Not at Scilly! Then where was he? Up country? - -Teresa rose out of her chair and looked Phineas full in the face, stood -over him, hair hanging loose, puffy, obese yet withal majestic, tragic -beyond words. Something in her swollen eyes made him quail, but not for -his own skin, not for himself. - -“A Fowey Newfoundlander put into Newlyn Pools morning,” she said, and -her voice had a husky burr. “Ten leagues sou’west of the Bishop they -found the _Gamecock_ of Monks Cove—bottom up.” - -Phineas gripped the edge of the settle and sagged forward. “Then . . .!” - -“Yes,” said Teresa. “Drowned. Go home and tell _that_ to your daughter. -An’ tell her she’ve got next to her heart the only li’l’ livin’ spark of -my lovely boy that’s left in this world. She’m luckier nor I.” - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - - -But Ortho was not drowned. Dawn found the _Gamecock_ still afloat, still -scudding like a mad thing in the run of the seas. There was no definite -dawn, no visible up-rising of the sun; black night slowly changed into -leaden day, that was all. - -Ortho looked around him. There was nothing to be seen but a toss of -waters, breakers rushing foam-lipped before, beside him, roaring in his -wake. The boat might have been a hind racing among a pack of wild hounds -intent on overwhelming her and dragging her under. There was nothing in -sight. He had missed the Scillies altogether, as he had long suspected. - -After passing the Runnelstone he had kept his eyes skinned for the -coal-fire beacon on St. Agnes (the sole light on the Islands), but not a -flicker of it had he seen. He must have passed the wrong side of the -Wolf and have missed the mark by miles and miles. As far as he could get -his direction by dawn, the wind had gone back and he was running due -south now. South—whither? He did not know and cared little. - -Anson was dead, sitting up, wedged in the angle of the bows. He had died -about an hour before dawn, Ortho thought, after a dreadful paroxysm of -choking. Ortho had cried out to him, but got no answer beyond a -long-drawn sigh, a sigh of relief, the sigh of a man whose troubles are -over. Anson was dead, leaving a widow and three young children. His old -friend was dead, had died in agony, shot through the lungs, and left to -choke his life out in an open boat in mid-winter. Hatred surged through -Ortho, hatred for the Preventive. If he ever got ashore again he’d -search out the man that fired that shot and serve him likewise, and -while he was choking he’d sit beside him and tell him about Anson in the -open boat. As a matter of fact, the man who fired the shot was a recruit -who let off his piece through sheer nerves and congratulated himself on -having hit nobody—but Ortho did not know that. - -All they had been trying to do was to make a little money—and then to -come shooting and murdering people . . . ! Smuggling was against the -law, granted—but there should have been some sort of warning. For two -winters they had been running cargoes and not a soul seemed to care a -fig; then, all of a sudden, crash! The crash had come so suddenly that -Ortho wondered for a fuddled moment if it had come, if this were not -some ghastly nightmare and presently he would wake up and find himself -in bed at Bosula and all well. A cold dollop of spray hit him in the -middle of the back, drenching him, and there was Anson sitting up in the -bows, the whole front of his smock deluged in blood; blood mingled with -sea water washed about on the bottom of the boat. It was no dream. He -didn’t care where he was going or what happened. He was soaked to the -skin, famished, numb, body and soul, and utterly without hope—but -mechanically he kept the boat scudding. - -The clouds were down very low and heavy bellied. One or two snow squalls -swept over. Towards noon a few pale shafts of sunshine penetrated the -cloud-wrack, casting patches of silver on the dreary waters. They -brought no warmth, but the very sight of them put a little heart into -the castaway. He fumbled in the locker under his seat and found a few -scraps of stinking fish, intended for bait. These he ate, bones and all, -and afterwards baled the boat out, hauled his sheet a trifle and put his -helm to starboard with a hazy idea of hitting off the French coast -somewhere about Brest, but the gig promptly shipped a sea, so he had to -let her away and bale again. - -Anson was getting on his nerves. The dead man’s jaw lolled in an idiotic -grin and his eyes were turned up so that they were fixed directly on -Ortho. Every time he looked up there were the eyes on him. It was more -than he could stand. He left the tiller with the intention of turning -Anson over on his face, but the gig showed a tendency to jibe and he had -to spring back again. When he looked up the grin seemed more pronounced -than ever. - -“Grizzling because you’re out of it and I ain’t, eh?” he shouted, and -was immediately ashamed of himself. He tried not to look at Anson, but -there was a horrid magnetism about those eyes. - -“I shall go light-headed soon,” he said to himself, and rummaged afresh -in the locker, found a couple of decayed sand-eels and ate them. - -The afternoon wore on. It would be sunset soon and then night again. He -wondered where next morning would see him, if it would see him at all. -He thought not. - -“Can’t go on forever,” he muttered; “must sleep soon—then I’ll be -drowned or froze.” He didn’t care. His sodden clothes would take him -straight down and he was too tired to fight. It would be all over in a -minute, finished and done with. At home, at the Owls’ House now, Wany -would be bringing the cows in. Bohenna would be coming down the hill -from work, driving the plow oxen before him. There would be a grand fire -on the hearth and the black pot bubbling. He could see Martha fussing -about like an old hen, getting supper ready, bent double with -rheumatism—and Eli, Eli . . . He wondered if the owls would hoot for -him as they had for his father. - -He didn’t know why he’d kept the boat going; it was only prolonging the -misery. Might as well let her broach and have done with it. Over with -her—now! But his hand remained steadfast and the boat raced on. - -The west was barred with a yellow strip—sunset. Presently it would be -night, and under cover of night Fate was waiting for him crouched like a -footpad. - - * * * * * - -He did not see the vessel’s approach till she was upon him. She must -have been in sight for some time, but he had been keeping his eyes ahead -and did not look round till she hailed. - -She was right on him, coming up hand over fist. Ortho was so surprised -he nearly jumped out of his clothes. He stood up in the stern sheets, -goggling at her foolishly. Was it a mirage? Had he gone light-headed -already? He heard the creak of her yards and blocks as she yawed to -starboard, the hiss of her cut-water shearing into a sea, and then a -guttural voice shouting unintelligibly. She was real enough and she was -yawing to pick him up! A flood of joy went through him; he was going to -live after all! Not for nothing had he kept the _Gamecock_ running. She -was on top of him. The short bowsprit and gilded beak stabbed past; then -came shouts, the roar of sundered water, a rope hurtling out of reach; a -thump and over went the _Gamecock_, run down. Ortho gripped the gunnel, -vaulted onto the boat side as it rolled under, and jumped. - -The vessel was wallowing deep in a trough at the time. He caught the -fore-mast chains with both hands and hung trailing up to the knees in -bubbling brine. Something bumped his knee. It was Anson; his leer seemed -more pronounced than ever; then he went out of sight. Men in the -channels gripped Ortho’s wrists and hoisted him clear. He lay where they -threw him, panting and shivering, water dribbling from his clothes to -the deck. - -Aft on the poop a couple of men, officers evidently, were staring at the -_Gamecock_ drifting astern, bottom up. They did not consider her worth -the trouble of going after. A negro gave Ortho a kick with his bare -foot, handed him a bowl of hot gruel and a crust of bread. Ortho gulped -these and then dragged himself to his feet, leaned against the -main-jeers and took stock of his surroundings. - -It was quite a small vessel, rigged in a bastard fashion he had never -seen before, square on the main mast, exaggerated lugs on the fore and -mizzen. She had low sharp entry, but was built up aft with quarter-deck -and poop; she was armed like a frigate and swarming with men. - -Ortho could not think where she housed them all—and such men, brown, -yellow, white and black, with and without beards. Some wore pointed red -caps, some wisps of dirty linen wound about their scalps, and others -were bare-headed and shorn to the skin but for a lock of oily hair. They -wore loose garments of many colors, chocolate, saffron, salmon and blue, -but the majority were of a soiled white. They drew these close about -their lean bodies and squatted, bare toes protruding, under the break of -the quarter-deck, in the lee of scuttle butts, boats, masts—anywhere -out of the wind. They paid no attention to him whatever, but chatted and -spat and laughed, their teeth gleaming white in their dark faces, for -all the world like a tribe of squatting baboons. One of them produced a -crude two-stringed guitar and sang a melancholy dirge to the -accompaniment of creaking blocks and hissing bow-wave. The sunset was -but a chink of yellow light between leaden cloud and leaden sea. - -There was a flash away in the dusk to port followed by the slam of a -gun. - -A gigantic old man came to the quarter-deck rail and bellowed across the -decks. Ortho thought he looked like the pictures of Biblical -patriarchs—Moses, for instance—with his long white beard and mantle -blowing in the wind. - -At his first roar every black and brown ape on deck pulled his hood up -and went down on his forehead, jabbering incoherently. They seemed to be -making some sort of prayer towards the east. The old man’s declamation -finished off in a long-drawn wail; he returned whence he had come, and -the apes sat up again. The guitar player picked up his instrument and -sang on. - -A boy, twirling a naming piece of tow, ran up the ladders and lit the -two poop lanterns. - -Away to port other points of light twinkled, appearing and disappearing. - -The negro who had given him the broth touched him on the shoulder, -signed to him to follow, and led the way below. It was dark on the main -deck—all the light there was came from a single lantern swinging from a -beam—but Ortho could see that it was also packed with men. They lay on -mats beside the hatch coamings, between the lashed carriage-guns, -everywhere; it was difficult to walk without treading on them. Some of -them appeared to be wounded. - -The negro unhooked the lantern, let fall a rope ladder into the hold and -pushed Ortho towards it. He descended a few feet and found himself -standing on the cargo, bales of mixed merchandise apparently. In the -darkness around him he could hear voices conversing, calling out. The -negro dropped after him and he saw that the hold was full of -people—Europeans from what he could see—lying on top of the cargo. -They shouted to him, but he was too dazed to answer. His guide propelled -him towards the after bulkhead and suddenly tripped him. He fell on his -back on a bale and lay still while the negro shackled his feet together, -picked up the lantern and was gone. - -“Englishman?” said a voice beside him. - -“Aye.” - -“Where did you drop from?” - -“Picked up—I was blown off-shore.” - -“Alone?” - -“Yes, all but my mate, and he’s dead. What craft is this?” - -“The _Ghezala_, xebec of Sallee.” - -“Where are we bound for?” - -“Sallee, on the coasts of Barbary, of course; to be sold as a slave -among the heathen infidels. Where did you think you was bound for? -Fortunate Isles with rings on your fingers to splice a golden -queen—eh?” - -“Barbary—infidels—slave,” Ortho repeated stupidly. No wonder Anson had -leered as he went down! - -He turned, sighing, over on his face. “Slaves—infidels—Barb . . .” and -was asleep. - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - - -He woke up eighteen hours later, at about noon—or so his neighbor told -him; it was impossible to distinguish night from day down there. The -hold was shallow and three parts full; this brought them within a few -feet of the deck beams and made the atmosphere so thick it was difficult -to breathe, congested as they were. Added to which, the rats and -cockroaches were very active and the stale bilge water, washing to and -fro under the floor, reeked abominably. - -The other prisoners were not talkative. Now and again one would shout -across to a friend and a short conversation would ensue, but most of the -time they kept silence, as though steeped in melancholy. The majority -sounded like foreigners. - -Ortho sat up, tried to stretch his legs, and found they were shackled to -a chain running fore and aft over the cargo. - -His left-hand neighbor spoke: “Woke up, have you? Well, how d’you fancy -it?” - -Ortho grunted. - -“Oh, well, mayn’t be so bad. You’m a likely lad; you’ll fetch a good -price, mayhap, and get a good master. ’Tain’t the strong mule catches -the whip; ’tis the old uns—y’understan’? To-morrow’s the best day for -hard work over there and the climate’s prime; better nor England by a -long hawse, and that’s the Gospel truth, y’understan’?” - -“How do you know?” Ortho inquired. - -The man snorted. “Know? Ain’t I been there nine year?” - -“In Sallee?” - -“No—Algiers . . . but it’s the same, see what I mean? Nine years a -slave with old Abd-el-Hamri in Sidi-Okbar Street. Only exchanged last -summer, and now, dang my tripes, if I ain’t took again!” - -“Where did they catch you?” - -“Off Prawle Point on Tuesday in the _Harvest_, yawl of Brixham—I’m a -Brixham man, y’understan’? Puddicombe by name. I did swere and vow once -I was ashore I would never set foot afloat no more. Then my sister -Johanna’s George took sick with a flux and I went in his place just for -a day—and now here we are again—hey, hey!” - -“Who are all these foreigners?” asked Ortho. - -“Hollanders, took off a Dutch East Indiaman. This be her freight we’m -lyin’ on now, see what I mean? They got it split up between the three on -’em. There’s three on ’em, y’understan’; _was_ four, but the Hollander -sank one before she was carried, so they say, and tore up t’other two -cruel. The old _reis_—admiral that is—he’s lost his mainmast. You can -hear he banging away at night to keep his consorts close; scared, -y’understan’? Howsombeit they done well enough. Only been out two months -and they’ve got the cream of an Indies freight, not to speak of three or -four coasters and a couple of hundred poor sailors that should fetch -from thirty to fifty ducats apiece in the _soko_. And then there’s the -ransoms too, see what I mean?” - -“Ransoms?” Ortho echoed. Was that a way home? Was it possible to be -ransomed? He had money. - -“Aye, ransoms,” said Puddicombe. “You can thank your God on bended -knees, young man, you ain’t nothin’ but a poor fisher lad with no money -at your back, see what I mean?” - -“No, I don’t—why?” - -“Why—’cos the more they tortured you the more you’d squeal and the more -your family would pay to get you out of it, y’understan’? There was a -dozen fat Mynheer merchants took on that Indiaman, and if they poor -souls knew what they’re going through they’d take the first chance -overboard—sharks is a sweet death to what these heathen serve you. I’ve -seen some of it in Algiers city—see what I mean? Understan’?” - -Ortho did not answer; he had suddenly realized that he had never told -Eli where the money was hidden—over seven hundred pounds—and how was -he ever going to tell him _now_? He lay back on the bales and abandoned -himself to unprofitable regrets. - -Mr. Puddicombe, getting no response to his chatter, cracked his finger -joints, his method of whiling away the time. The afternoon wore on, wore -out. At sundown they were given a pittance of dry bread and stale water. -Later on a man came down, knocked Ortho’s shackles off and signed him to -follow. - -“You’re to be questioned,” the ex-slave whispered. “Be careful now, -y’understan’?” - -The Moors were at their evening meal, squatting, tight-packed round big -pots, dipping for morsels with their bare hands, gobbling and gabbling. -The galley was between decks, a brick structure built athwart-ship. As -Ortho passed he caught a glimpse of the interior. It was a blaze of -light from the fires before which a couple of negroes toiled, stripped -to the waist, stirring up steaming caldrons; the sweat glistened like -varnish on their muscular bodies. - -His guide led him to the upper deck. The night breeze blew in his face, -deliciously chill after the foul air below. He filled his lungs with -draughts of it. On the port quarter tossed a galaxy of twinkling -lights—the admiral and the third ship. Below in their rat-run holds -were scores of people in no better plight than himself, Ortho reflected, -in some cases worse, for many of the Dutchmen were wounded. A merry -world! - -His guide ran up the quarter-deck ladder. The officer of the watch, a -dark silhouette lounging against a swivel mounted on the poop, snapped -out a challenge in Arabic to which the guide replied. He opened the door -of the poop cabin and thrust Ortho within. - -It was a small place, with the exception of a couple of brass-bound -chests, a table and a chair, quite unfurnished, but it was luxurious -after a fashion and, compared with the squalor of the hold, paradise. - -Mattresses were laid on the floor all round the walls, and on these were -heaped a profusion of cushions, cushions of soft leather and of green -and crimson velvet. The walls were draped with hangings worked with the -same colors, and a lamp of fretted brass-work, with six burners, hung by -chains from the ceiling. The gigantic Moor who had called the crew to -prayers sat on the cushions in a corner, his feet drawn up under him, a -pyramid of snowy draperies. He was running a chain of beads through his -fingers, his lips moved in silence. More than ever did he look like a -Bible patriarch. On the port side a tall Berber lay outstretched, his -face to the wall; a watch-keeper taking his rest. At the table, his back -to the ornamented rudder-casing, sat a stout little man with a cropped -head, scarlet face and bright blue eyes. Ortho saw to his surprise that -he did not wear Moorish dress but the heavy blue sea-coat of an English -sailor, a canary muffler and knee-breeches. - -The little man’s unflinching bright eyes ran all over him. - -“Cornishman?” he inquired in perfect English. - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Fisherman?” apprising the boy’s canvas smock, apron and boots. - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Blown off-shore—eh?” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“Where from? Isles of Scilly?” - -“No, sir; Monks Cove.” - -“Where’s that?” - -“Sou’west corner of Mount’s Bay, sir, near Penzance.” - -“Penzance, ah-ha! Penzance,” the captain repeated. “Now what do I know -of Penzance?” He screwed his eyes up, rubbed the back of his head, -puzzling. “Penzance!” - -Then he banged his fist on the table. “Damme, of course!” - -He turned to Ortho again. “Got any property in this Cove—houses, boats -or belike?” - -“No, sir.” - -“Father? . . . Brothers? . . . Relations?” - -“Only a widowed mother, sir, and a brother.” - -“They got any property?” - -“No, sir.” - -“What does your brother do?” - -“Works on a farm, sir.” - -“Hum, yes, thought as much; couple of nets and an old boat stopped up -with tar—huh! Never mind, you’re healthy; you’ll sell.” - -He said something in Arabic to the old Moor, who wagged his flowing -beard and went on with his beads. - -“You can go!” said the captain, motioning to the guide; then as Ortho -neared the door he called out, “Avast a minute!” Ortho turned about. - -“You say you come from near Penzance. Well, did you run athwart a person -by the name of Gish by any chance? Captain Jeremiah Gish? He was a -Penzance man, I remember. Made a mint o’ money shipping ‘black-birds’ to -the Plate River and retired home to Penzance, or so I’ve heard. Gish is -the name, Jerry Gish.” - -Ortho gaped. Gish—Captain Jerry—he should think he did know him. He -had been one of Teresa’s most ardent suitors at one time, and still hung -after her, admired her gift of vituperation; had been in the Star Inn -that night he had robbed her of the hundred pounds. Captain Jerry! They -were always meeting at races and such-like; had made several disastrous -bets with him. Old Jerry Gish! It sounded strange to hear that familiar -name here among all these wild infidels, gave him an acute twinge of -homesickness. - -“Well,” said the corsair captain, “never heard of him, I suppose?” - -Ortho recovered himself. “Indeed, sir, I know him very well.” - -The captain sat up. “You do?” Then with a snap: “How?” - -It flashed on Ortho that he must be careful. To disclose the -circumstances under which he had hob-nobbed with Jerry Gish would be to -give himself away. - -“How?” - -Ortho licked his lips. “He used to come to Cove a lot, sir. Was friendly -like with the inn-keeper there. Was very gentlemanly with his money of -an evening.” - -The captain sank back, his suspicions lulled. He laughed. - -“Free with the drink, mean you? Aye, I warrant old Jerry would be -that—ha, ha!” He sat smiling at recollections, drumming his short -fingers on the table. - -Some flying spray heads rattled on the stern windows. The brass lamp -swung back and forth, its shadow swimming with it up and down the floor. -The watchkeeper muttered in his sleep. Outside the wind moaned. The -captain looked up. “Used to be a shipmate of mine, Jerry—when we were -boys. Many a game we’ve played. Did y’ ever hear him tell a story?” - -“Often, sir.” - -“You did, did you—spins a good yarn, Jerry—none better. Ever hear him -tell of what we did to that old nigger woman in Port o’ Spain? -MacBride’s my name, Ben MacBride. Ever hear it?” - -“Yes, I believe I did, sir.” - -“That’s a good yarn that, eh? My God, she screeched, ha, ha!” Tears -trickled out of his eyes at the memory. - -“Told you a good few yarns, I expect?” - -“Yes, sir, many.” - -“Remember ’em?” - -“I think so, sir.” - -“Do you? Hum-hurr!” He looked at Ortho again, seemed to be considering. - -“Do you?—ah, hem! Yes, very good. Well, you must go now. Time to snug -down. Ahmed!” - -The guide stood to attention, received some instructions in Arabic and -led Ortho away. At the galley door he stopped, went inside, and came out -bearing a lump of meat and a small cake which he thrust on Ortho, and -made motions to show that it was by the captain’s orders. - -Three minutes later he was shackled down again. - -“How did you fare?” the Brixham man grunted drowsily. - -“Not so bad,” said Ortho. - -He waited till the other had gone to sleep, and then ate his cake and -meat; he was ravenous and didn’t want to share it. - - * * * * * - -Black day succeeded black night down in the hold, changing places -imperceptibly. Once every twenty-four hours the prisoners were taken on -deck for a few minutes; in the morning and evening they were fed. -Nothing else served to break the stifling monotony. It seemed to Ortho -that he had been chained up in blank gloom for untold years, gloom -peopled with disembodied voices that became loquacious only in sleep. -Courage gagged their waking hours, but when they slept, and no longer -had control of themselves, they talked, muttered, groaned and cried -aloud for lost places and lost loves. At night that hold was an inferno, -a dark cavern filled with damned souls wailing. Two Biscayners did -actually fight once, but they didn’t fight for long, hadn’t spirit -enough. It was over a few crumbs of bread that they fell out. The man on -Ortho’s right, an old German seaman, never uttered a word. One morning -when they came round with food he didn’t put his hand out for his -portion and they found that he was dead—a fact the rats had discovered -some hours before. The only person who was not depressed was Mr. -Puddicombe, late of Brixham and Algiers. He had the advantage of knowing -what he was called upon to face, combined with a strong strain of -natural philosophy. - -England, viewed from Algiers, had seemed a green land of plenty, of -perennial beer and skittles. When he got home he found he had to work -harder than ever he had done in Africa and, after nine years of -sub-tropics, the northern winter had bitten him to the bone. Provided he -did not become a Government slave (which he thought unlikely, being too -old) he was not sure but that all was for the best. He was a good tailor -and carpenter and generally useful about the house, a valuable -possession in short. He would be well treated. He would try to get a -letter through to his old master, he said, and see if an exchange could -be worked. He had been quite happy in Sidi Okbar Street. The notary had -treated him more as a friend than a servant; they used to play “The -King’s Game” (a form of chess) together of an evening. He thought -Abd-el-Hamri, being a notary, a man of means, could easily effect the -exchange, and then, once comfortably settled down to slavery in Algiers, -nothing on earth should tempt him to take any more silly chances with -freedom, he assured Ortho. He also gave him a lot of advice concerning -his future conduct. - -“I’ve taken a fancy to you, my lad,” he said one evening, “an’ I’m -givin’ you advice others would pay ducats and golden pistoles to get, -y’understan’?” - -Ortho was duly grateful. - -“Are you a professed Catholic by any chance?” - -“No, Protestant.” - -“Well, if you was a Catholic professed I should tell you to hold by it -for a bit and see if the Redemptionist Fathers could help you, but if -you be a Protestant nobody won’t do nothin’ for you, so you’d best turn -_Renegado_ and turn sharp—like I done; see what I mean?” - -“_Renegado?_” - -“Turn Moslem. Sing out night and mornin’ that there’s only one Allah and -nobody like him. After that they got to treat you kinder. If you’m a -_Kafir_—Christian, so to speak—they’re doin’ this here Allah a favor -by peltin’ stones at you. If you’re a Mohammedan you’re one of Allah’s -own and they got to love you; see what I mean? Mind you, there’s -drawbacks. You ain’t supposed to touch liquor, but that needn’t lie on -your mind. God knows when the corsairs came home full to the hatches and -business was brisk there was mighty few of us _Renegados_ in Algiers -city went sober to bed, y’understan’? Then there’s Ramadan. That means -you got to close-reef your belt from sunrise to sunset for thirty mortal -days. If they catch you as much as sucking a lemon they’ll beat your -innards out. I don’t say it can’t be done, but don’t let ’em catch you; -see what I mean? Leaving aside his views on liquor and this here -Ramadan, I ain’t got nothin’ against the Prophet. - -“When you get as old and clever as me you’ll find that religions is much -like clo’es, wear what the others is wearin’ and you can do what you -like. You take my advice, my son, and as soon as you land holla out that -there’s only one Allah and keep on hollaing; understan’?” - -Ortho understood and determined to do likewise; essentially an -opportunist, he would have cheerfully subscribed to devil worship had it -been fashionable. - -One morning they were taken on deck and kept there till noon. Puddicombe -said the officers were in the hold valuing the cargo; they were nearing -the journey’s end. - -It was clear weather, full of sunshine. Packs of chubby cloud trailed -across a sky of pale azure. The three ships were in close company, line -ahead, the lame flagship leading, her lateens wing and wing. The -gingerbread work on her high stern was one glitter of gilt and her -quarters were carved with stars and crescent moons interwoven with -Arabic scrolls. The ship astern was no less fancifully embellished. All -three were decked out as for holiday, flying long coach-whip pennants -from trucks and lateen peaks, and each had a big green banner at a -jack-staff on the poop. - -No land was in sight, but there were signs of it. A multitude of gulls -swooped and cried among the rippling pennants; a bundle of cut bamboos -drifted by and a broken basket. - -MacBride, a telescope under his arm, a fur cap cocked on the back of his -head, strutted the poop. Presently he came down the upper deck and -walked along the line of prisoners, inspecting them closely. He gave -Ortho no sign of recognition, but later on sent for him. - -“Did Jerry Gish ever tell you the yarn of how him and me shaved that old -Jew junk dealer in Derry and then got him pressed?” - -“No, sir.” - -MacBride related the story and Ortho laughed with great heartiness. - -“Good yarn, ain’t it?” said the captain. - -Ortho vowed it was the best he had ever heard. - -“Of course you knowing old Jerry would appreciate it—these others—!” -The captain made the gesture of one whose pearls of reminiscence have -been cast before swine. - -Ortho took his courage in both hands and told a story of how Captain -Gish had got hold of a gypsy’s bear, dressed it up in a skirt, cloak and -bonnet and let it loose in the Quakers’ meeting house in Penzance. As a -matter of fact, it was not the inimitable Jerry who had done it at all, -but a party of young squires; however, it served Ortho’s purpose to -credit the exploit to Captain Gish. Captain Gish, as Ortho remembered -him, was a dull old gentleman with theories of his own on the lost -tribes of Israel which he was never tired of disclosing, but the Jerry -Gish that MacBride remembered and delighted in was evidently a very -different person—a spark, a blood, a devil of a fellow. Jeremiah must -be maintained in the latter rôle at all costs. Ever since his visit to -the cabin Ortho had been thinking of all boisterous jests he had ever -heard and tailoring them to fit Jerry against such a chance as this. His -repertoire was now extensive. - -The captain laughed most heartily at the episode of “good old Jerry” and -the bear. Ortho knew how to tell a story; he had caught the trick from -Pyramus. Encouraged, he was on the point of relating another when there -came a long-drawn cry from aloft. The effect on the Arab crew was -magical. - -“Moghreb!” they cried. “Moghreb!” and, dropping whatever they had in -hand, raced for the main ratlines. Captain MacBride, however, was before -them. He kicked one chocolate mariner in the stomach, planted his fist -in the face of another, whacked yet another over the knuckles with his -telescope, hoisted himself to the fife rail, and from that eminence -distributed scalding admonitions to all and sundry. That done, he went -hand over fist in a dignified manner up to the topgallant yard. - -The prisoners were sent below, but to the tween-decks this time instead -of the hold. - -Land was in sight, the Brixham man informed Ortho. They had hit the mark -off very neatly, at a town called Mehdia a few miles above Sallee, or so -he understood. If they could catch the tide they should be in by -evening. The admiral was lacing bonnets on. The gun ports being closed, -they could not see how they were progressing, but the Arabs were in a -high state of elation; cheer after cheer rang out from overhead as they -picked up familiar land-marks along the coast. Even the wounded men -dragged themselves to the upper deck. The afternoon drew on. Puddicombe -was of the opinion that they would miss the tide and anchor outside, in -which case they were in for another night’s pitching and rolling. Ortho -devoutly trusted not; what with the vermin and rats in that hold he was -nearly eaten alive. He was just beginning to give up hope when there -came a sudden bark of orders from above, the scamper of bare feet, the -chant of men hauling on braces and the creak of yards as they came over. - -“She’s come up,” said he of Brixham. “They’re stowing the square sails -and going in under lateens. Whoop, there she goes! Over the bar!” - -“Crash-oom!” went a gun. “Crash-oom!” went a second, a third and a -fourth. - -“They’re firing at us!” said Ortho. - -Puddicombe snorted. “Aye—powder! That’s rejoicements, that is. You -don’t know these Arabs; when the cow calves they fire a gun; that’s -their way o’ laughing. Why, I’ve seen the corsairs come home to Algiers -with all the forts blazin’ like as if there was a bombardment on. You -wait, we’ll open up in a minute. Ah, there you are!” - -“Crash-oom!” bellowed the flagship ahead. “Zang! Zang!” thundered their -own bow-chasers. “Crash-oom!” roared the ship astern, and the forts on -either hand replied with deafening volleys. “Crack-wang! Crack-wang!” -sang the little swivels. “Pop-pop-pop!” snapped the muskets ashore. In -the lull came the noise of far cheering and the throb of drums and then -the stunning explosions of the guns again. - -“They’ve dowsed the mizzen,” said Puddicombe. “Foresail next and let go. -We’m most there, son; see what I mean?” - -They were taken off at dusk in a ferry float. The three ships were -moored head and stern in a small river with walled towns on either hand, -a town built upon red cliffs to the south, a town built upon a flat -shore to the north. To the east lay marshes and low hills beyond, with -the full moon rising over them. - -The xebecs were surrounded by a mob of skiffs full of natives, all -yelling and laughing and occasionally letting off a musket. One grossly -overloaded boat, suddenly feeling its burden too great to bear, sank -with all hands. - -Its occupants did not mind in the least; they splashed about, bubbling -with laughter, baled the craft out and climbed in again. The ferry -deposited its freight of captives on the spit to the north, where they -were joined by the prisoners from the other ships, including some women -taken on the Dutch Indiaman. They were then marched over the sand flats -towards the town, and all the way the native women alternately shrieked -for joy or cursed them. They lined the track up to the town, shapeless -bundles of white drapery, and hurled sand and abuse. One old hag left -her long nail marks down Ortho’s cheek, another lifted her veil for a -second and sprayed him with spittle. - -“_Kafir-b-Illah was rasool!_” they screamed at the hated Christians. -Then: “_Zahrit! Zahrit! Zahrit!_” would go the shrill joy cries. - -Small boys with shorn heads and pigtails gamboled alongside, poking them -with canes and egging their curs on to bite them, and in front of the -procession a naked black wild man of the mountains went leaping, shaking -his long hair, whooping and banging a goat-skin tambourine. - -They passed under a big horseshoe arch and were within the walls. Ortho -got an impression of huddled flat houses gleaming white under the moon; -of men and women in flowing white; donkeys, camels, children, naked -negroes and renegade seamen jostling together in clamorous alleys; of -muskets popping, tom-toms thumping, pipes squeaking; of laughter, -singing and screams, while in his nostrils two predominant scents -struggled for mastery—dung and orange blossom. - - - - - CHAPTER XX - - -Ortho and his fellow prisoners spent the next thirty-nine hours in one -of the town mattamores, a dungeon eighteen feet deep, its sole outlet a -trap-door in the ceiling. It was damp and dark as a vault, littered with -filth and crawling with every type of intimate pest. The omniscient -Puddicombe told Ortho that such was the permanent lodging of Government -slaves; they toiled all day on public works and were herded home at -night to this sort of thing. - -More than ever was Ortho determined to forswear his religion at the -first opportunity. He asked if there were any chances of escape from -Morocco. Puddicombe replied that there were none. Every man’s hand was -against one; besides, Sidi Mahomet I. had swept the last Portuguese -garrison (Mazagan) off the coast six years previously, so where was one -to run? He went on to describe some of the tortures inflicted on -recaptured slaves—such as having limbs rotted off in quick-lime, being -hung on hooks and sawn in half—and counseled Ortho most strongly, -should any plan of escape present itself, not to divulge it to a soul. -Nobody could be trusted. The slave gangs were sown thick with spies, and -even those who were not employed as such turned informer in order to -acquire merit with their masters. - -“Dogs!” cried Ortho, blazing at such treachery. - -“Not so quick with your ‘dogs,’” said Puddicombe, quietly. “You may find -yourself doin’ it some day—under the bastinado.” - -Something in the old man’s voice made the boy wonder if he were not -speaking from experience, if he had not at some time, in the throes of -torture, given a friend away. - -On the second day they were taken to the market and auctioned. Before -the sale took place the Basha picked out a fifth of the entire number, -including all the best men, and ordered them to be marched away as the -Sultan’s perquisites. Ortho was one of those chosen in the first place, -but a venerable Moor in a sky-blue jellab came to the rescue, bowing -before the Governor, talking rapidly and pointing to Ortho the while. -The great man nodded, picked a Dutchman in his place and passed on. The -public auction then began, with much preliminary shouting and drumming. -Prisoners were dragged out and minutely inspected by prospective buyers, -had their chests thumped, muscles pinched, teeth inspected, were trotted -up and down to expose their action, exactly like dumb beasts at a fair. - -The simile does not apply to Mr. Puddicombe. He was not dumb; he lifted -up his voice and shouted some rigmarole in Arabic. Ortho asked him what -he was saying. - -“Tellin’ ’em what I can do, bless you! Think I want to be bought by a -poor man and moil in the fields? No, I’m going to a house where they -have cous-cous every day—y’understan’? See what I mean?” - -“Ahoy there, lords!” he bawled. “Behold me! Nine years was I in Algiers -at the house of Abd-el-Hamri, the lawyer in Sidi Okbar Street. No -_Nesrani_ dog am I, but a Moslem, a True Believer. Moreover, I am -skilled in sewing and carpentry and many kindred arts. Question me, -lords, that ye may see I speak the truth. Ahoy there, behold me!” - -His outcry brought the buyers flocking. The auctioneer, seeing his -opportunity, enlarged on Mr. Puddicombe’s supposed merits. Positively -the most accomplished slave Algiers had ever seen, diligent, gifted and -of celebrated piety. Not as young as he had been perhaps, but what of -it? What was age but maturity, the ripeness of wisdom, the fruit of -experience? Here was no gad-about boy to be forever sighing after the -slave wenches, loitering beside the story-tellers and forgetting his -duty, but a man of sound sense whose sole interests would be those of -his master. What offers for this union of all the virtues, this -household treasure? Stimulated by the dual advertisement, the bidding -became brisk, the clamor deafening, and Mr. Puddicombe was knocked down, -body and soul for seventeen pounds, thirteen shillings and fourpence -(fifty-three ducats) to a little hunch-back with ophthalmia, but of -extreme richness of apparel. - -Prisoner after prisoner was sold off and led away by his purchaser until -only Ortho remained. He was puzzled at this and wondered what to do -next, when the venerable Moor in the blue jellab finished some -transaction with the auctioneer and twitched at his sleeve. As the -guards showed no objection, or, indeed, any further interest in him, he -followed the blue jellab. The blue jellab led the way westwards up a -maze of crooked lanes until they reached the summit of the town, and -there, under the shadow of the minaret, opened a door in an otherwise -blank wall, passed up a gloomy tunnel, and brought Ortho out into a -courtyard. - -The court was small, stone-paved, with a single orange tree growing in -the center and arcades supported on fretted pillars running all round. - -A couple of slave negresses were sweeping the courtyard with palmetto -brooms under the oral goadings of an immensely stout old Berber woman, -and on the north side, out of the sun, reclining on a pile of cushions, -sat Captain Benjamin MacBride, the traditional picture of the seafarer -ashore, his pipe in his mouth, his tankard within reach, both arms -filled with girl. He had a slender, kindling Arab lass tucked in the -crook of his right arm, his left arm encompassed two fair-skinned -Moorish beauties. They were unveiled, bejeweled and tinted like ripe -peaches; their haiks were of white silk, their big-sleeved undergarments -of colored satin; their toes were painted with henna and so were their -fingers; they wore black ink beauty spots on their cheeks. Not one of -the brilliant little birds of paradise could have passed her seventeenth -year. - -Captain MacBride’s cherry-hued countenance wore an expression of -profound content. - -He hailed Ortho with a shout, “Come here, boy!” and the three little -ladies sat up, stared at the newcomer and whispered to each other, -tittering. - -“I’ve bought you, d’ y’ see?” said MacBride. - -“An’ a tidy penny you cost me. If the Basha wasn’t my very good friend -you’d ha’ gone to the quarries and had your heart broken first and your -back later, so you’re lucky. Now bestir yourself round about and do what -old Saheb (indicating the blue jellab) tells you, or to the quarries you -go—see? What d’ y’ call yourself, heh?” - -Ortho told him. - -“Ortho Penhale; that’ll never do.” He consulted the birds of paradise, -who tried the outlandish words over, but could not shape their tongues -to them. They twittered and giggled and wrangled and patted MacBride’s -cheerful countenance. - -“Hark ’e,” said he at last. “Tama wants to name you ‘Chitane’ because -you look wicked. Ayesha is for ‘Sejra’ because you’re tall, but -Schems-ed-dah here says you ought to be called ‘Saïd’ because you’re -lucky to be here.” He pressed the dark Arab girl to him. “So ‘Saïd’ be -it. ‘Saïd’ I baptize thee henceforth and forever more—see?” - -Break-of-Dawn embraced her lord, Tama and Ayesha pouted. He presented -them with a large knob of colored sweetmeat apiece and they were all -smiles again. Peace was restored and Ortho stepped back under his new -name, “Saïd”—the fortunate one. - -From then began his life of servitude at the house on the hill and it -was not disagreeable. His duties were to tend the captain’s horse and -the household donkey, fetch wood and water and run errands. In the early -morning MacBride would mount his horse (a grossly overfed, cow-hocked -chestnut), leave the town by the Malka Gate, ride hell-for-leather, -every limb in convulsion, across the sands to the shipyards at the -southeast corner of the town. Ortho, by cutting through the Jews’ -quarter and out of the Mrisa Gate as hard as he could run, usually -managed to arrive within a few minutes of the captain and spent the rest -of the morning walking the horse about while his master supervised the -work in the yards. These were on the bend of the river under shelter of -a long wall, a continuation of the town fortifications. Here the little -xebecs were drawn up on ways and made ready for sea. Renegade craftsmen -sent spars up and down, toiled like spiders in webs of rigging, splicing -and parceling; plugged shot holes, repaired splintered upper works, -painted and gilded the flamboyant beaks and sterns, while gangs of -slaves hove on the huge shore capstans, bobbed like mechanical dolls in -the saw-pits, scraped the slender hulls and payed them over with boiling -tallow. There were sailmakers to watch as well, gunsmiths and carvers; -plenty to see and admire. - -The heat of the day MacBride spent on the shady side of his court in -siesta among his ladies, and Ortho released the donkey from its tether -among the olive trees outside the Chaafa Gate and fetched wood and -water, getting the former from charcoal burners’ women from the Forest -of Marmora. He met many other European slaves similarly -employed—Frenchmen, Spaniards, Italians, Dutchmen, Portuguese, Greeks -and not a few British. They spoke Arabic together and a lingua franca, a -compound of their several tongues, but Ortho was not attracted by any of -them; they were either too reticent or too friendly. He remembered what -Puddicombe had said about spies and kept his mouth shut except on the -most trivial topics. Puddicombe he frequently encountered in the -streets, but never at the wells or in the charcoal market. The menial -hauling of wood and drawing of water were not for that astute gentleman; -he had passed onto a higher plane and was now steward with menials under -him. - -His master (whom he designated as “Sore-Eyes”) was very amiable when not -suffering from any of his manifold infirmities, amiable, not to say -indulgent. He had shares in every corsair in the port, fifteen cows and -a large orchard. The slaves had cous-cous, fat mutton and chicken -scrapings almost every day, butter galore and as much fruit as they -could eat. He was teaching Sore-Eyes the King’s Game and getting into -his good graces. But, purposely, not too deep. Did he make himself -indispensable Sore-Eyes might refuse to part with him and he would not -see Sidi Okbar Street again—a Jew merchant had promised to get his -letter through. Between his present master and the notary there was -little to choose, but Sallee was a mere rat-hole compared with Algiers. -He enlarged on the city of his captivity, its white terraces climbing -steeply from the blue harbor, its beauty, wealth and activity with all -the tremulous passion of an exile pining for home. - -Many free renegades were there also about the town with whom Ortho was -on terms of friendship—mutineers, murderers, ex-convicts, wanted -criminals to a man. These gentry were almost entirely employed either as -gunners and petty officers aboard the corsairs or as skilled laborers in -the yards. They had their own grog-shops and resorts, and when they had -money lived riotously and invited everybody to join. Many a night did -Ortho spend in the renegado taverns when the rovers were in after a -successful raid, watching them dicing for shares of plunder and dancing -their clattering hornpipes; listening to their melancholy and boastful -songs, to their wild tales of battle and disaster, sudden affluence and -debauch; tales of superstition and fabulous adventure, of phantom ships, -ghost islands, white whales, sea dragons, Jonahs and mermaids; of the -pleasant pirate havens in the main, slave barracoons on the Guinea -coast, orchid-poisoned forests in the Brazils, of Indian moguls who rode -on jeweled elephants beneath fans of peacock feathers, and the ice -barriers to the north, where the bergs stood mountain-high and glittered -like green glass. - -Sometimes there were brawls when the long sheath knives came out and one -or other of the combatants dropped, occasionally both. They were hauled -outside by the heels and the fun went on again. But these little -unpleasantnesses were exceptional. The “mala casta” ashore were the -essence of good fellowship and of a royal liberality; they were -especially generous to the Christian captives, far more kindly than the -slaves were to each other. - -The habitual feeling of restraint, of suspicion, vanished before the -boisterous conviviality of these rascals. When the fleets came, banging -and cheering, home over the bar into the Bou Regreg and the “mala casta” -were in town blowing their money in, the Europeans met together, spoke -openly, drank, laughed and were friends. When they were gone the cloud -descended once more, the slaves looked at each other slant-wise and -walked apart. - -But Ortho cared little for that; he was at home in the house on the hill -and passably happy. It was only necessary for him to watch the -Government slaves being herded to work in the quarries and salt-pans, -ill-clad, half-starved, battered along with sticks and gun butts, to -make him content with his mild lot. Not for nothing had he been named -“Saïd,” the fortunate. - -He had no longer any thought of escape. One morning returning with wood -he met a rabble in the narrow Souika. They had a mule in their midst, -and dragging head down at the mule’s tail was what had once been a man. -His hands were strapped behind him so that he could in no way protect -himself but bumped along the ruts and cobbles, twisting over and over. -His features were gone, there was not a particle of skin left on him, -and at this red abomination the women cursed, the beggars spat, the -children threw stones and the dogs tore. - -It was a Christian, Ortho learnt, a slave who had killed his warder, -escaped and been recaptured. - -The rabble went on, shouting and stoning, towards the Fez Gate, and -Ortho drove his donkey home, shivering, determined that freedom was too -dear at that risk. There was nothing in his life at the captain’s -establishment to make him anxious to run. The ample Mahma did not regard -him with favor, but that served to enhance him in the eyes of Saheb, the -steward, between whom and the housekeeper there was certain rivalry and -no love lost. - -The two negresses were merely lazy young animals with no thoughts beyond -how much work they could avoid and how much food they could steal. Of -the harem beauties he saw little except when MacBride was present and -then they were fully occupied with their lord. MacBride was amiability -itself. - -Captain MacBride at sea, at the first sign of indiscipline, tricing his -men to the main-jeers and flogging them raw; Captain MacBride, -yard-master of Sallee, bellowing blasphemies at a rigger on a top-mast -truck, laying a caulker out with his own mallet for skimped work, was a -totally different person from Ben MacBride of the house on the hill. The -moment he entered its portals he, as it were, resigned his commission -and put on childish things. He would issue from the tunnel and stand in -the courtyard, clapping his hands and hallooing for his dears. With a -flip-flap of embroidered slippers, a jingle of bangles and twitters of -welcome they would be on him and he would disappear in a whirl of -billowing haiks. The embraces over, he would disgorge his pockets of the -masses of pink and white sweetmeats he purchased daily and maybe produce -a richly worked belt for Ayesha, a necklace of scented beads for Tama, -fretted gold hair ornaments for Schems-ed-dah, and chase them round and -round the orange tree while the little things snatched at his flying -coat-tails and squealed in mock terror. - -What with overseeing the yards, where battered corsairs were constantly -refitting, and supervising the Pilot’s School, where young Moors were -taught the rudiments of navigation, MacBride was kept busy during the -day, and his household saw little of him, but in the evenings he -returned rejoicing to the bosom of his family, never abroad to stray, -the soul of domesticity. He would lounge on the heaped cushions, his -long pipe in his teeth, his tankard handy, Schems-ed-dah nestling -against one shoulder, Tama and Ayesha taking turns with the other, and -call for his jester, Saïd. - -“Hey, boy, tell us about ole Jerry and the bear.” - -Then Ortho would squat and tell imaginary anecdotes of Jerry, and the -captain would hoot and splutter and choke until the three little girls -thumped him normal again. - -“Rot me, but ain’t that rich?” he would moan, tears brightening his -scarlet cheeks. “Ain’t that jist like ole Jerry—the ole rip! He-he! -Tell us another, Saïd—that about the barber he shaved and painted like -his own pole—go on.” - -Saïd would tell the story. At first he had been at pains to invent new -episodes for Captain Gish, that great hero of MacBride’s boyhood, but he -soon found it quite unnecessary; the old would do as well—nay, better. -It was like telling fairy stories to children, always the old favorites -in the old words. His audience knew exactly what was coming, but that in -no way served to dull their delight when it came. As Ortho (or Saïd) -approached a well-worn climax a tremor of delicious expectancy would run -through Schems-ed-dah (he was talking in Arabic now), Tama and Ayesha -would clasp hands, and MacBride sit up, eyes fixed on the speaker, mouth -open, like a terrier ready to snap a biscuit. Then the threadbare -climax. MacBride would cast himself backwards and beat the air with -ecstatic legs; Schems-ed-dah clap her hands and laugh like a ripple of -fairy bells; Ayesha and Tama hug each other and swear their mirth would -kill them. - -When they recovered, the story-teller was rewarded with rum and tobacco -from that staunch Moslem MacBride, with sweetmeats and mint tea from the -ladies. He enjoyed his evenings. During the winter they sat indoors -before charcoal braziers in which burned sticks of aromatic wood, but on -the hot summer nights they took to the roof to catch the sea breeze. -Star-bright, languorous nights they were. - -Below them the white town, ghostly glimmering, sloped away to the coast -and the flats. Above them the slender minaret, while on the lazy wind -came the drone of breakers and the faint sweet scent of spice gardens. -Voluptuous, sea-murmurous nights, milk-warm, satin-soft under a tent of -star-silvered purple. - -Sometimes Schems-ed-dah fingered a gounibri and sang plaintive desert -songs of the Bedouin women, the two other girls, snuggling, half-asleep, -against MacBride’s broad chest, crooning the refrains. - -Sometimes Ayesha, stirred by moonlight, would dance, clicking her -bracelets, tinkling tiny brass cymbals between her fingers, swaying her -graceful body backwards and sideways, poising on her toes, arms -outstretched, like a sea-bird drifting, stamping her heels and -shuddering from head to toe. - -Besides story-telling, Ortho occasionally lifted up his voice in song. -He had experimented with his mother’s guitar in times gone by and found -he could make some show with the gounibri. - -He sang Romany ditties he had learnt on his travels, and these were -approved of by the Moorish girls, being in many ways akin to their own. -But mostly he sang sea songs for the benefit of MacBride, who liked to -swell the chorus with his bull bellow. They sang “Cawsand Bay,” -“Baltimore,” “Lowlands Low” and “The Sailor’s Bride,” and made much -cheerful noise about it, on one occasion calling down on themselves the -reproof of the muezzin, who rebuked them from the summit of the minaret, -swearing he could hardly hear himself shout. Eleven months Ortho -remained in congenial bondage in Sallee. - -Then one morning MacBride sent for him. “I’m goin’ to set you free, -Saïd, my buck,” said he. - -Ortho was aghast, asked what he had done amiss. - -MacBride waved his hand. “I ain’t got nothin’ against you as yet, but -howsomdever I reckon I’d best turn you loose. I’m goin’ to sea again—as -reis.” - -“Reis!” Ortho exclaimed. “What of Abdullah Benani?” - -“Had his neck broken by the Sultan’s orders in Mequinez three days ago -for losin’ them three xebecs off Corunna. I’m to go in his place. I’ve -settled about you with the Basha. You’re to go to the Makhzen Horse as a -free soldier. I’ll find you a nag and gear; when you sack a rich kasba -you can pay me back. You’ll make money if you’re clever—and don’t get -shot first.” - -“Can’t I go with you?” - -“No. We only take Christians with prices on their heads at home. They -don’t betray us then—you might.” - -“Well, can’t I stop here in Sallee?” - -“That you cannot. It has struck me that you’ve been castin’ too free an -eye on my girls. Mind you, I don’t blame you. You’re young and they’re -pretty; it’s only natural. But it wouldn’t be natural for me to go to -sea and leave you here with a free run. Anyhow I’m not doin’ it.” - -Ortho declared with warmth that MacBride’s suspicions were utterly -unfounded, most unjust; he was incapable of such base disloyalty. - -The captain wagged his bullet head. “Maybe, but I’m not takin’ any -risks. Into the army you go—or the quarries.” - -Ortho declared hastily for the army. - -A fortnight later MacBride led his fleet out over the bar between -saluting forts, and Ortho, with less ceremony, took the road for -Mequinez. - -That phase of his existence was over. He had a sword, a long match-lock -and a passable Barb pony under him. Technically he was a free man; -actually he was condemned to a servitude vastly more exacting than that -which he had just left. A little money might come his way, bullets -certainly, wounds probably, possibly painful death—and death was the -only discharge. - -He pulled up his horse at the entrance of the forest and looked back. -His eye was caught by the distant shimmer of the sea—the Atlantic. He -was going inland among the naked mountains and tawny plains of this -alien continent, might never see it again. - -The Atlantic!—the same ocean that beat in blue, white and emerald upon -the shores of home, within the sound of whose surges he had been born. -It was like saying good-by to one’s last remaining friend. He looked -upon Sallee. There lay the white town nestling in the bright arm of the -Bou Regreg, patched with the deep green of fig and orange groves. There -soared the minaret, its tiles a-wink in the sunshine. Below it, slightly -to the right, he thought he could distinguish the roof of MacBride’s -house—the roof of happy memories. He wondered if Schems-ed-dah were -standing on it looking after him. What cursed luck to be kicked out just -as he was coming to an understanding with Schems-ed-dah! - - - - - CHAPTER XXI - - -Ortho sat on the bare hillside and watched his horses coming in. They -came up the gully below him in a drove, limping from their -hobbles—grays, chestnuts, bays, duns and blacks, blacks predominating. -It was his ambition to command a squadron of blacks, and he was chopping -and changing to that end. They would look well on parade, he thought, a -line of glossy black Doukkala stallions with scarlet trappings, -bestridden by lancers in the uniform white burnoose—black, white and -scarlet. Such a display should catch the Sultan’s eye and he would be -made a Kaid Rahal. - -He was a Kaid Mia already. Sheer luck had given him his first step. - -When he first joined the Makhzen cavalry he found himself stablemates -with an elderly Prussian named Fleischmann, who had served with -Frederick the Great’s dragoons at Rossbach, Liegnitz and Torgau, a -surly, drunken old _sabreur_ with no personal ambition beyond the -assimilation of loot, but possessed of experience and a tongue to -disclose it. In his sober moments he held forth to Ortho on the proper -employment of horse. He did not share the common admiration for the -crack askar lances, but poured derision upon them. They were all bluster -and bravado, he said, stage soldiers with no real discipline to control -them in a tight corner. He admitted they were successful against rebel -hordes, but did they ever meet a resolute force he prophesied red-hot -disaster and prayed he might not be there. - -His prayer was granted. Disaster came and he was not there, having had -his head severed from his shoulders a month previously while looting -when drunk and meeting with an irritated householder who was sober. - -Ortho was in the forefront of the disaster. The black Janizaries, the -Bou Khari, were having one of their periodic mutinies and had been -drummed into the open by the artillery. The cavalry were ordered to -charge. Instead of stampeding when they saw the horse sweeping on them, -the negroes lay down, opened a well-directed fire and emptied saddles -right and left. - -A hundred yards from the enemy the lancers flinched and turned tail, and -the Bou Khari brought down twice as many more. Ortho did not turn. In -the first place he did not know the others had gone about until it was -too late to follow them, and secondly his horse, a powerful entire, was -crazy with excitement and had charge of him. He slammed clean through -the Bou Khari like a thunderbolt with nothing worse than the fright of -his life and a slight flesh wound. - -He had a confused impression of fire flashing all about him, bullets -whirring and droning round his head, black giants springing up among the -rocks, yells—and he was through. He galloped on for a bit, made a wide -detour round the flank and got back to what was left of his own ranks. - -Returning, he had time to meditate, and the truth of the late (and -unlamented) Fleischmann’s words came back to him. That flesh wound had -been picked up at the beginning of the charge. The nearer he had got the -wilder the fire had become. The negroes he had encountered flung -themselves flat; he could have skewered them like pigs. If the whole -line had gone on all the blacks would have flung themselves flat and -been skewered like pigs. A regiment of horse charges home with the -impact of a deep-sea breaker, hundreds of tons. - -The late Fleischmann had been right in every particular. The scene of -the affair was littered with dead horses and white heaps, like piles of -crumpled linen—their riders. The Bou Khari had advanced and were busy -among these, stripping the dead, stabbing the wounded, cheering -derisively from time to time. - -Ortho had no sooner rejoined his depleted ranks than a miralai -approached and summoned him to the presence of Sidi Mahomet himself. - -The puissant grandson of the mighty Muley Ismail was on a hillock where -he could command the whole field, sitting on a carpet under a white -umbrella, surrounded by his generals, who were fingering their beards -and looking exceedingly downcast, which was not unnatural, seeing that -at least half of them expected to be beheaded. - -The Sultan’s face was an unpleasant sight. He bit at the stem of his -hookah and his fingers twitched, but he was not ungracious to the -renegade lancer who did obeisance before him. - -“Stand up,” he growled. “Thou of all my askars hast no need to grovel. -How comes it that you alone went through?” - -“Sidi,” said Ortho, “the Sultan’s enemies are mine—and it was not -difficult. I know the way.” - -Mahomet’s delicate eyebrows arched. “Thou knowest the way—ha! Then thou -art wiser than these . . . these”—he waved his beautiful hand towards -the generals—“these sorry camel cows who deem themselves warriors. Tell -these ass-mares thy secret. Speak up and fear not.” - -Ortho spoke out. He said nothing about his horse having bolted with him, -that so far from being heroic he was numb with fright. He spoke with the -voice of Fleischmann, deceased, expounded the Prussian’s theory of -discipline and tactics as applied to shock cavalry, and, having heard -them _ad nauseam_, missed never a point. All the time the Sultan sucked -at his great hookah and never took his ardent, glowering eyes from his -face, and all the time in the background the artillery thumped and the -muskets crackled. - -He left the royal presence a Kaid Mia, commanding a squadron, a bag of -one hundred ducats in his hand, and a month later the cavalry swept over -the astonished Bou Khari as a flood sweeps a mud bank, steeled by the -knowledge that a regiment of Imperial infantry and three guns were in -their rear with orders to mow them down did they waver. They thundered -through to victory, and the Kaid Saïd el Ingliz (which was another name -for Ortho Penhale) rode, perforce, in the van—wishing to God he had not -spoken—and took a pike thrust in the leg and a musket ball in his ribs -and was laid out of harm’s way for months. - -But that was past history, and now he was watching his horses come in. -They were not looking any too well, he thought, tucked-up, hide-bound, -scraggy—been campaigning overlong, traveling hard, feeding anyhow, -standing out in all weathers. He was thoroughly glad this tax-collecting -tour was at a close and he could get them back into garrison. His men -drove them up to their heel-pegs, made them fast for the night, tossed -bundles of grass before them and sought the camp fires that twinkled -cheerily in the twilight. A couple of stallions squealed, there was the -thud of a shoe meeting cannon-bone and another squeal, followed by the -curses of the horse-guard. A man by the fires twanged an oud and sang an -improvised ditty on a palm-tree in his garden at Tafilet: - - “A queen among palms, - Very tall, very stately, - The sun gilds her verdure - With glittering kisses. - And in the calm night time, - Among her green tresses, - The little stars tremble.” - -Ortho drew the folds of his jellab closer about him—it was getting -mighty cold—stopped to speak to a farrier on the subject of the shoe -shortage and sought the miserable tent which he shared with his -lieutenant, Osman Bâki, a Turkish adventurer from Rumeli Hissar. - -Osman was just in from headquarters and had news. The engineers reported -their mines laid and the Sari was going to blow the town walls at -moonrise—in an hour’s time. The infantry were already mustering, but -there were no orders for the horse. The Sari was in a vile temper, had -commanded that all male rebels were to be killed on sight, women -optional—looting was open. Osman picked a mutton bone, chattering and -shaking; the mountain cold had brought out his fever. He would not go -storming that night, he said, not for the plunder of Vienna; slung the -mutton bone out of doors, curled up on the ground, using his saddle for -pillow, and pulled every available covering over himself. - -Ortho ate his subordinate’s share of the meager repast, stripped himself -to his richly laced kaftan, stuck a knife in his sash, picked up a sword -and a torch and went out. - -The general was short of cavalry, unwilling to risk his precious -bodyguard, and had therefore not ordered them into the attack. Ortho was -going nevertheless; he was not in love with fighting, but he wanted -money—he always wanted money. - -He walked along the camp fires, picked ten of the stoutest and most -rascally of his rascals, climbed out of the gully and came in view of -the beleaguered kasba. It was quite a small place, a square fortress of -mud-plastered stone standing in a gorge of the Major Atlas and filled -with obdurate mountaineers who combined brigandage with a refusal to pay -tribute. A five-day siege had in no wise weakened their resolve. Ortho -could hear drums beating inside, while from the towers came defiant -yells and splutters of musketry. - -“If we can’t get in soon the snow will drive us away—and they know it,” -he said to the man beside him, and the man shivered and thought of warm -Tafilet. - -“Yes, lord,” said he, “and there’s naught of value in that _roua_. Had -there been, the Sari would have not thrown the looting open. A sheep, a -goat or so—paugh! It is not worth our trouble.” - -“They must be taught a lesson, I suppose,” said Ortho. - -The man shrugged. “They will be dead when they learn it.” - -A German sapper slouched by whistling “Im Grünewald mein Lieb, und ich,” -stopped and spoke to Ortho. They had worked right up to the walls by -means of trenches covered with fascines, he said, and were going to blow -them in two places simultaneously and rush the breaches. The blacks were -going in first. These mountaineers fought like devils, but he did not -think there were more than two hundred of them, and the infantry were -vicious, half-starved, half-frozen, impatient to be home. Snow was -coming, he thought; he could smell it—whew! - -A pale haze blanched the east; a snow peak gleamed with ghostly light; -surrounding stars blinked as though blinded by a brighter glory, blinked -and faded out. Moon-rise. The German called “Besslama!” and hurried to -his post. The ghost-light strengthened. Ortho could see ragged -infantrymen creeping forward from rock to rock; some of them dragged -improvised ladders. He heard sly chuckles, the chink of metal on stone -and the snarl of an officer commanding silence. - -In the village the drums went on—thump, thump; thump, -thump—unconscious of impending doom. - -“Dogs of the Sultan,” screamed a man on the gate-tower. “Little dogs of -a big dog, may Gehenna receive you, may your mothers be shamed and your -fathers eat filth—a-he-yah!” His chance bullet hit the ground in front -of Ortho, ricocheted and found the man from Tafilet. He rolled over, -sighed one word, “nkhel”—palm groves—and lay still. - -His companions immediately rifled the body—war is war. A shining edge, -a rim of silver coin, showed over a saddle of the peaks. “_G mare!_” -said the soldiers. “The moon—ah, _now_!” - -The whispers and laughter ceased; every tattered starveling lay tense, -expectant. - -In the village the drums went on—thump, thump; thump, thump. The moon -climbed up, up, dragged herself clear of the peaks, drenching the snow -fields with eerie light, drawing sparkles here, shadows there; a dead -goddess rising out of frozen seas. - -The watchers held their breath, slowly released it, breathed again. - -“Wah! the mines have failed,” a man muttered. “The powder was damp. I -knew it.” - -“It is the ladders now, or nothing,” growled another. “Why did the Sari -not bring cannon?” - -“The Tobjyah say the camels could not carry them in these hills,” said a -third. - -“The Tobjyah tell great lies,” snapped the first. “I know for certain -that . . . hey!” - -The north corner of the kasba was suddenly enveloped in a fountain of -flame, the ground under Ortho gave a kick, and there came such an -appalling clap of thunder he thought his ear-drums had been driven in. -His men scrambled to their feet cheering. - -“Hold fast! Steady!” he roared. “There is another yet . . . ah!” The -second mine went up as the débris of the first came down—mud, -splinters, stones and shreds of human flesh. - -A lump of plaster smashed across his shoulders and an infantryman within -a yard of him got his back broken by a falling beam. When Ortho lifted -his head again it was to hear the exultant whoops of the negro -detachments as they charged for the breaches. In the village the drums -had stopped; it was as dumb as a grave. He held his men back. He was not -out for glory. - -“Let the blacks and infantry meet the resistance,” he said. “That man -with a broken back had a ladder—eh? Bring it along.” - -He led his party round to the eastern side, put his ladder up and got -over without dispute. The tribesmen had recovered from their shock to a -certain extent and were concentrating at the breaches, leaving the walls -almost unguarded. A mountaineer came charging along the parapet, shot -one of Ortho’s men through the stomach as he himself was shot through -the head, and both fell writhing into a courtyard below. - -The invaders passed from the wall to a flat roof, and there were -confronted by two more stalwarts whom they cut down with difficulty. -There was a fearful pandemonium of firing, shrieks, curses and -war-whoops going on at the breaches, but the streets were more or less -deserted. A young and ardent askar kaid trotted by, beating his tag-rag -on with his sword-flat. He yelped that he had come over the wall and was -going to take the defenders in the rear; he called to Ortho for support. -Ortho promised to follow and turned the other way—plunder, plunder! - -The alleys were like dry torrent beds underfoot, not five feet deep and -dark as tunnels. Ortho lit his torch and looked for doors in the mud -walls. In every case they were barred, but he battered them in with axes -brought for that purpose—to find nothing worth the trouble. - -Miserable hovels all, with perhaps a donkey and some sheep in the court -and a few leathery women and children squatting in the darkness wailing -their death-song. Ornaments they wore none—buried of course; there was -the plunder of at least two rich Tamgrout caravans hidden somewhere in -that village. His men tortured a few of the elder women to make them -disclose the treasure, but though they screamed and moaned there was -nothing to be got out of them. One withered hag did indeed offer to show -them where her grandson hid his valuables, led them into a small room, -suddenly jerked a koummyah from the folds of her haik and laid about -her, foaming at the mouth. - -The room was cramped, the men crowded and taken unawares; the old fury -whirled and shrieked and chopped like a thing demented. She wounded -three of them before they laid her out. One man had his arm nearly taken -off at the elbow. Ortho bound it up as best he could and ordered him -back to camp, but he never got there. He took the wrong turning, fell -helpless among some other women and was disemboweled. - -“Y’ Allah, the Sultan wastes time and lives,” said an askar. “The sons -of such dams will never pay taxes.” - -Ortho agreed. He had lost two men dead and three wounded, and had got -nothing for it but a few sheep, goats and donkeys. The racket at the -breaches had died down, the soldiery were pouring in at every point. It -would be as well to secure what little he had. He drove his bleating -captures into a court, mounted his men on guard and went to the door to -watch. - -An infantryman staggered down the lane bent under a brass-bound coffer. -Ortho kicked out his foot; man and box went headlong. The man sprang up -and flew snarling at Ortho, who beat him in the eyes with his torch and -followed that up with menaces of his sword. The man fled and Ortho -examined the box which the fall had burst open. It contained a brass -tiara, some odds and ends of tarnished Fez silk, a bride’s belt and -slippers; that was all. Value a few blanquils—faugh! - -He left the stuff where it lay in the filth of the kennel, strolled -aimlessly up the street, came opposite a splintered door and looked in. - -The house was more substantial than those he had visited, of two -stories, with a travesty of a fountain bubbling in the court. The -infantry had been there before him. Three women and an old man were -lying dead beside the fountain and in a patch of moonlight an -imperturbable baby sat playing with a kitten. - -An open stairway led aloft. Ortho went up, impelled by a sort of idle -curiosity. There was a room at the top of the stair. He peered in. -Ransacked. The sole furniture the room possessed—a bed—had been -stripped of its coverings and overturned. He walked round the walls, -prodding with his sword at suspicious spots in the plaster in the hopes -of finding treasure. Nothing. - -At the far end of the gallery was another room. Mechanically he strolled -towards it, thinking of other things, of his debts in Mequinez, of how -to feed his starved horses on the morrow—these people must at least -have some grain stored, in sealed pits probably. He entered the second -room. It was the same as the first, but it had not been ransacked; it -was not worth the trouble. A palmetto basket and an old jellab hung on -one wall, a bed was pushed against the far wall—and there was a dead -man. Ortho examined him by the flare of his torch. A low type of chiaus -foot soldier, fifty, diseased, and dressed in an incredible assortment -of tatters. Both his hands were over his heart, clenching fistfuls of -bloody rags, and on his face was an expression of extreme surprise. It -was as though death were the last person he had expected to meet. Ortho -thought it comical. - -“What else did you expect to find, jackal—at this gay trade?” he -sneered, swept his torch round the room—and prickled. - -In the shadow between the bed end and the wall he had seen something, -somebody, move. - -He stepped cautiously towards the bed end, sword point forwards, on -guard. “Who’s there?” - -No answer. He lowered his torch. It was a woman, crouched double, -swathed in a soiled haik, nothing but her eyes showing. Ortho grunted. -Another horse-faced mountain drudge, work-scarred, weather-coarsened! - -“Stand up!” he ordered. She did not move. “Do you hear?” he snapped and -made a prick at her with his sword. - -She sprang up and at the same moment flung her haik back. Ortho started, -amazed. The girl before him was no more than eighteen, dark-skinned, -slender, exquisitely formed. Her thick raven hair was bound with an -orange scarf; across her forehead was a band of gold coins and from her -ears hung coral earrings. She wore two necklaces, one of fretted gold -with fish-shaped pieces dangling from it, and a string of black beads -such as are made of pounded musk and amber. Her wrists and ankles were -loaded with heavy silver bangles. Intricate henna designs were traced -halfway up her slim hands and feet, and from wrist to shoulder patterns -had been scored with a razor and left to heal. Her face was finely -chiseled, the nose narrow and curved, the mouth arrogant, the brows -straight and stormy, and under them her great black eyes smoldered with -dangerous fires. - -Ortho sucked in his breath. This burning, lance-straight, scornful -beauty came out of no hill village. An Arab this, daughter of whirlwind -horsemen, darling of some desert sheik, spoil of the Tamgrout caravans. - -Well, she was his spoil now. The night’s work would pay after all. All -else aside, there was at least a hundred ducats of jewelry on her. He -would strip it now before the others came and demanded a share. - -“Come here,” he said, dropping his sword. - -The girl slouched slowly towards him, pouting, chin tilted, hands -clasped behind her, insolently obedient; stopped within two feet of him -and stabbed for his heart with all her might. - -Had she struck less quickly and with more stealth she might have got -home. Penhale’s major asset was that, with him, thought and action were -one. He saw an instantaneous flicker of steel and instantaneously -swerved. The knife pierced the sleeve of his kaftan below the left -shoulder. He grabbed the girl by the wrist and wrenched it back till she -dropped the knife, and as he did this, with her free hand she very -nearly had his own knife out of his sash and into him—very nearly. But -that the handle caught in a fold he would have been done. He secured -both her wrists and held her at arm’s length. She ground her little -sharp teeth at him, quivered with rage, blazed murder with her eyes. - -“Soldier,” said Ortho to the dead man behind him, “now I know why you -look astonished. Neither you nor I expected to meet death in so pretty a -guise.” - -He spoke to the girl. “Be quiet, beauty, or I will shackle you with your -own bangles. Will you be sensible?” - -For answer the girl began to struggle, tugged at his grasp, wrenched -this way and that with the frantic abandon of a wild animal in a gin. -She was as supple as an eel and, for all her slimness, marvelously -strong. Despite his superior weight and power, Ortho had all he could do -to hold her. But her struggles were too wild to last and at length -exhaustion calmed her. Ortho tied her hands with the orange scarf and -began to take her jewelry off and cram it in his pouch. While he was -thus engaged she worked the scarf loose with her teeth and made a dive -for his eyes with her long finger nails. - -He tied her hands behind her this time and stooped to pry the anklets -off. She caught him on the point of the jaw with her knee, knocking him -momentarily dizzy. He tied her feet with a strip of her haik. She leaned -forward and bit his cheek, bit with all her strength, bit with teeth -like needles, nor would she let go till he had well-nigh choked her. He -cursed her savagely, being in considerable pain. She shook with -laughter. He gagged her after that, worked the last ornament off, picked -up his sword and prepared to go. His torch had spluttered out, but -moonlight poured through the open door and he could see the girl sitting -on the floor, gagged and bound, murdering him with her splendid eyes. - -“_Msa l kheir, lalla!_” said he, making a mock salaam. She snorted, -defiant to the end. Ortho strode out and along the gallery. His cheek -stung like fire, blood was trickling from the scratches, his jaw was -stiff from the jolt it had received. What a she-devil!—but, by God, -what spirit! He liked women of spirit, they kept one guessing. She -reminded him somewhat of Schems-ed-dah back in Sallee, the same -rapier-tempering and blazing passion, desert women both. When tame they -were wonderful, without peer—when tame. He hesitated, stopped and -fingered his throbbing cheek. - -“What that she-devil would like to do would be to cut me to pieces with -a knife—slowly,” he muttered. He turned about, feeling his jaw. “Cut me -to pieces and throw ’em to the dogs.” He walked back. “She would do it -gladly, though they did the same to her afterwards. Tame that sort! -Never in life.” He stepped back into the room and picked the girl up in -his arms. “Wild-cat, I’m going to attempt the impossible,” said he. - -Even then she struggled. - -The town was afire, darting tongued sheets of flame and jets of sparks -at the placid moon. Soldiers were everywhere, shouting, smashing, -pouring through the alleys over the bodies of the defenders. As Ortho -descended the stairs a party of Sudanese broke into the courtyard; one -of them took a wild shot at him. - -“_Makhzeni!_” he shouted and they stood back. - -A giant negro petty officer with huge loops of silver wire in his ears -held a torch aloft. Blood from a scalp wound smeared his face with a -crimson glaze. At his belt dangled four fowls and a severed head. - -“Hey—the Kaid Ingliz,” he said and tapped the head. “The rebel Basha; I -slew him myself at the breach. The Sari should reward me handsomely. El -Hamdoulillah!” He smiled like a child expectant of sweetmeats. “What -have you there, Kaid?” - -“A village wench merely.” - -“Fair?” - -“So so.” - -The negro spat. “Bah! they are as ugly as their own goats, but”—he -grinned, knowing Ortho’s weakness—“she may fetch the price of a black -horse—eh, Kaid?” - -“She may,” said Ortho. - - - - - CHAPTER XXII - - -Two days later the force struck camp, leaving the town behind them a -shell of blackened ruins, bearing on lances before them the heads of -thirty prominent citizens as a sign that Cæsar is not lightly denied his -tribute. - -They streamed northeast through the defiles, a tattered rabble, a swarm -of locusts, eating up the land as they went. The wounded were jostled -along in rough litters, at the mercy of camp barbers and renegade -quacks; the majority died on the way and were thankful to die. The -infantry straggled for miles (half rode donkeys) and drove before them -cattle, sheep, goats and a few women prisoners. What with stopping to -requisition and pillage they progressed at an average of twelve miles a -day. Only among the negroes and the cavalry was there any semblance of -march discipline, and then only because the general kept them close -about him as protection against his other troops. - -Beside Ortho rode the Arab girl, her feet strapped under the mule’s -belly. Twice she tried to escape—once by a blind bolt into the -foothills, once by a surer, sharper road. She had wriggled across the -tent and pulled a knife out of its sheath with her teeth. Osman had -caught her just as she was on the point of rolling on it. Ortho had to -tie her up at night and watch her all day long. Never had he encountered -such implacable resolve. She was determined to foil him one way or the -other at no matter what cost to herself. He had always had his own way -with women and this failure irritated him. He would stick it as long as -she, he swore—and longer. - -Osman Bâki was entertained. He watched the contest with twinkling china -blue eyes—his mother had been a Georgian slave and he was as fair as a -Swede. - -“She will leave you—somehow,” he warned. - -“For whom? For what?” Ortho exclaimed. “If she slips past me the -infantry will catch her, or some farmer who will beat her life out. Why -does she object to me? I have treated her kindly—as kindly as she will -allow.” - -Osman twirled his little yellow mustache. “Truly, but these people have -no reason, only a mad pride. One cannot reason with madness, Kaid. Oh, I -know them. When I was in the service of the deys . . .” - -He delivered an anecdote from his unexampled repertoire proving the -futility of arguing with a certain class of Arab with anything more -subtle than a bullet. - -“Sell her in Morocco,” he advised. “She is pretty, will fetch a good -sum.” - -“No, I’m going to try my hand first,” said Ortho stubbornly. - -“You’ll get it bitten,” said the Turk, eying the telltale marks on -Ortho’s face with amusement. “For my part I prefer a quiet life—in the -home.” - -They straggled into Morocco City ten days later to find the Sultan in -residence for the winter, building sanctuaries and schools with immense -energy. - -Ortho hoped for the governorship of an outlying post where he would be -more or less his own master, get some pig-hunting and extort backsheesh -from the country folk under his protection; but it was not to be. He was -ordered to quarter his stalwarts in the kasba and join the Imperial -Guard. Having been in the Guard before at Mequinez, having influence in -the household and getting a wind-fall in the way of eight months’ back -pay, he contrived to bribe himself into possession of a small house -overlooking the Aguedal Gardens, close to the Ahmar Gate. - -There he installed the Arab girl and a huge old negress to look after -her. - -Then he set to and gave his unfortunate men the stiffening of their -lives. - -He formed his famous black horses into one troop, graded the others by -colors and drilled the whole all day long. - -Furthermore, he instituted a system of grooming and arm-cleaning -hitherto unknown in the Moroccan forces—all on the Fleischmann recipe. -Did his men show sulks, he immediately up-ended and bastinadoed them. -This did not make him popular, but Osman Bâki supported him with -bewildered loyalty and he kept the _mokadem_ and the more desperate -rascals on his side by a judicious distribution of favors and money. -Nevertheless he did not stroll abroad much after dark and then never -unattended. - -They drilled in the Aguedal, on the bare ground opposite the powder -house, and acquired added precision from day to day. Ortho kept his eye -on the roof of the powder house. - -For two months this continued and Ortho grew anxious. What with -household expenses and continued _douceurs_ to the _mokadem_ his money -was running out and he was sailing too close to the wind to try tricks -with his men’s rations and pay at present. - -Just when things were beginning to look desperate a party appeared on -the roof of the powder house, which served the parade ground as a -grand-stand. - -Ortho, ever watchful, saw them the moment they arrived, brought his -command into squadron column, black troop to the fore, and marched past -underneath. - -They made a gallant show and Ortho knew it. Thanks to the grooming, his -horses were looking fifty per cent better than any other animals in the -Shereefian Army; the uniformity added another fifty. The men knew as -well as he did who was looking down on them, and went by, sitting stiff, -every eye fixed ahead. - -The lusty sun set the polished hides aglow, the burnished lance-heads -a-glitter. The horses, fretted by sharp stirrups, tossed their silky -manes, whisked their streaming tails. The wind got into the burnooses -and set them flapping and billowing in creamy clouds; everything was in -his favor. Ortho wheeled the head of his column left about, formed -squadron line on the right and thundered past the Magazine, his -shop-window troop nearest the spectators, shouting the imperial salute, -“_Allah y barek Amer Sidi!_” A good line too, he congratulated himself, -as good as any Makhzen cavalry would achieve in this world. If that -didn’t work nothing would. It worked. - -A slave came panting across the parade ground summoning him to the -powder house at once. - -The Sultan was leaning against the parapet, sucking a pomegranate and -spitting the pips at his Grand Vizier, who pretended to enjoy it. The -fringes of the royal jellab were rusty with brick dust from the ruins of -Bel Abbas, which Mahomet was restoring. Ortho did obeisance and got a -playful kick in the face; His Sublimity was in good humor. - -He recognized Ortho immediately. “Ha! The lancer who alone defied the -Bou Khari, still alive! Young man, you must indeed be of Allah beloved!” -He looked the soldier up and down with eyes humorous and restless. “What -is your rank?” - -“Kaid Mia, Sidi.” - -“Hum!—thou art Kaid Rahal now, then.” He turned on the Vizier. “Tell El -Mechouar to let him take what horses he chooses; he knows how to keep -them. Go!” - -He flung the fruit rind at Ortho by way of dismissal. - -Ortho gave his long-suffering men a feast that night with the last ready -money in his possession. They voted him a right good fellow—soldiers -have short memories. - -He was on his feet now. As Kaid Rahal, with nominally a thousand -cut-throats at his beck and nod, he would be a fool indeed if he -couldn’t blackmail the civilians to some order. Also there was a -handsome sum to be made by crafty manipulation of his men’s pay and -rations. El Mechouar would expect his commission out of this, naturally, -and sundry humbler folk—“big fleas have little fleas . . .”—but there -would be plenty left. He was clear of the financial thicket. He went -prancing home to his little house, laid aside his arms and burnoose, -took the key from the negress, ran upstairs and unlocked the room in -which the Arab girl, Ourida, was imprisoned. It was a pleasant prison -with a window overlooking the Aguedal, its miles of pomegranate, orange, -and olive trees. It was the best room in the house and he had furnished -it as well as his thin purse would afford, but to the desert girl it -might have been a tomb. - -She sat all day staring out of the barred window, looking beyond the -wide Haouz plain to where the snow peaks of the High Atlas rose, a sheer -wall of sun-lit silver—and beyond them even. She never smiled, she -never spoke, she hardly touched her food. Ortho in all his experience -had encountered nothing like her. He did his utmost to win her over, -brought sweetmeats, laughed, joked, retailed the gossip of the palace -and the souks, told her stories of romance and adventure which would -have kept any other harem toy in shivers of bliss, took his gounibri and -sang Romany songs, Moorish songs, English ballads, flowery Ottoman -_kasidas_, _ghazels_ and _gûlistâns_, learned from Osman Bâki, cursed -her, adored her. - -All to no avail; he might have been dumb, she deaf. Driven desperate, he -seized her in his arms; he had as well embraced so much ice. It was -maddening. Osman Bâki, who watched him in the lines of a morning, raving -at the men over trifles, twisted his yellow mustache and smiled. This -evening, however, Ortho was too full of elation to be easily repulsed. -He had worked hard and intrigued steadily for this promotion. Three -years before he had landed in Morocco a chained slave, now he was the -youngest of his rank in the first arm of the service. Another few years -at this pace and what might he not achieve? He bounded upstairs like a -lad home with a coveted prize, told the girl of his triumph, striding up -and down the room, flushed, laughing, smacking his hands together, -boyish to a degree. He looked his handsomest, a tall, picturesque figure -in the plum-colored breeches, soft riding boots, blue kaftan and scarlet -tarboosh tilted rakishly on his black curls. The girl stole a glance at -him from under her long lashes, but when he looked at her she was -staring out of the window at the snow wall of the Atlas rose-flushed -with sunset, and when he spoke to her she made no answer; he might as -well have been talking to himself. But he was too full of his success to -notice, and he rattled on and on, pacing the little room up and down, -four strides each way. He dropped beside her, put his arm about her -shoulders, drew her cold cheek to his flushed one. - -“Listen, my pearl,” he rhapsodized. “I have money now and you shall have -dresses like rainbows, a gold tiara and slave girls to wait on you, and -when we move garrison you shall ride a white ambling mule with red -trappings and lodge in a striped tent like the royal women. I am a Kaid -Rahal now, do you hear? The youngest of any, and in the Sultan’s favor. -I will contrive and scheme, and in a few years . . . the -Standard!—_eschkoun-i-araf_? And then, my honey-sweet, you shall have a -palace with a garden and fountains. Hey, look!” - -He scooped in his voluminous breeches’ pockets, brought out a handful of -trinkets and tossed them into her lap. The girl stared at him, then at -the treasures, and drew a sharp breath. They were her own, the jewelry -he had wrenched from her on that wild night of carnage three months -before. - -“You thought I had sold them—eh?” he laughed. “No, no, my dear; it very -nearly came to it, but not quite. They are safe now and yours -again—see?” - -He seized her wrists and worked the bangles on, snapped the crude black -necklace round her neck and hung the elaborate gold one over it, kissed -her full on the quivering mouth. “Yours again, for always.” - -She ran the plump black beads through her fingers, her breathing -quickened. She glanced at him sideways, shyly; there was an odd light in -her eyes. She swayed a little towards him, then the corners of her mouth -twitched and curved upwards in an adorable bow; she was smiling, -smiling! He held out his arms to her and she toppled into them, burying -her face in his bosom. - -“My lord!” said she. - -The proud lady had surrendered at last! - -“Osman, Osman Bâki, what now?” thought Ortho and crushed her to him. - -The girl made a faint, pained exclamation and put her hand to her -throat. - -“Did I hurt you, my own?” said Ortho, contrite. - -“No, my lord, but you have snapped my necklace,” she laughed. “It is -nothing.” - -He picked up the black beads, wondering how he could have done it, and -she put them down on the rug beside her. - -“It is a poor thing, but a great saint has blessed it. My king, take me -in your arms again.” - -They sat close together while the rosy peaks faded out and the swift -winter dusk filled the room, and he told her of the great things he -would do. Elation swept him up. Everything seemed possible now with this -slim, clinging beauty to solace and inspire him. He would trample on and -on, scattering opposition like straw, carving his own road, a captain of -destiny. She believed in his bravest boasts. Her lord had but to will a -thing and it was done. Who could withstand her lord? “Not I, not I,” -said she. “Hearken, tall one. I said to my heart night and day, ‘Hate -this Roumi askar, hate him, hate him!’—but my heart would not listen, -it was wiser than I.” - -She nestled luxuriously in his arms, crooning endearments, melting and -passionate, sweeter than honey in the honey-comb. It grew dark and cold. -He went to the door and called for the brazier. - -“And tea,” Ourida added. “I would serve you with tea, my heart’s joy.” - -The negress brought both. - -Ourida rubbed her head against his shoulder. “Sweetmeats?” she cooed. - -He jerked his last blanquils to the slave with the order. - -Ourida squatted cross-legged on a pile of cushions and poured out the -sweet mint tea, handed him his cup with a mock salaam. He did obeisance -as before a Sultana, and she rippled with delight. They made long -complimentary speeches to each other after the manner of the court, -played with each other’s hands, were very childish and merry. - -Ourida pressed a second cup of tea on him. He drank it off at a gulp and -lay down at her side. - -“Rest here and be comfortable,” said she, drawing his head to her. - -“Tell me again about that battle with the Bou Khari.” - -He told her in detail, omitting the salient fact that his horse had -bolted with him, though, in truth, he had almost forgotten it himself by -now. - -“All alone you faced them! Small wonder Sidi Mahomet holds thee in high -honor, my hero. And the fight in the Rif?” - -He told her all about the guerrilla campaign among the rock fastnesses -of the Djebel Tiziren, of a single mountaineer with a knife crawling -through the troop-lines at night and sixty ham-strung horses in the -morning. - -Ourida was entranced. “Go on, my lord, go on.” - -Ortho went on. He didn’t want to talk. He was most comfortable lying out -on the cushions, his head on the girl’s soft lap. Moreover, his heavy -day in the sun and wind had made him extraordinarily drowsy—but he went -on. He told her of massacres and burnt villages, of ambushes and -escapes, of three hundred rebels rising out of a patch of cactus no -bigger than a sheep pen and rushing in among the astonished lancers, -screaming and slashing. The survivors of that affair had fled up the -opposite hillside flat on their horses’ necks and himself among the -foremost, but he did not put it that way; he said he “organized the -retreat.” - -“More,” breathed Ourida. - -He began to tell her of five fanatics with several muskets and -quantities of ammunition shut up in a saint’s shrine and defying the -entire Shereefian forces for two days, but before he had got halfway his -voice tailed off into silence. - -“You do not speak, light of my life?” - -“I am sleepy—and comfortable, dearest.” - -Ourida smoothed his cheek. “Sleep then with thy slave for pillow.” - -He felt her lips touch his forehead, her slim fingers running through -his curls, through and through . . . through . . . and . . . through -. . . - -“My lord sleeps?” came Ourida’s voice from miles away, thrilling -strangely. - -“Um . . . ah! . . . almost,” Ortho mumbled. “Where . . . you . . . -going?” She had slipped from under him; he had an impulse to grasp her -hand, then felt it was too much trouble. - -“Listen, Saïd el Ingliz,” said Ourida in his ear, enunciating with great -clarity. “You are going to sleep for_ever_, you swine!” - -He forced his weighted lids apart. She was bending right over him. He -could see her face by the glow of the brazier, transformed, exultant; -her teeth were locked together and showing; her eyes glittered. - -“For_ever_,” she hissed. “Do you hear me?” - -“Drugged, by God!” thought Ortho. “Drugged, poisoned, fooled like a fat -palace eunuch!” - -Fury came upon him. He fought the drowse with all the power that was in -him, sat up, fell back again. - -The girl laughed shrilly. - -He tried to shout for help, for the negress, achieved a whisper. - -“She has gone for sweetmeats and will loiter hours,” mocked the girl. -“Call louder; call up your thousand fine lancers. Oh, great Kaid Rahal, -Standard Bearer to be!” - -“Osman—they will crush you . . . between . . . stones . . . for this,” -he mumbled. - -She shook her head. “No, great one, they will not catch me. I have three -more poisoned beads.” She held up the remnant of her black necklace. - -So that was how it was done. In the tea. By restoring her the trinkets -he had compassed his own end. His eyelids drooped, he was away, adrift -again in that old dream he had had, rocking in the smuggler’s boat under -Black Carn, floating through star-trembling space, among somber -continents of cloud, a wraith borne onwards, downwards on streaming -air-ways into everlasting darkness. - -“Great Lord of lances,” came a whisper out of nowhere. “When thou art in -Gehenna thou wilt remember me, thy slave.” - -He fought back to consciousness, battled with smothering wraps of -swansdown, through fogs of choking gray and yellow, through pouring -waters of oblivion, came out sweating into the light, saw through a haze -a shadow girl bending over him, the red glimmer of the brazier. - -With an immense effort he lifted his foot into the coals, bit hard into -his under-lip. “Not yet, not yet!” - -The girl displayed amusement. “Wouldst burn before thy time? Burn on. -Thou wilt take no more women of my race against their wish, Kaid—or any -other women—though methinks thy lesson is learned overlate. - -“Why fight the sleep, _Roumi_? It will come, it will come. The Rif herb -never fails.” On she went with her bitter raillery, on and on. - -But Ortho was holding his own. He was his mother’s son and had inherited -all her marvelous vitality. The pain in his burnt foot was counteracting -the drowse, sweat was pouring out of him. The crisis was past. Could he -but crawl to the door? Not yet; in a minute or two. That negress must be -back soon. He bit into his bleeding lip again, closed his eyes. The girl -bent forward eagerly. - -“It is death, Kaid. Thou art dying, dying!” - -“No, nor shall I,” he muttered, and instantly realized his mistake. - -She drew back, startled, and swooped at him again. - -“Open your eyes!” She forced his lids up. - -“Failed!” - -“Failed!” Ortho repeated. - -“Bah! there are other means,” she snarled, jumped up, flitted round the -room, stood transfixed in thought in the center, both hands to her -cheeks, laughed, tore off her orange scarf and dropped on her knees -beside him. - -“Other means, Kaid.” She slipped the silk loop round his neck, knotted -it and twisted. - -She was going to strangle him, the time-hallowed practice of the East. -He tried to stop her, lifted his heavy hands, but they were powerless, -like so much dead wood. He swelled his neck muscles, but it was useless; -the silk was cutting in all round, a red-hot wire. He had a flash -picture of Osman Bâki standing over his body, wagging his head -regretfully and saying, “I said so,” Osman Bâki with the Owls’ House for -background. It was all over; the girl had waited and got him in the end. -Even at that moment he admired her for it. She had spirit; never had he -seen such spirit. Came a pang of intolerable pain, his eyeballs were -starting out, his head was bursting open—and then the tension at his -throat inexplicably relaxed. - -Ortho rolled over, panting and retching, and as he did so heard -footsteps on the stairs. - -A fist thumped on the door, a voice cried, “Kaid! Kaid!” and there was -Osman Bâki. - -He peered into the room, holding a lantern before him. “Kaid, are you -there? Where are you? There is a riot of Draouia in the Djeema El Fna; -two troops to go out. Oh, there you are—_Bismillah_! What is this?” - -He sprang across to where Ortho lay and bent over him. - -“What is the matter? Are you ill? What is it?” - -“Nothing,” Ortho croaked. “Trying hasheesh . . . took too much . . . -nothing at all. See to troops yourself . . . go now.” He coughed and -coughed. - -“Hasheesh!” The Turk sniffed, stared at him suspiciously, glanced round -the room, caught sight of the girl and held up the lantern. - -“Ha-ha!” - -The two stood rigid eye to eye, the soldier with chin stuck forward, -every hair bristling, like a mastiff about to spring, the girl -unflinching, three beads of her black necklace in her teeth. - -“Ha-ha!” Osman put the lantern deliberately on the ground beside him and -stepped forward, crouched double, his hands outstretched like claws. -“You snake,” he muttered. “You Arab viper, I’ll . . . I’ll . . .” - -Ortho hoisted himself on his elbow. The girl was superb! So slight and -yet so defiant. “Osman,” he rasped, “Osman, friend, go! The riot! Go, it -is an order!” - -The Turk stopped, stood up, relaxed, turned slowly about and picked up -the lantern. He looked at Ortho, walked to the door, hesitated, shot a -blazing glance at the girl, gave his mustache a vicious tug and went -out. - -Silence but for the sputter of the brazier and the squeak of a mouse in -the wall. - -Then Ortho heard the soft plud-plud of bare feet crossing the room and -he knew the girl was standing over him. - -“Well, sweet,” he sighed, “come to complete your work? I am still in -your hands.” - -She tumbled on her knees beside him, clasped his head to her breast and -sobbed, sobbed, sobbed as though she would never stop. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII - - -Ortho spent that winter in Morocco City, but in the spring was sent out -with a force against the Zoua Arabs south of the Figvig Oasis, which had -been taken by Muley Ismail and was precariously held by his descendants. -They spent a lot of time and trouble dragging cannon up, to find them -utterly useless when they got there. The enemy did not rely on strong -places—they had none—but on mobility. They played a game of sting and -run very exasperating to their opponents. It was like fighting a cloud -of deadly mosquitoes. The wastage among the Crown forces was alarming; -two generals were recalled and strangled, and when Ortho again saw the -Koutoubia minaret rising like a spear-shaft from the green palms of -Morocco it was after an absence of ten months. - -Ourida met him in transports of joy, a two-month baby in her arms. It -was a son, the exact spit and image of him, she declared, a person of -already incredible sagacity and ferocious strength. A few years and he -too would be riding at the head of massed squadrons, bearing the green -banner of the Prophet. - -Ortho, burned black with Saharan suns, weak with privation, sick of the -reek of festering battlefields, contemplated the tiny pink creature he -had brought into the world and swore in his heart that this boy of his -should follow peaceful ways. - -Fighting men were, as a class, the salt of the earth, simple-hearted, -courageous, dog-loyal, dupes of the cunning and the cowardly. But apart -from the companionship he had no illusions concerning the profession of -arms as practiced in the Shereefian empire; it was one big bully -maintaining himself in the name of God against a horde of lesser bullies -(also invoking the Deity) by methods that would be deemed undignified in -a pot-house brawl. He was in it for the good reason that he could not -get out; but no son of his should be caught in the trap if he could help -it. However, he said nothing of this to Ourida. He kissed her over and -over and said the boy was magnificent and would doubtless make a fine -soldier—but there was time to think about that. - -He saw winter and summer through in Morocco, with the exception of a -short trip on the Sultan’s bodyguard to Mogador, which port Mahomet had -established to offset fractious Agadir and taken under his special -favor. - -The sand-blown white town was built on the plans of an Avignon engineer -named Cornut, with fortifications after the style of Vauban. This gave -it a pronounced European flavor which was emphasized by the number of -foreign traders in its streets, drawn thither by the absence of custom. -Also there was the Atlantic pounding on the Island, a tang of brine in -the air and a sea wind blowing. Ortho had not seen the Atlantic since he -left Sallee; homesickness gnawed at him. - -He climbed the Skala tower, and, sitting on a cannon cast for the third -Philippe in 1595, watched the sun westering in gold and crimson and -dreamed of the Owls’ House, the old Owls’ House lapped in its secret -valley, where a man could live his life out in fullness and peace—and -his sons after him. - -Walking back through the town, he met with a Bristol trader and turned -into a wine shop. The Englishman treated him to a bottle of Jerez and -the news of the world. Black bad it was. The tight little island had her -back to the wall, fighting for bare life against three powerful nations -at once. The American colonists were in full rebellion to boot, India -was a cock-pit, Ireland sharpening pikes. General Burgoyne had -surrendered at Saratoga. Eliott was besieged in Gibraltar. French, -American and Spanish warships were thick as herring in the Channel; the -Bristolian had only slipped through them by sheer luck and would only -get back by a miracle. - -Taxation at home was crippling, and every mother’s son who had one leg -to go upon and one arm to haul with was being pressed for service; they -were even emptying the jails into the navy. He congratulated Ortho on -being out of the country and harm’s way. Ortho had had a wild idea of -getting a letter written and taken home to Eli by this man, but as he -listened he reflected that it was no time now. Also, if he wanted to be -bought out he would have to give minute instructions as to where the -smuggling money was hidden. Letters were not inviolate; the bearer, and -not Eli, might find that hidden money. And then there was Ourida and -Saïd II. Saïd would become acclimatized, but England and Ourida were -incompatible. He could not picture the ardent Bedouin girl—her bangles, -silks and exotic finery—in the gray north; she would shrivel up like a -frost-bitten lotus, pine and die. - -No, he was firmly anchored now. One couldn’t have everything; he had -much. He drank up his wine, wished the Bristolian luck with his venture -and rode back to the Diabat Palace. - -A week later he was home again in Morocco. - -Added means had enabled him to furnish the Bab Ahmar house very -comfortably, Moorish fashion, with embroidered _haitis_ on the walls, -inlaid tables and plenty of well-cushioned lounges. The walls were -thick; the rooms, though small, were high and airy; the oppressive heat -of a Haouz summer did not unduly penetrate. Ourida bloomed, Saïd the -younger progressed from strength to strength, waxing daily in fat and -audacity. He was the idol of the odd-job boy and the two slave women -(the household had increased with its master’s rank), of Osman Bâki and -Ortho’s men. The latter brought him presents from time to time: fruit -stolen from the Aguedal, camels, lions and horses (chiefly horses) -crudely carved and highly colored, and, when he was a year old, a small, -shy monkey caught in the Rif, and later an old eagle with clipped wings -and talons which, the donor explained, would defend the little lord from -snakes and such-like. Concerning these living toys, Saïd II. displayed a -devouring curiosity and no fear at all. When the monkey clicked her -teeth at him he gurgled and pulled her tail till she escaped up the -wistaria. He pursued the eagle on all fours, caught it sleeping one -afternoon, and hung doggedly on till he had pulled a tail feather out. -The bird looked dangerous, Saïd II. bubbled delightedly and grabbed for -another feather, whereat the eagle retreated hastily to sulk among the -orange shrubs. Was the door left open for a minute, Saïd II. was out of -it on voyages of high adventure. - -Once he was arrested by the guard at the Ahmar Gate, plodding cheerfully -on all fours for open country, and returned, kicking and raging, in the -arms of a laughing petty officer. - -Ortho himself caught the youngster emerging through the postern onto the -Royal parade ground. - -“He fears nothing,” Ourida exulted. “He will be a great warrior and slay -a thousand infidels—the sword of Allah!—um-yum, my jewel.” - -That battered soldier and turncoat infidel, his father, rubbed his chin -uneasily. “M’yes . . . perhaps. Time enough yet.” - -But there was no gainsaying the fierce spirit of the Arab mother, -daughter of a hundred fighting _sheiks_; her will was stronger than his. -The baby’s military education began at once. In the cool of the morning -she brought Saïd II. to the parade ground, perched him on the parapet of -the Dar-el-Heni and taught him to clap his hands when the Horse went by. - -Once she hoisted him to his father’s saddle bow. The fat creature -twisted both hands in the black stallion’s mane and kicked the glossy -neck with his heels, gurgling with joy. - -“See, see,” said Ourida, her eyes like stars for radiance. “He grips, he -rides. He will carry the standard in his day _zahrit_.” The soldiers -laughed and lifted their lances. “Hail to the young Kaid!” - -Ortho, gripping his infant son by the slack of his miniature jellab, -felt sick. Ourida and these other simple-minded fanatics would beat him -yet with their fool ideas of glory, urge this crowing baby of his into -hardship, terror, pain, possibly agonizing death. - -Parenthood was making a thoughtful man of him. He was no longer the -restless adventurer of two years ago, looking on any change as better -than none. He grudged every moment away from the Bab Ahmar, dreaded the -spring campaign, the separation it would entail, the chance bullet that -might make it eternal. - -His ambition dimmed. He no longer wanted power and vast wealth, only -enough to live comfortably on with Ourida and young Saïd just as he was. -Promotion meant endless back-stair intrigues; he had no taste left for -them and had other uses for the money and so fell out of the running. - -A Spanish woman in the royal harem, taking advantage of her temporary -popularity with Mahomet, worked her wretched little son into position -over Penhale’s head and over him went a fat Moor, Yakoub Ben Ahmed by -name, advanced by the offices of a fair sister, also in the seraglio. -Neither of these heroes had more than a smattering of military lore and -no battle experience whatever, but Ortho did not greatly care. Promotion -might be rapid in the Shereefian army, but degradation was apt to be -instantaneous—the matter of a sword flash. He had risen as far as he -could rise with moderate safety and there he would stop. Security was -his aim nowadays, a continuance of things as they were. - -For life went by very happily in the little house by the Bab Ahmar, -pivoting on Saïd II. But in the evening, when that potential conqueror -had ceased the pursuit of the monkey and eagle and lay locked in sleep, -Ourida would veil herself, wind her haik about her and go roaming into -the city with Ortho. She loved the latticed _souks_ with their displays -of silks, jewelry and leather work; the artificers with their long -muskets, curved daggers, velvet scabbarded swords and pear-shaped powder -flasks; the gorgeous horse-trappings at the saddlers’, but these could -be best seen in broad daylight; in the evening there were other -attractions. - -It was the Djeema-el-Fna that drew her, that great, dusty, clamorous -fair-ground of Morocco where gather the story-tellers, acrobats and -clowns; where feverish drums beat the sun down, assisted by the pipes of -Aissawa snake charmers and the jingling _ouds_ and cymbals of the Berber -dancing boys; where the Sultan hung out the heads of transgressors that -they might grin sardonically upon the revels. Ourida adored the -Djeema-el-Fna. To the girl from the tent hamlet in the Sahara it was -Life. She wept at the sad love stories, trembled at the snake charmers, -shrieked at the crude buffoons, swayed in sympathy with the Berber -dancers, besought Ortho for coin, and more coin, to reward the charming -entertainers. She loved the varied crowds, the movement, the excitement, -the din, but most of all she liked the heads. No evening on the Djeema -was complete unless she had inspected these grisly trophies of imperial -power. - -She said no word to Ortho, but nevertheless he knew perfectly well what -was in her mind; in her mind she saw young Saïd twenty years on, -spattered with infidel blood, riding like a tornado, serving his enemies -even as these. - -Ferocious—she was the ultimate expression of ferocity—but knowing no -mean she was also ferocious in her love and loyalty; she would have -given her life for husband or son gladly, rejoicing. Such people are -difficult to deal with. Ortho sighed, but let her have her way. - -Often of an evening Osman Bâki came to the house and they would sit in -the court drinking Malaga wine and yarning about old campaigns, while -Ourida played with the little ape and the old eagle watched for mice, -pretending to be asleep. - -Osman talked well. He told of his boyhood’s home beside the Bosporus, of -Constantinople, Bagdad and Damascus with its pearly domes bubbling out -of vivid greenery. Jerusalem, Tunis and Algiers he had seen also and now -the Moghreb, the “Sunset land” of the first Saracen invaders. One thing -more he wanted to see and that was the Himalayas. He had heard old -soldiers talk of them—propping the heavens. He would fill his eyes with -the Himalayas and then go home to his garden in Rumeli Hissar and brood -over his memories. - -Sometimes he would take the _gounibri_ and sing the love lyrics of his -namesake, or of Nêdim, or “rose garden” songs he had picked up in Persia -which Ourida thought delicious. And sometimes Ortho trolled his green -English ballads, also favorably received by her, simply because he sang -them, for she did not understand their rhythm in the least. But more -often they lounged, talking lazily, three very good friends together, -Osman sucking at the hookah, punctuating the long silences with shrewd -comments on men and matters, Ortho lying at his ease watching the -brilliant African stars, drawing breaths of blossom-scented air wafted -from the Aguedal, Ourida nestling at his side, curled up like a sleepy -kitten. - -Summer passed and winter; came spring and with it, to Ortho’s joy, no -prospect of a campaign for him. A desert marabout, all rags, filth and -fervor, preached a holy war in the Tissant country, gathering a few -malcontents about him, and Yakoub Ben Ahmed was dispatched with a small -force to put a stop to it. There were the usual rumors of unrest in the -south, but nothing definite, merely young bucks talking big. Ortho -looked forward to another year of peace. - -He went in the Sultan’s train to Mogador for a fortnight in May, and at -the end of June was sent to Taroudant, due east of Agadir. A trifling -affair of dispatches. He told Ourida he would be back in no time and -rode off cheerfully. - -His business in Taroudant done, he was on the point of turning home when -he was joined by a kaid mia and ten picked men from Morocco bearing -orders that he was to take them on to Tenduf, a further two hundred -miles south, and collect overdue tribute. - -Ortho well knew what that meant. Tenduf was on the verge of outbreak, -the first signal of which would be his, the tax collector’s head, on a -charger. Had he been single he would not have gone to Tenduf—he would -have made a dash for freedom—but now he had a wife in Morocco, a -hostage for his fidelity. - -Seeking a public scribe, he dictated a letter to Ourida and another to -Osman Bâki, commending her to his care should the worst befall, and rode -on. - -The Basha of Tenduf received the Sultan’s envoy with the elaborate -courtesy that is inherent in a Moor and signifieth nothing. He was -desolated that the tribute was behindhand, enlarged on the difficulty of -collecting it in a land impoverished by drought (which it was not), but -promised to set to work immediately. In the meantime Ortho lodged in the -kasba, ostensibly an honored guest, actually a prisoner, aware that the -Basha was the ringleader of the offenders and that his own head might be -removed at any moment. Hawk-faced sheiks, armed to the teeth, galloped -in, conferred with the Basha, galloped away again. If they brought any -tribute it was well concealed. Time went by; Ortho bit his lip, fuming -inwardly, but outwardly his demeanor was of polite indifference. -Whenever he could get hold of the Basha he regaled him with instances of -Imperial wrath, of villages burned to the ground, towns taken and put to -the sword, men, women and children; lingering picturesquely on the -tortures inflicted on unruly governors. - -“But why did Sidi do that?” the Basha would exclaim, turning a shade -paler at the thought of his peer of Khenifra having all his nails drawn -out and then being slowly sawn in half. - -“Why?” Ortho would scratch his head and look puzzled. “Why? Bless me if -I know! Oh, yes, I believe there was some little hitch with the taxes.” - -“These walls make me laugh,” he remarked, walking on the Tenduf -fortifications. - -The Governor was annoyed. “Why so? They are very good walls.” - -“As walls go,” Ortho admitted. “But what are walls nowadays? They take -so long to build, so short a time to destroy. Why, our Turk gunners -breached the Derunat walls in five places in an hour. The sole use for -walls is to contain the defenders in a small space, then every bomb we -throw inside does its work.” - -“Hum!” The Basha stroked his brindled beard. “Hum—but supposing the -enemy harass you in the open?” - -Ortho shrugged his shoulders. “Then we kill them in the open, that is -all. It takes longer, but they suffer more.” - -“It took you a long time at Figvig,” the Basha observed maliciously. - -“Not after we learned the way.” - -“And what is the way?” - -“We take possession of the wells and they die of thirst in the sands and -save us powder. At Figvig there were many wells; it took time. Here—” -He swept his hand over the burning champagne and snapped his fingers. -“Just that.” - -“Hum,” said the Basha and walked away deep in thought. Day after day -came and went and Ortho was not dead yet. He had an idea that he was -getting the better of the bluffing match, that the Basha’s nerve was -shaking and he was passing it on. - -There came a morning when the trails were hazy with the dust of horsemen -hastening in to Tenduf, and the envoy on the kasba tower knew that the -crisis had arrived. - -It was over by evening. The tribute began to come in next day and -continued to roll in for a week more. - -The Basha accompanied Ortho ten miles on his return journey, regretting -any slight misconstruction that might have arisen and protesting his -imperishable loyalty. He trusted that his dear friend Saïd el Inglez -would speak well of him to the Sultan and presented him with two richly -caparisoned horses and a bag of ducats as a souvenir of their charming -relations. - -Slowly went the train; the horses were heavy laden and the heat -terrific. Ortho dozed in the saddle, impatient at the pace, powerless to -mend it. He beguiled the tedious days, mentally converting the Basha’s -ducats into silks and jewelry for Ourida. It was the end of August -before he reached Taroudant. There he got word that the court had moved -to Rabat and he was to report there. Other news he got also, news that -sent him riding alone to Morocco City, night and day, as fast as driven -horseflesh would carry him. - -He went through the High Atlas passes to Goundafa, then north across the -plains by Tagadirt and Aguergour. From Aguergour on the road was -crawling with refugees—men, women, children, horses, donkeys, camels -loaded with household goods staggering up the mifis valley, anywhere out -of the pestilent city. They shouted warnings at the urgent horseman: -“The sickness, the sickness! Thou art riding to thy death, lord!” - -Ortho nodded; he knew. It was late afternoon when he passed through -Tameslouht and saw the Koutoubia minaret in the distance, standing -serene, though all humanity rotted. - -He was not desperately alarmed. Plagues bred in the beggars’ kennels, -not in palace gardens. It would have reached his end of the city last of -all, giving his little family ample time to run. Osman Bâki would see to -it that Ourida had every convenience. They were probably down at Dar el -Beida reveling in the clean sea breezes, or at Rabat with the Court. He -told himself he was not really frightened; nevertheless he did the last -six miles at a gallop, passed straight through the Bab Ksiba into the -kasba. There were a couple of indolent Sudanese on guard at the gate and -a few more sprawling in the shadow of the Drum Barracks, but the big -Standard Square was empty and so were the two further courts. - -He jumped off his horse at the postern and walked on. From the houses -around came not a sound, not a move; in the street he was the only -living thing. He knocked at his own door; no answer. Good! They had -gone! - -The door swung open to his push and he stepped in, half relieved, half -fearful, went from room to room to find them stripped bare. Ourida had -managed to take all her belongings with her then. He wondered how she -had found the transport. Osman Bâki contrived it, doubtless. A picture -flashed before him of his famous black horse squadron trekking for the -coast burdened with Ourida’s furniture—a roll of haitis to this man, a -cushion to that, a cauldron to another—and he laughed merrily. - -Where had they gone, he wondered—Safi, Dar el Beida, Mogador, Rabat? -The blacks at the barracks might know; Osman should have left a message. -He stepped out of the kitchen into the court and saw a man rooting the -little orange trees out of their tubs. - -“Hey!” - -The man swung about, sought to escape, saw it was impossible and flung -himself upon the ground writhing and sobbing for mercy. - -It was a beggar who sat at the Ahmar Gate with his head hidden in the -hood of his haik (he was popularly supposed to have no face), a -supplicating claw protruding from a bundle of foul rags and a muffled -voice wailing for largesse. Ortho hated the loathly beast, but Ourida -gave him money—“in the name of God.” - -“What are you doing here?” - -“Great lord, have mercy in the name of Sidi Ben Youssef the Blest, of -Abd el Moumen and Muley Idriss,” he slobbered. “I did nothing, lord, -nothing. I thought you had gone to the south and would not return to -. . . to . . . this house. Spare me, O amiable prince.” - -“And why should I not return to this house?” said Ortho. - -The beggar hesitated. “Muley, I made sure . . . I thought . . . it was -not customary . . . young men do not linger in the places of lost love.” - -“Dog,” said Ortho, suddenly cold about the heart, “what do you mean?” - -“Surely the Kaid knows?” There was a note of surprise in the mendicant’s -voice. - -“I know nothing; I have been away . . . the lalla Ourida?” - -The beggar locked both hands over his head and squirmed in the dust. -“Kaid, Kaid . . . the will of Allah.” - -The little court reeled under Ortho’s feet, a film like a heat wave rose -up before his eyes, everything went blurred for a minute. Then he spoke -quite calmly: - -“Why did she not go away?” - -“She had no time, lord. The little one, thy son, took the sickness -first; she stayed to nurse him and herself was taken. But she was buried -with honor, Kaid; the Turkish officer buried her with honor in a gay -bier with tholbas chanting. I, miserable that I am, I followed -also—afar. She was kind to the poor, the lalla Ourida.” - -“But why, why didn’t Osman get them both away before the plague struck -the palace?” Ortho muttered fiercely, more to himself than otherwise, -but the writhing rag heap heard him and answered: - -“He had no time, Muley. The kasba was the first infected.” - -“The first! How?” - -“Yakoub Ben Ahmed brought many rebel heads from Tissant thinking to -please Sidi. They stank and many soldiers fell sick, but Yakoub would -not throw the heads away—it was his first command. They marched into -the kasba with drums beating, sick soldiers carrying offal.” - -Ortho laughed mirthlessly. So the dead had their revenge. - -“Where is the Turk officer now?” he asked presently. “Rabat?” - -“No, Muley—he too took the sickness tending thy lancers.” - -Ortho walked away. All over, all gone—wife, boy, faithful friend. -Ourida would not see her son go by at the proud head of a regiment, nor -Osman review his memories in his vineyard by the Bosporus. All over, all -gone, the best and truest. - -Turning, he flung a coin at the beggar. “Go . . . leave me.” - -Dusk was flooding the little court, powder blue tinged with the -rose-dust of sunset. A pair of gray pigeons perched on the parapet made -their love cooings and fluttered away again. From the kasba minaret came -the boom of the muezzin. High in the summer night drifted a white petal -of a moon. - -Ortho leaned against a pillar listening. The chink of anklets, the plud, -plud of small bare feet. - -“Saïd, my beloved, is it you? Tired, my heart’s dear? Rest your head -here, lord; take thy ease. Thy fierce son is asleep at last; he has four -teeth now and the strength of a lion. He will be a great captain of -lances and do us honor when we are old. Your arm around me thus, tall -one . . . äie, now am I content beyond all women . . .” - -From twilight places came the voice of Osman Bâki and the subdued tinkle -of the gounibri. “Allah has been good to me. I have seen many -wonders—rivers, seas, cities and plains, fair women, brave men and -stout fighting, but I would yet see the Himalayas. After that I will go -home where I was a boy. Listen while I sing you a song of my own country -such as shepherds sing . . .” - -Ortho’s head sank in his hands. All over now, all gone. . . . Something -flapped in the shadows by the orange trees, flapped and hopped out into -the central moonlight and posed there stretching its crippled wings. - -It was the old eagle disgustingly bloated. - -That alone remained, that and the loathly beggar, left alone in the dead -city to their carrion orgy. A shock of revulsion shook Ortho. Ugh! - -He sprang up and, without looking round, strode out of the house and -down the street to where his horse was standing. - -A puff of hot wind followed him, a furnace blast, foul with the stench -of half-buried corpses in the big Mussulman cemetery outside the walls. -Ugh! - -He kicked sharp stirrups into his horse and rode through the Ksiba Gate. - -“Fleeing from the sickness—eh?” sneered a mokaddem of Sudanese who -could not fly. - -“No—ghosts,” said Ortho and turned his beast onto the western road. - -“The sea! The sea!” - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV - - -“Perish me! Rot and wither my soul and eyes if it ain’t Saïd!” exclaimed -Captain Benjamin MacBride, hopping across the court, his square hand -extended. - -“Saïd, my bully, where d’you hail from?” - -“I’m on the bodyguard at Rabat. The Sultan’s building there now. Skalas -all round and seven new mosques are the order, I hear—we’ll all be -carrying bricks soon. I rode over to see you.” - -“You ain’t looking too proud,” said MacBride; “sort of wasted-like, and -God ha’ mercy. Flux?” - -Ortho shook his head. “No, but I’ve had my troubles, and”—indicating -the sailor’s bandaged eye and his crutch—“so have you, it seems.” - -“Curse me, yes! Fell in with a fat Spanisher off Ortegal and mauled him -down to a sheer hulk when up romps a brace of American ‘thirties’ and -serves me cruel. If it hadn’t been for nightfall and a shift of wind I -should have been a holy angel by now. Bad times, boy, bad times. Too -many warships about, and all merchantmen sailing in convoy. I tell you I -shall be glad when there’s a bit of peace and good-will on earth again. -Just now everybody’s armed and it’s plaguy hard to pick up an honest -living.” - -“Governor here, aren’t you?” Ortho inquired. - -“Aye. Soft lie-abed shore berth till my wounds heal and we can get back -to business. Fog in the river?” - -“Thick; couldn’t see across.” - -“It’s lying on the sea like a blanket,” said MacBride. “I’ve been -watching it from my tower. Come along and see the girls. They’re all -here save Tama; she runned away with a Gharb sheik when I was -cruising—deceitful slut!—but I’ve got three new ones.” - -Ayesha and Schems-ed-dah were most welcoming. They had grown somewhat -matronly, but otherwise time seemed to have left them untouched. As ever -they were gorgeously dressed, bejeweled and painted up with carmine, -henna and kohl. Fluttering and twittering about their ex-slave, they -plied him with questions. He had been to the wars? Wounded? How many men -had he killed? What was his rank? A kaid rahal of cavalry. . . . Ach! -chut, chut! A great man! On the bodyguard! . . . Ay-ee! Was it true the -Sultan’s favorite Circassians ate off pure gold? Was he married yet? - -When he told them the recent plague in Morocco had killed both his wife -and son their liquid eyes brimmed over. No whit less sympathetic were -the three new beauties; they wept in concert, though ten minutes earlier -Ortho had been an utter stranger to them. Their hearts were very tender. -A black eunuch entered bearing the elaborate tea utensils. As he turned -to go, MacBride called “_aji_,” pointing to the ground before him. - -The slave threw up his hands in protest. “Oh, no, lord, please.” - -“Kneel down,” the sailor commanded. “I’ll make you spring your ribs -laughing, Saïd, my bonny. Give me your hand, Mohar.” - -“Lord, have mercy!” - -“Mercy be damned! Your hand, quick!” - -The piteous great creature extended a trembling hand, was grasped by the -wrist and twisted onto his back. - -“Now, my pearls, my rosebuds,” said MacBride. - -The five little birds of paradise tucked their robes about them and -surrounded the prostrate slave, tittering and wriggling their -forefingers at him. Even before he was touched he screamed, but when the -tickling began in earnest he went mad, doubling, screwing, clawing the -air with his toes, shrieking like a soul in torment—which indeed he -was. - -With the pearls and rosebuds it was evidently a favorite pastime; they -tickled with diabolical cunning that could only come of experience, -shaking with laughter and making sibilant noises the -while—“Pish—piss-sh!” Finally when the miserable victim was rolling up -the whites of his eyes, mouthing foam and seemed on the point of -throwing a fit, MacBride released him and he escaped. - -The captain wiped the happy tears from his remaining eye and turned on -Ortho as one recounting an interesting scientific observation. - -“Very thin-skinned for a Sambo. D’you know I believe he’d sooner take a -four-bag at the gangway than a minute o’ that. I do, so help me; I -believe he’d sooner be flogged. _Vee-ry_ curious. Come up and I’ll show -you my command.” - -The Atlantic was invisible from the tower, sheeted under fog which, -beneath a windless sky, stretched away to the horizon in woolly white -billows. Ortho had an impression of a mammoth herd of tightly packed -sheep. - -“There’s a three-knot tide under that, sweeping south, but it don’t -’pear to move it much,” MacBride observed. “I’ll warrant that bank ain’t -higher nor a first-rate’s topgallant yard. I passed through the western -squadron once in a murk like that there. Off Dungeness, it was. All -their royals was sticking out, but my little hooker was trucks down, out -o’ sight.” He pointed to the north. “Knitra’s over there, bit of a kasba -like this. Er-rhossi has it; a sturdy fellow for a Greek, but my soul -what a man to drink! Stayed here for a week and ’pon my conscience he -had me baled dry in two days—_me_! Back there’s the forest, there’s pig -. . . what are you staring at?” - -Ortho spun about guiltily. “Me? Oh, nothing, nothing, nothing. What were -you saying? The forest . . .” - -He became suddenly engrossed in the view of the forest of Marmora. - -“What’s the matter? You look excited, like as if you’d seen something,” -said MacBride suspiciously. - -“I’ve seen nothing,” Ortho replied. “What should I see?” - -“Blest if I know; only you looked startled.” - -“I was thinking.” - -“Oh, was you? Well, as I was saying, there’s a mort o’ pigs in there, -wild ’uns, and lions too, by report, but I ain’t seen none. I’ll get -some sport as soon as my leg heals. This ain’t much of a place though. -Can’t get no money out of charcoal burners, not if you was to torture -’em for a year. As God is my witness I’ve done my best, but the sooty -vermin ain’t got any.” He sighed. “I shall be devilish glad when we can -get back to our lawful business again. I’ve heard married men in England -make moan about _their_ ‘family responsibilities’—but what of me? I’ve -got _three_ separate families already and two more on the way! What -d’you say to that—eh?” - -Ortho sympathized with the much domesticated seaman and declared he must -be going. - -“You’re in hell’s own hurry all to a sudden.” - -“I’m on the bodyguard, you know.” - -“Well, if you must that’s an end on’t, but I was hoping you’d stop for -days and we’d have a chaw over old Jerry Gish—he-he! What a man! Say, -would you have the maidens plague that Sambo once more before you go? -Would you now? Give the word!” - -Ortho declined the pleasure and asked if MacBride could sell him a boat -compass. - -“I can sell you two or three, but what d’you want it for?” - -“I’m warned for the Guinea caravan,” Ortho explained. “A couple of -_akkabaah_ have been lost lately; the guides went astray in the sands. I -want to keep some check on them.” - -“I thought the Guinea force went out about Christmas.” - -“No, this month.” - -“Well, you know best, I suppose,” said the captain and gave him a small -compass, refusing payment. - -“Come back and see us before you go,” he shouted as Ortho went out of -the gate. - -“Surely,” the latter replied and rode southwards for Sallee at top -speed, knowing full well that, unless luck went hard against him, so far -from seeing Ben MacBride again he would be out of the country before -midnight. - -While Ourida lived, life in Morocco had its compensations; with her -death it had become insupportable. He had ridden down to the sea filled -with a cold determination to seize the first opportunity of escape and, -if none occurred, to make one. Plans had been forming in his mind of -working north to Tangier, there stealing a boat and running the blockade -into beleaguered Gibraltar, some forty miles distant, a scheme risky to -the point of foolhardiness. But remain he would not. - -Now unexpectedly, miraculously, an opportunity had come. Despite his -denials he _had_ seen something from MacBride’s tower; the upper canvas -of a ship protruding from the fog about a mile and a half out from the -coast, by the cut and the long coach-whip pennant at the main an -Englishman. Just a glimpse as the royals rose out of a trough of the fog -billows, just the barest glimpse, but quite enough. Not for nothing had -he spent his boyhood at the gates of the Channel watching the varied -traffic passing up and down. And a few minutes earlier MacBride had -unwittingly supplied him with the knowledge he needed, the pace and -direction of the tide. Ortho knew no arithmetic, but common sense told -him that if he galloped he should reach Sallee two hours ahead of that -ship. She had no wind, she would only drift. He drove his good horse -relentlessly, and as he went decided exactly what he would do. - -It was dark when he reached the Bab Sebta, and over the low-lying town -the fog lay like a coverlet. - -He passed through the blind town, leaving the direction to his horse’s -instinct, and came out against the southern wall. Inquiring of an unseen -pedestrian, he learnt he was close to the Bab Djedid, put his beast in a -public stable near by, detached one stirrup, and, feeling his way -through the gate, struck over the sand banks towards the river. He came -on it too far to the west, on the spit where it narrows opposite the -Kasba Oudaia of Rabat; the noise of water breaking at the foot of the -great fortress across the Bon Regreg told him as much. - -Turning left-handed, he followed the river back till he brought up -against the ferry boats. They were all drawn up for the night; the -owners had gone, taking their oars with them. “Damnation!” His idea had -been to get a man to row him across and knock him on the head in -midstream; it was for that purpose that he had brought the heavy -stirrup. There was nothing for it now but to rout a man out—all waste -of precious time! - -There was just a chance some careless boatman had left his oars behind. -Quickly he felt in the skiffs. The first was empty, so was the second, -the third and the fourth, but in the fifth he found what he sought. It -was a light boat too, a private shallop and half afloat at that. What -colossal luck! He put his shoulders to the stem and hove—and up rose a -man. - -“Who’s that? Is that you, master?” - -Ortho sprang back. Where had he heard that voice before? Then he -remembered; it was Puddicombe’s. Puddicombe had not returned to Algiers -after all, but was here waiting to row “Sore Eyes” across to Rabat to a -banquet possibly. - -“Who’s that?” - -Ortho blundered up against the stem, pretending to be mildly drunk, -mumbling in Arabic that he was a sailor from a trading felucca looking -for his boat. - -“Well, this is not yours, friend,” said Puddicombe. “Try down the beach. -But if you take my advice you’ll not go boating to-night; you might fall -overboard and get a drink of water which, by the sound of you, is not -what thou art accustomed to.” He laughed at his own delightful wit. - -Ortho stumbled into the fog, paused and thought matters over. To turn a -ferryman out might take half an hour. Puddicombe had the only oars on -the beach, therefore Puddicombe must give them up. - -He lurched back again, steadied himself against the stem and asked the -Devonian if he would put him off to his felucca, getting a flat refusal. -Hiccuping, he said there was no offense meant and asked Puddicombe if he -would like a sip of fig brandy. He said he had no unsurmountable -objection, came forward to get it, and Ortho hit him over the head with -the stirrup iron as hard as he could lay in. Puddicombe toppled face -forwards out of the boat and lay on the sand without a sound or a -twitch. - -“I’m sorry I had to do it,” said Ortho, “but you yourself warned me to -trust nobody, above all a fellow renegado. I’m only following your own -advice. You’ll wake up before dawn. Good-by.” - -Pushing the boat off, he jumped aboard and pulled for the grumble of the -bar. - -He went aground on the sand-spit, and rowing away from that very nearly -stove the boat in on a jag of rock below the Kasba Oudaia. The corner -passed, steering was simple for a time, one had merely to keep the boat -pointed to the rollers. Over the bar he went, slung high, swung low, -tugged on to easy water, and striking a glow on his flint and steel -examined the compass. - -Thus occasionally checking his course by the needle he pulled due west. -He was well ahead of the ship, he thought, and by getting two miles out -to sea would be lying dead in her track. Before long the land breeze -would be blowing sufficient to push the fog back, but not enough to give -the vessel more than two or three knots; in that light shallop he could -catch her easily, if she were within reasonable distance. - -Reckoning he had got his offing, he swung the boat’s head due north and -paddled gently against the run of the tide. - -Time progressed; there was no sign of the ship or the land breeze that -was to reveal her. For all he knew he might be four miles out to sea or -one-half only. He had no landmarks, no means of measuring how far he had -come except by experience of how long it had taken him to pull a dinghy -from point to point at home in Monks Cove; yet somehow he felt he was -about right. - -Time went by. The fog pressed about him in walls of discolored steam, -clammy, dripping, heavy on the lungs. Occasionally it split, revealing -dark corridors and halls, abysses of Stygian gloom; rolled together -again. A hundred feet overhead it was clear night and starry. Where was -that breeze? - -More time passed. Ortho began to think he had failed and made plans to -cover the failure. It should not be difficult. He would land on the -sands opposite the Bab Malka, overturn the boat, climb over the walls -and see the rest of the night out among the Mussulman graves. In the -morning he could claim his horse and ride into camp as if nothing had -happened. As a slave he had been over the walls time and again; there -was a crack in the bricks by the Bordj el Kbir. He didn’t suppose it was -repaired; they never repaired anything. Puddicombe didn’t know who had -hit him; there was no earthly reason why he should be suspected. The -boat would be found overturned, the unknown sailor presumed drowned. -Quite simple. Remained the Tangier scheme. - -By this time, being convinced that the ship had passed, he slewed the -boat about and pulled in. The sooner he was ashore the better. - -The fog appeared to be moving. It twisted into clumsy spirals which -sagged in the middle, puffed out cheeks of vapor, bulged and writhed, -drifting to meet the boat. The land breeze was coming at last—an hour -too late! Ortho pulled on, an ear cocked for the growl of the bar. There -was nothing to be heard as yet; he must have gone further than he -thought, but fog gagged and distorted sound in the oddest way. The -spirals nodded above him like gigantic wraiths. Something passed -overhead delivering an eerie screech. A sea-gull only, but it made him -jump. Glancing at the compass, he found that he was, at the moment, -pulling due south. He got his direction again and pulled on. Goodness -knew what the tide had been doing to him. There might be a westward -stream from the river which had pushed him miles out to sea. Or possibly -he was well south of his mark and would strike the coast below Rabat. -Oh, well, no matter as long as he got ashore soon. Lying on his oars, he -listened again for the bar, but could hear no murmur of it. Undoubtedly -he was to the southward. That ship was halfway to Fedala by now. - -Then, quite clearly, behind a curtain of fog, an English voice chanted: -“By the Deep Nine.” - -Ortho stopped rowing, stood up and listened. Silence, not a sound, not a -sign. Fichus and twisted columns of fog drifting towards him, that was -all. But somewhere close at hand a voice was calling soundings. The ship -was there. All his fine calculations were wrong, but he had blundered -aright. - -“Mark ten.” - -The voice came again, seemingly from his left-hand side this time. Again -silence. The fog alleys closed once more, muffling sound. The ship was -there, within a few yards, yet this cursed mist with its fool tricks -might make him lose her altogether. He hailed with all his might. No -answer. He might have been flinging his shout against banks of cotton -wool. Again and again he hailed. - -Suddenly came the answer, from behind his back apparently. - -“Ahoy there . . . who are you?” - -“’Scaped English prisoner! English prisoner escaped!” - -There was a pause; then, “Keep off there . . . none of your tricks.” - -“No tricks . . . I am alone . . . _alone_,” Ortho bawled, pulling -furiously. He could hear the vessel plainly now, the creak of her tackle -as she felt the breeze. - -“Keep off there, or I’ll blow you to bits.” - -“If you fire a gun you’ll call the whole town out,” Ortho warned. - -“What town?” - -“Sallee.” - -“Christ!” the voice ejaculated and repeated his words. “He says we’re -off Sallee, sir.” - -Ortho pulled on. He could see the vessel by this, a blurred shadow among -the steamy wraiths of mist, a big three-master close-hauled on the port -tack. - -Said a second voice from aft: “Knock his bottom out if he attempts to -board . . . no chances.” - -“Boat ahoy,” hailed the first voice. “If you come alongside I’ll sink -you, you bloody pirate. Keep off.” - -Ortho stopped rowing. They were going to leave him. Forty yards away was -an English ship—England. He was missing England by forty yards, England -and the Owls’ House! - -He jerked at his oars, tugged the shallop directly in the track of the -ship and slipped overboard. They might be able to see his boat, but his -head was too small a mark. If he missed what he was aiming at he was -finished; he could never regain that boat. It was neck or nothing now, -the last lap, the final round. - -He struck to meet the vessel—only a few yards. - -She swayed towards him, a chuckle of water at her cut-water; tall as a -cliff she seemed, towering out of sight. The huge bow loomed over him, -poised and crushed downwards as though to ride him under, trample him -deep. - -The sheer toppling bulk, the hiss of riven water snapped his last shred -of courage. It was too much. He gave up, awaited the instant stunning -crash upon his head, saw the great bowsprit rush across a shining patch -of stars, knew the end had come at last, thumped against the bows and -found himself pinned by the weight of water, his head still up. His -hands, his unfailing hands had saved him again; he had hold of the -bob-stay! - -The weight of water was not really great, the ship had little more than -steerage way. Darkness had magnified his terrors. He got across the stay -without much difficulty, worked along it to the dolphin-striker, thence -by the martingale to the fo’csle. - -The look-out were not aware of his arrival until he was amongst them; -they were watching the tiny smudge that was his boat. He noticed that -they had round-shot ready to drop into it. - -“Good God!” the mate exclaimed. “Who are you?” - -“The man who hailed just now, sir.” - -“But I thought . . . I thought you were in that boat.” - -“I was, sir, but I swam off.” - -“Good God!” said the mate again and hailed the poop. “Here’s this fellow -come aboard after all, sir. He’s quite alone.” - -An astonished “How the devil?” - -“Swam, sir.” - -“Pass him aft.” - -Ortho was led aft. Boarding nettings were triced up and men lay between -the upper deck guns girded with side arms. Shot were in the garlands and -match-tubs filled, all ready. A well-manned, well-appointed craft. He -asked the man who accompanied him her name. - -“_Elijah Impey._ East Indiaman.” - -“Indiaman! Then where are we bound for?” - -“Bombay.” - -Ortho drew a deep breath. It was a long road home. - - - - - CHAPTER XXV - - -The little Botallack man and Eli Penhale shook hands, tucked the slack -of their wrestling jackets under their left armpits and, crouching, -approached each other, right hands extended. - -The three judges, ancient wrestlers, leaned on their ash-plants and -looked extremely knowing; they went by the title of “sticklers.” - -The wrestling ring was in a grass field almost under the shadow of St. -Gwithian church tower. To the north the ridge of tors rolled along the -skyline, autumnal brown. Southward was the azure of the English Channel; -west, over the end of land, the glint of the Atlantic with the Scilly -Isles showing on the horizon, very faint, like small irregularities on a -ruled blue line. - -All Gwithian was present, men and women, girls and boys, with a good -sprinkling of visitors from the parishes round about. They formed a big -ring of black and pink, dark clothes and healthy countenances. A -good-natured crowd, bandying inter-parochial chaff from side to side, -rippling with laughter when some accepted wit brought off a sally, -yelling encouragement to their district champions. - -“Beware of en’s feet, Jan, boy. The old toad is brear foxy.” - -“Scat en, Ephraim, my pretty old beauty! Grip to an’ scandalize en!” - -“Move round, sticklers! Think us can see through ’e? Think you’m made of -glass?” - -“Up, Gwithian!” - -“Up, St. Levan!” - -At the feet of the crowd lay the disengaged wrestlers, chewing blades of -grass and watching the play. They were naked except for short drawers, -and on their white skins grip marks flared red, bruises and long -scratches where fingers had slipped or the rough jacket edges cut in. -Amiable young stalwarts, smiling at each other, grunting approvingly at -smart pieces of work. One had a snapped collar-bone, another a fractured -forearm wrapped up in a handkerchief, but they kept their pains to -themselves; it was all in the game. - -Now Eli and the little Botallack man were out for the final. - -Polwhele was not five feet six and tipped the beam at eleven stone, -whereas Eli was five ten and weighed two stone the heavier. It looked as -though he had only to fall on the miner to finish him, but such was far -from the case. The sad-faced little tinner had already disposed of four -bulky opponents in workmanlike fashion that afternoon—the collar bone -was his doing. - -“Watch his eyes,” Bohenna had warned. - -That was all very well, but it was next to impossible to see his eyes -for the thick bang of hair that dangled over them like the forelock of a -Shetland pony. - -Polwhele clumsily sidled a few steps to the right. Eli followed him. -Polwhele walked a few steps to the left. Again Eli followed. Polwhele -darted back to the right, Eli after him, stopped, slapped his right knee -loudly, and, twisting left-handed, grabbed the farmer round the waist -and hove him into the air. - -It was cleverly done—the flick of speed after the clumsy walk, the slap -on the knee drawing the opponent’s eye away—cleverly done, but not -quite quick enough. Eli got the miner’s head in chancery as he was -hoisted up and hooked his toes behind the other’s knees. - -Polwhele could launch himself and his burden neither forwards nor -backwards, as the balance lay with Eli. The miner hugged at Eli’s -stomach with all his might, jerking cruelly. Eli wedged his free arm -down and eased the pressure somewhat. It was painful, but bearable. - -“Lave en carry ’e so long as thou canst, son,” came the voice of -Bohenna. “Tire en out.” - -Polwhele strained for a forwards throw, tried a backwards twist, but the -pull behind the knees embarrassed him. He began to pant. Thirteen stone -hanging like a millstone about one’s neck at the end of the day was -intolerable. He tried to work his head out of chancery, concluded it -would only be at the price of his ears and gave that up. - -“Stay where ’e are,” shouted Bohenna to his protégé. “T’eddn costin’ -_you_ nawthin’.” - -Eli stayed where he was. Polwhele’s breathing became more labored, sweat -bubbled from every pore, a sinew in his left leg cracked under the -strain. Once more he tried the forwards pitch, reeled, rocked and came -down sideways. He risked a dislocated shoulder in so doing with the -farmer’s added weight, but got nothing worse than a heavy jar. It was no -fall; the two men rolled apart and lay panting on their backs. - -After a pause the sticklers intimated to them to go on. Once more they -faced each other. The miner was plainly tired; the bang hung over his -eyes, a sweat-soaked rag; his movements were sluggish. In response to -the exhortations of his friends he shook his head, made gestures with -his hands—finished. - -Slowly he gave way before Eli, warding off grips with sweeps of his -right forearm, refusing to come to a hold. St. Gwithian jeered at him. -Botallack implored one more flash. He shook his head; he was incapable -of flashing. Four heavy men he had put away to come upon this great -block of brawn at the day’s end; it was too much. - -Eli could not bring him to grips, grew impatient and made the pace -hotter, forcing the miner backwards right round the ring. It became a -boxing match between the two right hands, the one clutching, the other -parrying. Almost he had Polwhele; his fingers slipped on a fold of the -canvas jacket. The spectators rose to a man, roaring. - -Polwhele ran backwards out of a grip and stumbled. Eli launched out, saw -the sad eyes glitter behind the draggles of hair and went headlong, -flying. - -The next thing he knew he was lying full length, the breath jarred out -of him and the miner on top, fixed like a stoat. The little man had -dived under him, tipped his thigh with a shoulder and turned him as he -fell. It was a fair “back,” two shoulders and a hip down; he had lost -the championship. - -Polwhele, melancholy as ever, helped him to his feet. - -“Nawthin’ broke, Squire? That’s fitly. You’ll beat me next year—could -of this, if you’d waited.” He put a blade of grass between his teeth and -staggered off to join his vociferous friends, the least jubilant of any. - -Bohenna came up with his master’s clothes. “’Nother time you’m out -against a quick man go slow—make en come to _you_. Eddn no sense in -playin’ tig with forked lightnin’. I shouted to ’e, but you was too -furious to hear. Oh, well, ’tis done now, s’pose.” - -He walked away to hob-nob with the sticklers in the “Lamb and Flag,” to -drink ale and wag their heads and lament on the decay of wrestling and -manhood since they were young. - -Eli pulled on his clothes. One or two Monks Covers shouted “Stout -tussle, Squire,” but did not stop to talk, nor did he expect them to; he -was respected in the parish, but had none of the graceful qualities that -make for popularity. - -His mother went by, immensely fat, yet sitting her cart-horse firm as a -rock. - -“The little dog had ’e by the nose proper that time, my great soft -bullock,” she jeered, and rode on, laughing. She hated Eli; as master of -Bosula he kept her short of money, even going to the length of publicly -crying down her credit. Had he not done so, they would have been ruined -long since instead of in a fair state of prosperity, but Teresa took no -count of that. She was never tired of informing audiences—preferably in -Eli’s presence—that if her other son had been spared, her own precious -boy Ortho, things would have been very different. _He_ would not have -seen her going in rags, without a penny piece to bless herself, not he. -Time, in her memory, had washed away all the elder’s faults, leaving -only virtues exposed, and those grossly exaggerated. She would dilate -for hours on his good looks, his wit, his courage, his loving -consideration for herself, breaking into hot tears of rage when she -related the fancied indignities she suffered at the hands of the -paragon’s unworthy brother. - -She was delighted that Polwhele had bested Eli, and rode home jingling -her winnings on the event. Eli went on dressing, unmoved by his mother’s -jibes. As a boy he had learnt to close his ears to the taunts of Rusty -Rufus, and he found the accomplishment most useful. When Teresa became -abusive he either walked out of the house or closed up like an oyster -and her tirades beat harmlessly against his spiritual shell. Words, -words, nothing but words; his contempt for talk had not decreased as -time went on. - -He pulled his belt up, hustled into his best blue coat and was knotting -his neckcloth when somebody behind him said, “Well wrastled, Eli.” - -He turned and saw Mary Penaluna with old Simeon close beside. - -Eli shook his head. “He was smaller than I, naught but a little man. I -take shame not to have beaten en.” - -But Mary would have none of it. “I see no shame then,” she said warmly. -“They miners do nothing but wrastle, wrastle all day between shifts and -underground too, so I’ve heard tell—but you’ve got other things to do, -Eli; ’tis a wonder you stood up to en so long. And they’re nothing but a -passell o’ tricksters, teddn what I do call fitty wrastling at all.” - -“Well, ’tis fair, anyhow,” said Eli; “he beat me fair enough and there’s -an end of it.” - -“’Es, s’pose,” Mary admitted, “but I do think you wrastled bravely, Eli, -and so do father and all of the parish. Oh, look how the man knots his -cloth, all twisted; you’m bad as father, I declare. Lave me put it to -rights.” She reached up strong, capable hands, gave the neckerchief a -pull and a pat and stood back laughing. “You men are no better than -babies for all your size and cursing and ’bacca. ’Tis proper now. Are ’e -steppin’ home along?” - -Eli was. They crossed the field and, turning their backs on the church -tower, took the road towards the sea, old Simeon walking first, slightly -bent with toil and rheumatism, long arms dangling inert; Mary and Eli -followed side by side, speaking never a word. It was two miles to -Roswarva, over upland country, bare of trees, but beautiful in its -wind-swept nakedness. Patches of dead bracken glowed with the warm -copper that is to be found in some women’s hair; on gray bowlders spots -of orange lichen shone like splashes of gold paint. The brambles were -dressed like harlequins in ruby, green and yellow, and on nearly every -hawthorn sat a pair of magpies, their black and white livery looking -very smart against the scarlet berries. - -Eli walked on to Roswarva, although it was out of his way. He liked the -low house among the stunted sycamores, with the sun in its face all day -and the perpetual whisper of salt sea winds about it. He liked the -bright display of flowers Mary seemed to keep going perennially in the -little garden by the south door, the orderly kitchen with its sanded -floor, clean whitewash and burnished copper. Bosula was his home, but it -was to Roswarva that he turned as to a haven in time of trouble, when he -wanted advice about his farming, or when Teresa was particularly -fractious. There was little said on these occasions, a few slow, -considered words from Simeon, a welcoming smile from Mary, a cup of tea -or a mug of cider and then home again—but he had got what he needed. - -He sat in the kitchen that afternoon twirling his hat in his powerful -hands, staring out of the window and thinking that his worries were -pretty nearly over. There was always Teresa to reckon with, but they -were out of debt and Bosula was in good farming shape at last. What -next? An idea was taking shape in his deliberate brain. He stared out of -the window, but not at the farm boar wallowing blissfully in the mire of -the lane, or at Simeon driving his sleek cows in for milking, or at the -blue Channel beyond with a little collier brig bearing up for the -Lizard, her grimy canvas transformed by the alchemy of sunshine. Eli -Penhale was seeing visions, homely, comfortable visions. - -Mary came in, rolling her sleeves back over firm, rounded forearms -dimpled at the elbows. The once leggy girl was leggy no longer, but a -ripe, upstanding, full-breasted woman with kindly brown eyes and an -understanding smile. - -“I’ll give ’e a penny for thy dream, Eli—if ’tis a pretty one,” she -laughed. “Is it?” - -The farmer grinned. “Prettiest I ever had.” - -“Queen of England take you for her boy?” - -“Prettier than that.” - -“My lor’, it must be worth a brear bit o’ money then! More’n I can -afford.” - -“I don’t think so.” - -“Is it going cheap, or do you think I’m made of gold pieces?” - -“It’s not money I want.” - -“You’re not like most of us then,” said Mary, and started. “There’s -father calling in the yard. Must be goin’ milkin’. Sit ’e down where ’e -be and I’ll be back quick as quick and we’ll see if I can pay the price, -whatever it is. Sit ’e down and rest.” - -But Eli had risen. “Must be going, I believe.” - -“Why?” - -“Got to see to the horses; I’ve let Bohenna and Davy off for the day, -’count of wrastling.” - -Mary pouted, but she was a farmer’s daughter, a fellow bond slave of -animals; she recognized the necessity. - -“Anybody’d think it was your men had been wrastlin’ and not you, you -great soft-heart. Oh, well, run along with ’e and come back when done -and take a bite of supper with us, will ’e? Father’d be proud and I’ve -fit a lovely supper.” - -Eli promised and betook himself homewards. Five strenuous bouts on top -of six hours’ work in the morning had tired him somewhat, bruises were -stiffening and his left shoulder gave him pain, but his heart, his heart -was singing “Mary Penaluna—Mary Penhale, Mary Penaluna—Mary Penhale” -all the way and his feet went wing-shod. Almost he had asked her in the -kitchen, almost, almost—it had been tripping off his tongue when she -mentioned her cows and in so doing reminded him of his horses. By blood, -instinct and habit he was a farmer; the horses must be seen to first, -his helpless, faithful servitors. His mother usually turned her mount -into the stable without troubling to feed, unsaddle it or even ease the -girths. The horses must be seen to. - -He would say the word that evening after supper when old Simeon fell -asleep in his rocker, as was his invariable custom. That very evening. - -Tregors had gone whistling down the wind long since; the unknown hind -from Burdock Water had let it go to rack and ruin, a second mortgagee -was not forthcoming, Carveth Donnithorne foreclosed and marched in. -Tregors had gone, but Bosula remained, clear of debt and as good a place -as any in the Hundred, enough for any one man. Eli felt he could make -his claim for even prosperous Simeon Penaluna’s daughter with a clear -conscience. He came to the rim of the valley, hoisted himself to the top -of a bank, paused and sat down. - -The valley, touched by the low rays of sunset, foamed with gold, with -the pale gold of autumnal elms, the bright gold of ashes, the old gold -of oaks. - -Bosula among its enfolding woods! No Roman emperor behind his tall -Prætorians had so steadfast, so splendid a guard as these. Shelter from -the winter gales, great spluttering logs for the hearth, green shade in -summer and in autumn this magnificence. Holly for Christmas, apples and -cider. The apples were falling now, falling with soft thuds all day and -night and littering the orchard, sunk in the grass like rosy-faced -children playing hide and seek. - -Eli’s eyes ran up the opposite hillside, a patchwork quilt of trim -fields, green pasture and brown plow land, all good and all his. - -His heart went out in gratitude to the house of his breed, to the sturdy -men who had made it what it was, to the first poor ragged tinner -wandering down the valley with his donkey, to his unknown father, that -honest giant with the shattered face who had brought him into the world -that he, in his turn, might take up this goodly heritage. - -It should go on. He saw into the future, a brighter, better future. He -saw flowers outside the Owls’ House perennially blooming; saw a -whitewashed kitchen with burnished copper pans and a woman in it smiling -welcome at the day’s end, her sleeves rolled up to show her dimpled -elbows; saw a pack of brown-eyed chubby little boys tumbling noisily in -to supper—Penhales of Bosula. It should go on. He vaulted off the bank -and strode whistling down to the Owls’ House, bowed his head between -Adam and Eve and found Ortho sitting in the kitchen. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI - - -The return of Ortho Penhale, nearly seven years after his supposed -death, caused a sensation in West Cornwall. The smuggling affair at -Monks Cove was remembered and exaggerated out of all semblance to the -truth. Millions of gallons had been run through by Ortho and his gang, -culminating in a pitched battle with the dragoons. Nobody could say how -many were killed in that affray, and it was affirmed that nobody ever -would know. Midnight buryings were hinted at, hush money and so on; a -dark, thrilling business altogether. Ortho was spoken of in the same -breath as King Nick and other celebrities of the “Trade.” His subsequent -adventures lost nothing in the mouths of the gossips. He had landed in -Barbary a slave and in the space of two years become a general. The -Sultan’s favorite queen fell in love with him; on being discovered in -her arms he had escaped by swimming four miles out to sea and -intercepting an East Indiaman, in which vessel he had visited India and -seen the Great Mogul. - -Ortho discovered himself a personage. It was a most agreeable sensation. -Men in every walk of life rushed to shake his hand. He found himself -sitting in Penzance taverns in the exalted company of magistrates and -other notables telling the story of his adventures—with picturesque -additions. - -And the women. Even the fine ladies in Chapel Street turned their proud -heads when he limped by. His limp was genuine to a point; but when he -saw a pretty woman ahead he improved on it to draw sympathy and felt -their softened eyes following him on his way, heard them whisper, “Ortho -Penhale, my dear . . . general in Barbary . . . twelve times -wounded. . . . How pale he looks and how handsome!” - -A most agreeable sensation. - -To insure that he should not pass unnoticed he affected a slight -eccentricity of attire. For him no more the buff breeches, the raffish -black and silver coats; dressed thus he might have passed for any -squire. - -He wore instead the white trousers of a sailor, a marine’s scarlet tunic -he had picked up in a junk shop, a colored kerchief loosely knotted -about his throat, and on his bull curls the round fur cap of the sea. -There was no mistaking him. Small boys followed him in packs, -round-eyed, worshipful. . . . “Ortho Penhale, smuggler, Barbary lancer!” - -If he had been popular once he was doubly popular now. The Monks Cove -incident was forgiven but not forgotten; it went to swell his credit, in -fact. To have arrested him on that old score would have been more than -the Collector’s life was worth. The Collector, prudent man, publicly -shook Penhale by the hand and congratulated him on his miraculous -escape. - -Ortho found his hoard of six hundred and seventy pounds intact in the -hollow ash by Tumble Down and spent it freely. He gave fifty pounds to -Anson’s widow (who had married a prosperous cousin some years before, -forgotten poor Anson and did not need it) and put a further fifty in his -pockets to give to Tamsin Eva. - -Bohenna told him the story as a joke, but Ortho was smitten with what he -imagined was remorse. - -He remembered Tamsin—a slim, appealing little thing in blue, skin like -milk and a cascade of red gold hair. He must make some honorable -gesture—there were certain obligations attached to the rôle of local -hero. It was undoubtedly somewhat late in the day. The Trevaskis lout -had married the girl and accepted the paternity of the child (it was a -boy six years old now, Bohenna reported), but that made no difference; -he must make his gesture. Fifty pounds was a lot of money to a -struggling farmer; besides he would like to see Tamsin again—that -slender neck and marvelous hair! If Trevaskis wasn’t treating her -properly he’d take her away from him, boy and all; b’God, he would! - -He went up to the Trevaskis homestead one afternoon and saw a meager -woman standing at the back of a small house washing clothes in a tub. -Her thin forearms were red with work, her hair was screwed up anyhow on -the top of her head and hung over her eyes in draggled rat’s-tails, her -complexion had faded through long standing over kitchen fires, her apron -was torn and her thick wool socks were thrust into a pair of clumsy -men’s boots. - -It was some seconds before he recognized her as Tamsin. Tamsin after -seven years as a working man’s wife. A couple of dirty children of about -four and five were making mud pies at her feet, and in the cottage a -baby lifted its querulous voice. - -She had other children then—two, three, half a dozen perhaps—huh! - -Ortho turned about and limped softly away, unnoticed, the fifty pounds -still in his pockets. - -Making amends to a pretty woman was one thing, but to a faded drudge -with a school of Trevaskis bantlings quite another suit of clothes. - -He gave the fifty pounds to his mother, took her to Penzance and bought -her two flamboyant new dresses and a massive gold brooch. She adored -him. The hard times, scratching a penny here and there out of Eli, were -gone forever. Her handsome, free-handed son was back again, master of -Bosula and darling of the district. She rode everywhere with him, to -hurling matches, bull baitings, races and cock-fights, big with pride, -chanting his praises to all comers. - -“That Eli would have seen me starve to death in a ditch,” she would say, -buttonholing some old crony in a tavern. “But Ortho’s got respect for -his old mother; he’d give me the coat off his back or the heart out of -his breast, he would, so help me!” (Hiccough.) - -Mother and son rode together all over the Hundred, Teresa wreathed in -fat, splendid in attire, still imposing in her virile bulk; Ortho in his -scarlet tunic, laughing, gambling, dispensing free liquor, telling -amazing stories. Eli stayed at home, working on the farm, bewildered, -dumb, the look in his eyes of a suffering dog. - -Christmas passed more merrily than ever before at the Owls’ House that -year. Half Gwithian was present and two fiddlers. Some danced in the -kitchen, the overflow danced in the barn, profusely decorated with -evergreens for the occasion so that it had the appearance of a candlelit -glade. Few of the men went to bed at all that night and, with the -exception of Eli, none sober. Twelfth Night was celebrated with a -similar outburst, and then people settled down to work again and Ortho -found himself at a loose end. He could always ride into Penzance and -pass the time of day with the idlers in the “Star,” but that was not to -his taste. He drank little himself and disliked the company. -Furthermore, he had told most of his tales and was in danger of -repeating them. - -Ortho was wise enough to see that if he were not careful he would -degenerate from the local hero into the local bore—and gave Penzance a -rest. There appeared to be nothing for it but that he should get down to -work on the farm; after his last eight years it was an anti-climax which -presented few allurements. - -Before long there would be no excuse for idleness. The Kiddlywink in -Monks Cove saw him most evenings talking blood and thunder with Jacky’s -George. He lay abed late of a morning and limped about the cliffs on -fine afternoons. - -The Luddra Head was his favorite haunt; from its crest he could see from -the Lizard Point to the Logan Rock, some twenty miles east and west, and -keep an eye on the shipping. He would watch the Mount’s Bay fishing -fleets flocking out to their grounds; the Welsh collier brigs racing -up-channel jib-boom and jib-boom; mail packets crowding all sail for -open sea; a big blue-water merchantman rolling home from the world’s -ends, or a smart frigate logging nine knots on a bowline, tossing the -spray over her fo’csle in clouds. He would criticize their handling, -their rigs, make guesses as to their destinations and business. - -It was comfortable up on the Head, a slab of granite at one’s back, a -springy cushion of turf to sit upon, the winter sunshine warming the -rocks, pouring all over one. - -One afternoon he climbed the Head to find a woman sitting in his -particular spot. He cursed her under his breath, turned away and then -turned back again. Might as well see what sort of woman it was before he -went; you never knew. He crawled up the rocks, came out upon the granite -platform pretending he had not noticed the intruder, executed a -realistic start of surprise, and said, “Good morning to you.” - -“Good afternoon,” the girl replied. - -Ortho accepted the correction and remarked that the weather was fine. - -The girl did not contest the obvious and went on with her work, which -was knitting. - -Ortho looked her all over and was glad he had not turned back. A -good-looking wench this, tall yet well formed, with a strong white neck, -a fresh complexion and pleasant brown eyes. He wondered where she lived. -Gwithian parish? She had not come to his Christmas and Twelfth Night -parties. - -He sat down on a rock facing her. “My leg,” he explained; “must rest -it.” - -She made no remark, which he thought unkind; she might have shown some -interest in his leg. - -“Got wounded in the leg in Barbary.” - -The girl looked up. “What’s that?” - -Ortho reeled slightly. Was it possible there was anybody in England, in -the wide world, who did not know where Barbary was? - -“North coast of Africa, of course,” he retorted. - -The girl nodded. “Oh, ’es, I believe I have heard father tell of it. -Dutch colony, isn’t it?” - -“No,” Ortho barked. - -The girl went imperturbably on with her knitting. Her shocking ignorance -did not appear to worry her in the least; she did not ask Ortho for -enlightenment and he did not feel like starting the subject again. The -conversation came to a full stop. - -The girl was a ninny, Ortho decided; a feather-headed country ninny—yet -remarkably good looking for all that. He admired the fine shape of her -shoulders under the blue cloak, the thick curls of glossy brown hair -that escaped from her hood, and those fresh cheeks; one did not find -complexions like that anywhere else but here in the wet southwest. He -had an idea that a dimple would appear in one of those cheeks if she -laughed, perhaps in both. He felt he must make the ninny dimple. - -“Live about here?” he inquired. - -She nodded. - -“So do I.” - -No reply; she was not interested in where he lived, drat her! He -supplied the information. “I live at Bosula in the valley; I’m Ortho -Penhale.” - -The girl did not receive this enthralling intelligence with proper -emotion. She looked at him calmly and said, “Penhale of Bosula, are ’e? -Then I s’pose you’m connected with Eli?” - -Once more Ortho staggered. That any one in the Penwith Hundred should be -in doubt as to who he was, the local hero! To be known only as Eli’s -brother! It was too much! But he bit his lip and explained his -relationship to Eli in a level voice. The ninny was even a bigger fool -than he had thought, but dimple she should. The conversation came to a -second full stop. - -Two hundred feet below them waves draped the Luddra ledges with shining -foam cloths, poured back, the crannies dribbling as with milk, and -launched themselves afresh. A subdued booming traveled upwards, died -away in a long-drawn sigh, then the boom again. Great mile-long stripes -and ribbons of foam outlined the coast, twisted by the tides into -strange patterns and arabesques, creamy white upon dark blue. Jackdaws -darted in and out of holes in the cliff-side and gulls swept and hovered -on invisible air currents, crying mournfully. In a bed of campions, just -above the toss of the breakers, a red dog fox lay curled up asleep in -the sun. - -“Come up here often?” Ortho inquired, restarting the one-sided -conversation. - -“No.” - -“Ahem!—I do; I come up here to look at the ships.” - -The girl glanced at him, a mischievous sparkle in her brown eyes. “Then -wouldn’t you see the poor dears better if you was to turn and face ’em, -Squire Penhale?” - -She folded her knitting, stood up and walked away without another word. - -Ortho arose also. She had had him there. Not such a fool after all, and -she had dimpled when she made that sally—just a wink of a dimple, but -entrancing. He had a suspicion she had been laughing at him, knew who he -was all the time, else why had she called him “Squire”? - -By the Lord, laughing at him, was she? That was a new sensation for the -local hero. He flushed with anger. Blast the girl! But she was a damned -handsome piece for all that. He watched her through a peep-hole in the -rocks, watched her cross the neck of land, pass the earth ramparts of -the Luddra’s prehistoric inhabitants and turn left-handed along the -coast path. Then, when she was committed to her direction, he made after -her as fast as he was capable. Despite his wound he was capable of -considerable speed, but the girl set him all the pace he needed. - -She was no featherweight, but she skipped and ran along the craggy path -as lightly as a hind. Ortho labored in the rear, grunting in admiration. - -Catch her he could not; it was all he could do to keep her in sight. -Where a small stream went down to the sea through a tangle of thorn and -bramble she gave him the slip. - -He missed the path altogether, went up to his knees in a bog hole and -got his smart white trousers in a mess. Ten minutes it took him to work -through that tangle, and when he came out on the far side there was no -sign of the girl. He cursed her, damned himself for a fool, swore he was -going back—and limped on. She must live close at hand; he’d try ahead -for another mile and then give it up. - -Within half a mile he came upon Roswarva standing among its stunted -sycamores. - -He limped up to the door and rapped it with his stick. Simeon Penaluna -came out. Ortho greeted him with warmth; but lately back from foreign -parts he thought he really must come and see how his good neighbor was -faring. Simeon was surprised; it was the first time the elder Penhale -had been to the house. This sudden solicitude for his welfare was -unlooked for. - -He said he was not doing as badly as he might be and asked the visitor -in. - -The visitor accepted, would just sit down for a moment or two and rest a -bit . . . his wounds, you know. . . . - -A moment or two extended to an hour. Ortho was convinced the girl was -somewhere about—there were no other houses in the neighborhood—and, -now he came to remember, Penaluna had had a daughter in the old days, an -awkward child, all legs like a foal; the same girl, doubtless. She would -have to show up sooner or later. He talked and talked, and talked -himself into an invitation to supper. His persistency was rewarded; the -girl he had met on the cliffs brought the supper in and Simeon -introduced her as his daughter Mary. Not by a flicker of an eyelash did -she show that she had ever seen Ortho before, but curtsied to him as -grave as a church image. - -It was ten o’clock before Ortho took his way homewards. He had not done -so badly, he thought. Mary Penaluna might pretend to take no interest in -his travels, but he had managed to hold Simeon’s ears fast enough. - -The grim farmer had laughed till the tears started at Ortho’s -descriptions of the antics of the negro soldiers after the looting at -Figvig and the equatorial mummery on board the Indiaman. - -Mary Penaluna might pretend not to be interested, but he knew better. -Once or twice, watching her out of the tail of his eye, he had seen her -lips twitch and part. He could tell a good story, and knew it. In -soldier camps and on shipboard he had always held his sophisticated -audiences at his tongue’s tip; it would be surprising if he could not -charm a simple farm girl. - -More than ever he admired her—the soft glow on her brown hair as she -sat sewing, her broad, efficient hands, the bountiful curves of her. And -ecod! in what excellent order she kept the house! That was the sort of -wife for a farmer. - -And he was a farmer now. Why, yes, certainly. He would start work the -very next day. - -This wandering was all very well while one was young, but he was getting -on for thirty and holed all over with wounds, five to be precise. He’d -marry that girl, settle down and prosper. - -As he walked home he planned it all out. His mother should stop at -Bosula of course, but she’d have to understand that Mary was mistress. -Not that that would disturb Teresa to any extent; she detested -housekeeping and would be glad to have it off her hands. Then there was -Eli, good old brother, best farmer in the duchy. Eli was welcome to stop -too and share all profits. Ortho hoped that he would stop, but he had -noticed that Eli had been very silent and strange since his home-coming -and was not sure of him—might be wanting to marry as well and branch -out for himself. Tregors had gone, but there was over four hundred -pounds of that smuggling money remaining, and if Eli wanted to set up -for himself he should have every penny of it to start him, every blessed -penny—it was not more than his due, dear old lad. - -As soon as Mary accepted him—and he didn’t expect her to take more than -a week in making up her mind—he’d hand the money over to Eli with his -blessing. Before he reached home that night he had settled everybody’s -affairs to his own satisfaction and their advantage. Ortho was in a -generous mood, being hotly in love again. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII - - -Teresa rode out of Gwithian in a black temper. Three days before, in -another fit of temper, she had packed the house-girl from Bosula, bag -and baggage, and she was finding it difficult to get another. For two -days she had been canvassing the farms in vain, and now Gwithian had -proved a blank draw. She could not herself cook, and the Bosula -household was living on cold odds and ends, a diet which set the men -grumbling and filled her with disgust. She pined for the good times when -Martha was alive and three smoking meals came up daily as a matter of -course. - -Despite the fact that she offered the best wages in the neighborhood, -the girls would not look at her—saucy jades! Had she inquired she would -have learnt that, as a mistress, she was reported too free with her -tongue and fists. - -Gwithian fruitless, there was nothing for it but to try Mousehole. -Teresa twisted her big horse about and set off forthwith for the fishing -village in the hopes of picking up some crabber’s wench who could handle -a basting pan—it was still early in the morning. A cook she must get by -hook or crook; Ortho was growling a great deal at his meals—her -precious Ortho! - -She was uneasy about her precious Ortho; his courtship of the Penaluna -girl was not progressing favorably. He had not mentioned the affair, but -to his doting mother all was plain as daylight. She knew perfectly well -where he spent his evenings, and she knew as well as if he had told her -that he was making no headway. Men successful in love do not flare like -tinder at any tiny mishap, sigh and brood apart in corners, come -stumbling to bed at night damning the door latches for not springing to -meet their hands, the stairs for tripping them up; do not publicly, and -apropos of nothing, curse all women—meaning one particular woman. Oh, -no, Ortho was beating up against a head wind. - -Teresa was furious with the Penaluna hussy for presuming to withstand -her son. She had looked higher for Ortho than a mere farmer’s daughter; -but, since the farmer’s daughter did not instantly succumb, Teresa was -determined Ortho should have her—the haughty baggage! - -After all Simeon owned the adjacent property and was undeniably well to -do. The girl had looks of a sort (though the widow, being enormous -herself, did not generally admire big women) and was reported a good -housewife; that would solve the domestic difficulty. But the main thing -was that Ortho wanted the chit, therefore he should have her. - -Wondering how quickest this could be contrived, she turned a corner of -the lane and came upon the girl in question walking into Gwithian, a -basket on her arm, her blue cloak blowing in the wind. - -Teresa jerked her horse up, growling, “Good morning.” - -“Good morning,” Mary replied and walked past. - -Teresa scowled after her and shouted, “Hold fast a minute!” - -Mary turned about. “Well?” - -“What whimsy tricks are you serving my boy Ortho?” said Teresa, who was -nothing if not to the point. - -Mary’s eyebrows rose. “What do ’e mean, ‘whimsy tricks’? I do serve en a -fitty supper nigh every evening of his life and listen to his tales till -. . .” - -“Oh, you know what I mean well enough,” Teresa roared. “Are ’e goin’ to -have him? That’s what I want to know.” - -“Have who?” - -“My son.” - -“Which son?” The two women faced each other for a moment, the black eyes -wide with surprise, the brown sparkling with amusement; then Mary -dropped a quick curtsey and disappeared round the corner. - -Teresa sat still for some minutes glaring after her, mouth sagging with -astonishment. Then she cursed sharply; then she laughed aloud; then, -catching her horse a vicious smack with the rein, she rode on. The -feather-headed fool preferred Eli to Ortho! Preferred that slow-brained -hunk of brawn and solemnity to Ortho, the handsome, the brilliant, the -daring, the sum of manly virtues! It was too funny, too utterly -ridiculous! Eli, the clod, preferred to Ortho, the diamond! The girl was -raving mad, raving! Eli had visited Roswarva a good deal at one time, -but not since Ortho’s return. Teresa hoped the girl was aware that Ortho -was absolute owner of Bosula and that Eli had not a penny to his -name—now. If she were not, Teresa determined she should not long go in -ignorance. - -At any rate, it could only be a question of time. Mary might still have -some friendly feeling for Eli, but once she really began to know Ortho -she would forget all about that. Half the women in the country would -give their heads to get the romantic squire of Bosula; they went sighing -after him in troops at fairs and public occasions. Yet something in the -Penaluna girl’s firm jaw and steady brown eyes told Teresa that she was -not easily swayed hither and thither. She wished she could get Eli out -of the way for a bit. - -She rode over the hill and down the steep lane into Mousehole, and there -found an unwonted stir afoot. - -The village was full of seamen armed with bludgeons and cutlasses, -running up and down the narrow alleys in small parties, kicking the -doors in and searching the houses. - -The fisherwomen hung out of their windows and flung jeers and slops at -them. - -“Press gang,” Teresa was informed. They had landed from a frigate -anchored just round the corner in Gwavas Lake and had so far caught one -sound man, one epileptic and the village idiot, who was vastly pleased -at having some one take notice of him at last. - -A boy line fishing off Tavis Vov had seen the gang rowing in, given the -alarm, and by the time the sailors arrived all the men were a quarter of -a mile inland. Very amusing, eh? Teresa agreed that it was indeed most -humorous, and added her shrewd taunts to those of the fishwives. - -Then an idea sprang to her head. She went into the tavern and drank a -pot of ale while thinking it over. When the smallest detail was complete -she set out to find the officer in command. - -She found him without difficulty—an elderly and dejected midshipman -leaning over the slip rails, spitting into the murky waters of the -harbor, and invited him very civilly to take a nip of brandy with her. - -The officer accepted without question. A nip of brandy was a nip of -brandy, and his stomach was out of order, consequent on his having -supped off rancid pork the night before. Teresa led him to a private -room in the tavern, ordered the drinks and, when they arrived, locked -the door. - -“Look ’e, captain,” said she, “do ’e want to make a couple of guineas?” - -The midshipman’s dull glance leapt to meet hers, agleam with sudden -interest, as Teresa surmised it would. She knew the type—forty years -old, without influence or hope of promotion, disillusioned, shabby, -hanging body and soul together on thirty shillings a month; there was -little this creature would not do for two pounds down. - -“What is it?” he snapped. - -“I’ll give you two pounds and a good sound man—if you’ll fetch en.” - -The midshipman shook his tarred hat. “Not inland; I won’t go inland.” -Press gangs were not safe inland in Cornwall and he was not selling his -life for forty shillings; it was a dirty life; but he still had some -small affection for it. - -“Who said it was inland? To a small little cove just this side of Monks -Cove; you’ll know it by the waterfall that do come down over cliff -there. T’eddn more’n a two-mile pull from here, just round the point.” - -“Is the man there?” - -“Not yet, but I’ll have en there by dusk. Do you pull your boat up on -the little beach and step inside the old tinner’s adit—kind of little -cave on the east side—and wait there till he comes. He’s a mighty -strong man, I warn ’e, a notable wrestler in these parts, so be -careful.” - -“I’ll take four of my best and sand-bag him from behind,” said the -midshipman, who was an expert in these matters. “Stiffens ’em, but don’t -kill. Two pound ain’t enough, though.” - -“It’s all you’ll get,” said Teresa. - -“Four pound or nothing,” said the midshipman firmly. - -They compromised at three pounds and Teresa paid cash on the spot. -Ortho, the free-handed, kept her in plenty of money—so different from -Eli. - -The midshipman walked out of the front door, Teresa slipped out of the -back and rode away. She had little fear the midshipman would fail her; -he had her money, to be sure, but he would also get a bounty on Eli and -partly save his face with his captain. He would be there right enough. - -She continued her search for a cook in Paul and rode home slowly to gain -time, turned her horse, as usual, all standing, into the stable, and -then went to look for her younger son. - -She was not long in finding him; a noise of hammering disclosed his -whereabouts. - -She approached in a flutter of well-simulated excitement. - -“Here you, Eli, Eli!” she called. - -“What is it?” he asked, never pausing in his work. - -“I’ve just come round by the cliffs from Mousehole; there’s a good -ship’s boat washed up in Zawn-a-Bal. Get you round there quick and take -her into Monks Cove; she’m worth five pounds if she’m worth a penny.” - -Eli looked up. “Hey! . . . What sort of boat?” - -“Gig, I think; she’m lying on the sand by the side of the adit.” - -Eli whistled. “Gig—eh! All right, I’ll get down there soon’s I’ve -finished this.” - -Teresa stamped her foot. “Some o’ they Mousehole or Cove men’ll find her -if you don’t stir yourself.” - -Eli nodded. “All right, all right, I’m going. I’m not for throwing away -a good boat any more’n you are. Just let me finish this gate. I shan’t -be a minute.” - -Teresa turned away. He would go—and there was over an hour to spare—he -would go fast enough, go blindly to his fate. She turned up the valley -with a feeling that she would like to be as far from the dark scene of -action as possible. But it would not do Eli any harm, she told herself; -he was not being murdered; he was going to serve in the Navy for a -little while as tens of thousands of men were doing. Every sailor was -not killed, only a small percentage. No harm would come to him; good, -rather. He would see the world and enlarge his mind. In reality she was -doing him a service. - -Nevertheless her nerves were jumping uncomfortably. Eli was her own -flesh and blood after all, John’s son. What would John, in heaven, say -to all this? She had grasped the marvelous opportunity of getting rid of -Eli without thinking of the consequences; she was an opportunist by -blood and training, could not help herself. - -Well, it was done now; there was no going back—and it would clear the -way for Ortho. - -Yet she could not rid herself of a vision of the evil midshipman -crouching in the adit with his four manhandlers and sand-bags waiting, -waiting, and Eli striding towards them through the dusk, whistling, all -unconscious. She began to blubber softly, but she did not go home; she -waddled on up the valley, sniffling, blundering into trees, blinking the -tears back, talking to herself, telling John, in heaven, that it was all -for the best. She would not go back to Bosula till after dark, till it -was all over. - - * * * * * - -Eli strapped the blankets on more firmly, kicked the straw up round the -horse’s belly, picked up the oil bottle and stood back. - -“Think he’ll do now,” he said. - -Bohenna nodded. “’Es, but ’twas a mercy I catched you in time, gived me -a fair fright when I found en.” - -“I’ll get Ortho to speak to mother,” Eli said. “’Tisn’t her fault the -horse isn’t dead. Here, take this bottle in with you.” - -Bohenna departed. - -Eli piled up some more straw and cleared the manger out. A shadow fell -across the litter. - -“Might mix a small mash for him,” he said without looking round. - -“Mash for who?” a voice inquired. Eli turned about and saw not Bohenna -but Simeon Penaluna dressed in his best. - -“Been to market,” Simeon explained; “looked in on the way back. What -have you got here?” - -“Horse down with colic. Mother turned him loose into the stable, corn -bin was open, he ate his fill and then had a good drink at the trough. -I’ve had a proper job with him.” - -“All right now, eddn ’a?” - -“Yes, I think so.” - -Simeon shuffled his expansive feet. “Don’t see much of you up to -Roswarva these days.” - -“No.” - -More shufflings. “We do brearly miss ’e.” - -“That so?” - -Simeon cleared his throat. “My maid asked ’e to supper some three months -back . . . well, if you don’t come up soon it’ll be getting cold like.” - -There was an uncomfortable pause; then Eli looked up steadily. “I want -you to understand, Sim, that things aren’t the same with me as they were -now Ortho’s come home. My father died too sudden; he didn’t leave a -thing to me. I’m nothing but a beggar now. Ortho . . .” - -The gaunt slab of hair and wrinkles that was Simeon’s face split into a -smile. - -“Here, for gracious sake, don’t speak upon Ortho; he’s pretty nigh -talked me deaf and dumb night after night of how he was a king in -Barbary and what not and so forth . . . clunk, clunk, clunk! In the -Lord’s name do you come up and let’s have a little sociable silence for -a change.” - -“Do you mean it?” Eli gasped. - -“Mean it,” said Simeon, laying a hairy paw on his shoulder. “Did you -ever hear me or my maid say a word we didn’t mean—son?” - -Eli rushed across the yard and into the house to fetch his best coat. - -Teresa was standing in front of the fire, hands outstretched, shivering -despite the blaze. - -She reeled when her son went bounding past her, reeled as though she had -seen a ghost. - -“Eli! My God, Eli!” she cried. “What—how—where you been?” - -“In the stable physicking your horse,” he said, climbing the stairs. “I -sent Ortho after that boat.” - -He did not hear the crash his mother made as she fell; he was in too -much of a hurry. - - * * * * * - -Ortho climbed the forward ladder and came out on the upper deck. The -ship was thrashing along under all plain sail, braced sharp up. - -The sky was covered with torn fleeces of cloud, but blue patches gleamed -through the rents, and the ship leapt forward lit by a beam of sunshine, -white pinioned, a clean bone in her teeth. A rain storm had just passed -over, drenching her, and every rope and spar was outlined with -glittering beads; the wet deck shone like a plaque of silver. Cheerily -sang the wind in the shrouds, the weather leeches quivered, the reef -points pattered impatient fingers, and under Ortho’s feet the frigate -trembled like an eager horse reaching for its bit. - -“She’s snorting the water from her nostrils, all right,” he said -approvingly. “Step on, lady.” - -So he was aboardship again. How he had come there he didn’t know. He -remembered nothing after reaching Zawn-a-Bal Cove and trying to push -that boat off. His head gave an uncomfortable throb. Ah, that was it! He -had been knocked on the head—press gang. - -Well, he had lost that damned girl, he supposed. No matter, there were -plenty more, and being married to one rather hampered you with the -others. Life on the farm would have been unutterably dull really. He was -not yet thirty; a year or two more roving would do no harm. His head -gave another throb and he put his hand to his brow. - -A man polishing the ship’s bell noted the gesture and laughed. “Feelin’ -sick, me bold farmer? How d’you think you’ll like the sea?” - -“Farmer!” Ortho snarled. “Hell’s bells, I was upper yard man of the -_Elijah Impey_, pick of the Indies fleet!” - -“Was you, begod?” said the polisher, a note of respect in his voice. - -“Aye, that I was. Say, mate, what packet is this?” - -“_Triton_, frigate, Captain Charles Mulholland.” - -“Good bully?” - -“The best.” - -“She seems to handle pretty kind,” said Ortho, glancing aloft. - -“Kind!” said the man, with enthusiasm. “She’ll eat out of your hand, -she’ll talk to you.” - -“Aha! . . . Know where we’re bound?” - -“West Indies, I’ve heard.” - -“West Indies!” Ortho had a picture of peacock islands basking in coral -seas, of odorous green jungles, fruit-laden, festooned with ropes of -flowers; of gaudy painted parrots preening themselves among the tree -ferns; of black girls, heroically molded, flashing their white teeth at -him. . . . - -West Indies! He drew a deep breath. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: The Owls' House - -Author: Crosbie Garstin - -Release Date: October 19, 2019 [EBook #60528] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OWLS' HOUSE *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines, John Routh & the online Distributed -Proofreaders Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/cover.jpg' alt='' id='iid-0000' style='width:80%;height:auto;'/> -</div> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class='lgc' style=''> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'><span style='font-size:larger'>THE OWLS’ HOUSE</span></p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line0'>By CROSBIE GARSTIN</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<div class='figcenter'> -<img src='images/pubillo.png' alt='' id='iid-0001' style='width:50%;height:auto;'/> -</div> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line0'>A. L. BURT COMPANY</p> -<p class='line0'>Publishers New York</p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line0'>Published by arrangement with Frederick A. Stokes Company</p> -<p class='line0'>Printed in U. S. A.</p> -</div> <!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<div class='lgc' style=''> <!-- rend=';' --> -<p class='line0'><span class='it'>Copyright, 1923, by</span></p> -<p class='line0'><span class='sc'>Frederick A. Stokes Company</span></p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line0'><span class='it'>All rights reserved</span></p> -<p class='line'> </p> -<p class='line0'><span class='it'>Printed in the United States of America</span></p> -</div> <!-- end rend --> - -<hr class='pbk'/> - -<p class='line0' style='text-align:center;margin-top:3em;margin-bottom:2em;font-size:2.5em;'>The Owls' House</p> - -<div><h1 class='nobreak'>CHAPTER I</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>It was late evening when John Penhale left the -Helston lawyer’s office. A fine drizzle was -blowing down Coinage Hall Street; thin beams -of light pierced the chinks of house shutters and -curtains, barred the blue dusk with misty orange -rays, touched the street puddles with alchemic fingers, -turning them to gold. A chaise clattered uphill, -the horses’ steam hanging round them in a kind -of lamp-lit nimbus, the post-boy’s head bent against -the rain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Outside an inn an old soldier with a wooden leg -and very drunk stood wailing a street ballad, both -eyes shut, impervious to the fact that his audience -had long since left him. Penhale turned into “The -Angel,” went on straight into the dining-room and -sat down in the far corner with the right side of his -face to the wall. He did so from habit. A trio -of squireens in mud-bespattered riding coats sat near -the door and made considerable noise. They had -been hare hunting and were rosy with sharp air -and hard riding. They greeted every appearance -of the ripe serving maid with loud whoops and -passed her from arm to arm. She protested and -giggled. Opposite them a local shop-keeper was -entertaining a creditor from Plymouth to the best -bottle the town afforded. The company was made -up by a very young ensign of Light Dragoons bound -to Winchester to join his regiment for the first -time, painfully self-conscious and aloof, in his new -scarlet. Penhale beat on the table with his knife. -The maid escaped from the festive sportsmen and -brought him a plate of boiled beef and onions. As -she was about to set the plate before him one of -the hare hunters lost his balance and fell to the -ground with a loud crash of his chair and a yell -of delight from his companions.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The noise caused Penhale to turn his head. The -girl emitted an “ach” of horror, dropped the plate -on the table and recoiled as though some one had -struck her. Penhale pulled the plate towards him, -picked up his knife and fork and quietly began to -eat. He was quite used to these displays. The girl -backed away, staring in a sort of dreadful fascination. -A squireen caught at her wrist calling her -his “sweet slut,” but she wrenched herself free and -ran out of the door.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She did not come near Penhale again; the tapster -brought him the rest of his meal. Penhale went -on eating, outwardly unmoved; he had been subject -to these outbursts, off and on, for eighteen years.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eighteen years previously myriads of birds had -been driven south by the hard winter upcountry. -One early morning, after a particularly bitter snap, -a hind had run in to say that the pond on Polmenna -Downs, above the farm, was covered with -wild duck. Penhale took an old flintlock fowling -piece of his father’s which had been hanging neglected -over the fireplace for years, and made for -Polmenna, loading as he went.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As the hind had said, the pool was covered with -duck. Penhale crouched under cover of some willows, -brought the five-foot gun to his shoulder, and -blazed into the brown.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>An hour later a fisherman setting rabbit snares -in a hedge above the Luddra saw what he described -as “a red man” fighting through the scrub and -bramble that fringed the cliff. It was John Penhale; -the gun had exploded, blowing half his face away. -Penhale had no intention of throwing himself over -the Luddra, he was blind with blood and pain. The -fisherman led him home with difficulty, and then, -being of a practical mind, returned to the pond to -pick up the duck.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>An old crone who had the reputation of being a -“white witch” was summoned to Bosula and managed -to stop the bleeding by means of incantations, -cobwebs and dung—principally dung. The hind was -sent on horseback to Penzance to fetch Doctor -Spargo.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Doctor Spargo had been making a night of it -with his friend the Collector of Customs and a stray -ship captain who was peculiarly gifted in the brewing -of rum toddies. The doctor was put to bed at -dawn by his household staff, and when he was -knocked up again at eleven he was not the best -pleased. He bade his housekeeper tell the Bosula -messenger that he was out—called out to a confinement -in Morvah parish and was not expected back -till evening—and turned over on his pillow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The housekeeper returned, agitated, to say that -the messenger refused to move. He knew the doctor -was in, he said; the groom had told him so. -Furthermore if Spargo did not come to his master’s -assistance without further ado he would smash every -bone in his body. Doctor Spargo rolled out of bed, -and opening the window treated the messenger to -samples from a vocabulary enriched by a decade of -army life. The messenger listened to the tirade -unmoved and, as Doctor Spargo cursed, it was borne -in on him that he had seen this outrageous fellow -before. Presently he remembered when; he had -seen him at Gwithian Feast, a canvas jacket on, -tossing parish stalwarts as a terrier tosses rats. -The messenger was Bohenna, the wrestler. Doctor -Spargo closed both the tirade and the window abruptly -and bawled for his boots.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The pair rode westwards, the truculent hind cantering -on the heels of the physician’s cob, laying -into it with an ash plant whenever it showed symptoms -of flagging. The cob tripped over a stone in -Bucca’s Pass and shied at a goat near Trewoofe, -on each occasion putting its master neatly over its -head. By the time Spargo arrived at Bosula he -was shaking worse than ever. He demanded more -rum to steady his hand, but there was none. He -pulled himself together as best he could and set to -work, trembling and wheezing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Spargo was a retired army surgeon; he had served -his apprenticeship in the shambles of Oudenarde -and Malplaquet among soldiers who had no option -but to submit to his ministrations. His idea was -to patch men up so that they might fight another -day, but without regard to their appearance. He -sewed the tatters of John Penhale’s face together -securely but roughly, pocketed his fee and rode -home, gasping, to his toddies.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>John Penhale was of fine frame and hearty. In -a week or two he was out and about; in a month -he had resumed the full business of the farm, but -his face was not a pleasant sight. The left side -was merely marked with a silvery burn on the cheek -bone, but the right might have been dragged by a -harrow; it was ragged scars from brow to chin. -The eye had gone and part of an ear, the broken -jaw had set concave and his cheek had split into -a long harelip, revealing a perpetual snarl of teeth -underneath. He hid the eye socket with a black -patch, but the lower part of his face he could not -mask.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Three months after his accident he rode into Penzance -market. If one woman squeaked at the sight -of him so did a dozen, and children ran to their -mothers blubbering that the devil had come for -them. Even the men, though sympathetic, would -not look him in the face, but stared at their boots -while they talked and were plainly relieved when -he moved away. John never went in again, unless -driven by the direst necessity, and then hurried out -the moment his affairs were transacted. For despite -his bulk and stoic bearing he was supersensitive, and -the horror his appearance awoke cut him to the raw. -Thus at the age of twenty-three he became a bitter -recluse, a prisoner within the bounds of his farm, -Bosula, cared for by a widow and her idiot daughter, -mixing only with his few hinds and odd farmers -and fishermen that chance drove his way.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He had come to Helston on business, to hear the -terms of his Aunt Selina’s will, and now that he -had heard them he was eager to be quit of the -place. The serving girl’s behavior had stung him -like a whip lash and the brawling of the drunken -squires jarred on his every nerve. He could have -tossed the three of them out of the window if he -liked, but he quailed at the thought of their possible -mockery. They put their heads together and whispered, -hiccoughing and sniggering. They were, as -a fact, planning a descent on a certain lady in Pigs -Street, but John Penhale was convinced that they -were laughing at him. The baby ensign had a derisive -curl in his lip, John was sure . . . he could -feel the two shop-keepers’ eyes turned his way . . . -it was unbearable.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Sneers, jeers, laughter . . . he hated them all, -everybody. He would get out, go home to Bosula, -to sanctuary. He had a sudden longing for Bosula, -still and lonely among the folding hills . . . his -own place. He drank off his ale, paid the score -and went out to see what the weather was like.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The wind had chopped around easterly and the -rain had stopped. The moon was up breasting -through flying ridges of cloud like a naked white -swimmer in the run of surf. Penhale found an -ostler asleep on a pile of straw, roused him and -told him to saddle his horse, mounted and rode -westwards out of town.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He passed a lone pedestrian near Antron and a -string of pack horses under Breage Church, but for -the rest he had the road to himself. He ambled -gently, considering the terms of his aunt’s will. She -had left him her strong farm of Tregors, in the -Kerrier Hundred, lock, stock and barrel, on the -one condition that he married within twelve months. -In default of his marrying it was to pass to her -late husband’s cousin, Carveth Donnithorne, ship -chandler of Falmouth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>John Penhale paid silent tribute to his aunt’s -cleverness. She disliked the smug and infallible -Donnithorne intensely, and in making him her next -heir had passed over four nearer connections with -whom she was on good terms. Her reasons for this -curious conduct were that she was a Penhale by birth -with intense family pride and John was the last of -her line. A trivial dispute between John and Carveth -over a coursing match she had fostered with -all the cunning that was in her till the men’s dislike -of each other amounted to plain hatred. She knew -John would do anything in his power to keep Donnithorne -out of the Tregors’ rents. She would -drive him into matrimony, and then, with reasonable -luck, the line would go on and Penhales rule at -Bosula forever and ever.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>John laughed grimly at the thought of his aunt—sly -old devil! She had married and left home -before he was born, and he had not seen her a -score of times in his life, but she was a vivid memory. -He could see her now riding into Bosula, a-pillion -behind one of her farm hands, her cold blue -eyes taking in every detail of the yard, and hear -her first words of greeting to her brother after a -year’s separation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Jan, thou mazed fool, the trash wants cutting -back down to Long meadow, and there’s a cow -coughing—bring her in to once and I’ll physick her.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The cow came in at once; everybody obeyed -Selina without question or delay both at Bosula and -Tregors. Her husband, Jabez Donnithorne, was -the merest cipher whose existence she barely acknowledged.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On one occasion Jabez, returning very drunk from -Helston market, having neglected to buy the heifers -he was sent after, Selina personally chastised him -with a broom handle and bolted him in the pig-sty -for the night, where he was overlaid by a sow and -suffered many indignities. That cured Jabez.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Selina never stopped long at Bosula—three days -at the most—but in that time she would have inspected -the place from bound to bound, set everybody -to rights, and dictated the policy of the farm -for twelve months to come. As she had ruled her -brother in boyhood she ruled him to the day of his -death. She was fond of him, but only because he -was head of the family. His wife she looked on -merely as a machine for producing male Penhales. -She would see to it that on her death Tregors fell -to her family, and then, doubly endowed, the Penhales -of Bosula would be squires and gentlefolk in -the land.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When, after many years, John remained the only -child, Selina bit back her disappointment and concentrated -on the boy. She insisted on his being sent -to Helston Grammar School, paid half the cost of -his education, kept him in plentiful pocket money -and saw that his clothes were of the best. He -was a handsome, upstanding lad and did her credit. -She was more than satisfied; he would go far, she -told herself; make a great match. Then came -John’s accident. Selina made no move until he was -out and about again, and then rode over to assess -the damage. She stalked suddenly into the kitchen -one morning, surveyed the ruins of her nephew’s -comely face, outwardly unmoved, and then stalked -out again without a word of consolation or regret, -barked instructions that her horse was to be baited -and ready in two hours and turned up the hill.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Up the hill she strode, over Polmenna Downs and -on to that haunt of her girlhood, the Luddra Head. -Perched high on its stone brows, the west wind in -her cloak and hair, she stared, rigid and unseeing, -over the glitter of the Channel. She was back in -the two hours, but her eyelids were red—for the last -time in her life Selina had been crying.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She slept at the Angel at Helston that night, -visited a certain disreputable attorney next morning -and left his office with the Tregellas mortgage in her -pocket.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Hugh Tregellas of Tregellas had four -daughters and a mania for gambling. He did not -fling his substance away on horse-racing, cock or -man fights—indeed he lifted up his voice loudly -against the immorality of these pursuits—he took -shares in companies formed to extract gold from -sea water, in expeditions to discover the kingdom -of Prester John, and such like. Any rogue with -an oiled tongue and a project sufficiently preposterous -could win a hearing from the Squire. But -though much money went out few ships came home, -and the four Miss Tregellases sat in the parlor, -their dowries dwindling to nothing, and waited for -the suitors who did not come.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>All this was well known to their neighbor, -Selina Donnithorne. She knew that when the four -Miss Tregellases were not in the parlor playing -at ladies they were down on their knee bones scrubbing -floors. She even had it on sound authority -that the two youngest forked out the cow-byre every -morning.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She called on the Squire one afternoon, going to -Tregellas in state, dressed in her best, and driving -in a cabriolet she had purchased dirt cheap from a -broken-down roisterer at Bodmin Assizes. She saw -Mr. Tregellas in his gunless gun-room and came -to the point at once. She wanted his youngest -daughter for John Penhale. Mr. Tregellas flushed -with anger and opened his mouth to reply, but -Selina gave him no opportunity. Her nephew was -already a man of moderate means, she said, living -on his own good farm in the Penwith Hundred, with -an income of nearly one hundred pounds per annum -into the bargain. When she died he would have -Tregors also. He was well educated, a fine figure -of a man and sound in wind and limb, if a trifle -cut about one side of the face—one side only—but -then, after all these wars, who was not?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Here Mr. Tregellas managed to interpose a spluttering -refusal. Selina nodded amiably. She ventured -to remind Mr. Tregellas that since Arethusina’s -dowry had sunk off Cape St. Vincent with the -Fowey privateer, <span class='it'>God’s Providence</span>, her chances of -a distinguished marriage were negligible—also that -she, Selina, was now mortgagee of Tregellas and -the mortgage fell due at Michaelmas.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Tregellas was a gambler. As long as there -was one chance left to him, no matter how long, -the future was radiant. He laughed at Selina. He -had large interests in a company for trading with -the King of certain South Sea atolls, he said, the -lagoons of which were paved with pearl. It had -been estimated that this enterprise could not fail -to enrich him at a rate of less than eleven hundred -and fifty-three per centum. A ship bearing the first -fruits was expected in Bristol almost any day now, -was in fact overdue, but these nor’-easterly head -winds . . . Mr. Tregellas saw Selina to the door, -his good humor restored, promising her that long -before Michaelmas he would not only be paying -off the mortgage on Tregellas, but offering her a -price for Tregors as well.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Selina rocked home in her cabriolet no whit perturbed -by the Squire’s optimism. Nor’-easterly head -winds, indeed! . . .</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Three months from that date Mr. Tregellas returned -the call. Selina was feeding ducks in the -yard when he came. She emptied her apron, led -the Squire into the kitchen and gave him a glass of -cowslip wine—which he needed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come to offer me a price for Tregors?” she -asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The old gambler blinked his weak eyes pathetically, -like a child blinking back tears, and buried -his face in his hands. Selina did not twit him further. -There was no need. She had him where she -wanted him. She smiled to herself. So the pearl -ship had gone the deep road of the Fowey privateer—and -all the other ventures. She clicked her -tongue, “Tchuc—tchuc!” and offered him another -glass of wine.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ll send for John Penhale to-morrow,” said she. -“I’ll tell him that if he don’t take your maid he -shan’t have Tregors. You tell your maid if she -don’t take my John I’ll put you all out on the road -come Michaelmas. Now get along wid ’ee.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Arethusina came over to Tregors to pay Mrs. -Donnithorne a week’s visit, and John was angled -from his retreat by the bait of a roan colt he had -long coveted and which his aunt suddenly expressed -herself willing to sell.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sun was down when he reached the farm; -Selina met him in the yard, and leading him swiftly -into the stables explained the lay of the land while -he unsaddled his horse, but she did not tell him -what pressure had been brought to bear on the -youngest Miss Tregellas.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>John was amazed and delighted. Mr. Hugh -Tregellas’ daughter willing to marry him, a common -farmer! Pretty too; he had seen her once, -before his accident, sitting in the family pew in -Cury church—plump, fluffy little thing with round -blue eyes, like a kitten. This was incredible luck!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He was young then and hot-blooded, sick of the -loneliness of Bosula and the haphazard ministrations -of the two slatterns. He was for dashing into -the house and starting his love-making there and -then, but Selina held him, haggling like a fish wife -over the price of the roan. When he at length got -away from her it was thick dusk. It was dark in -the kitchen, except for the feeble glow of the turf -fire, Selina explaining that she had unaccountably -run out of tallow dips—the boy should fetch some -from Helston on the morrow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Arethusina came downstairs dressed in her eldest -sister’s bombazine dress, borrowed for the occasion. -She was not embarrassed; she, like John, was eager -for change, weary of the threadbare existence and -unending struggle at home, of watching her sisters -grow warped and bitter. She saw ahead, saw four -gray old women, dried kernels rattling in the echoing -shell of Tregellas House, never speaking, hating -each other and all things, doddering on to the -blank end, four gray nuns cloistered by granite pride. -Anything were better than that. She would sob -off to sleep swearing to take any chance rather than -come to that, and here was a chance. John Penhale -stood for life full and flowing in place of want -and decay. He might only be a yeoman, but he -would have two big farms and could keep her in -comfort. She would have children, she hoped, silk -dresses and a little lap dog. Some day she might -even visit London.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She entered the kitchen in good heart and saw -John standing before the fire, a vague but imposing -silhouette. A fine figure of a man, she thought, and -her heart lifted still higher. She dropped him a -mischievous curtsey. He took her hand, laughing, -a deep, pleasant laugh. They sat on the settle at -the back of the kitchen and got on famously.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>John had barely spoken to any sort of woman -for a year, leave alone a pretty woman; he thought -her wonderful. Arethusina had not seen a presentable -man for double that period; all her stored -coquetry bubbled out. John was only twenty-four, -the girl but nineteen; they were like two starved -children sitting down to a square meal.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The brass-studded grandfather clock tick-tocked, -in its corner; the yellow house cat lay crouched on -the hearth watching the furze kindling for mice; -Selina nodded in her rocker before the fire, subconsciously -keeping time with the beats of the clock. -A whinny of treble laughter came from the settle, -followed by John’s rumbling bass, then whisperings.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Selina beamed at her vis-à-vis, the yellow cat. -She was elated at the success of her plans. It had -been a good idea to let the girl get to know John -before she could see him. The blow would be softened -when morning came. In Selina’s experience -obstacles that appeared insurmountable at night -dwindled to nothing in the morning light; one came -at them with a fresh heart. She was pleased with -Arethusina. The girl was healthy, practical and -ambitious—above all, ambitious. She might not be -able to do much with John, marred as he was, but -their children would get all the advantages of the -mother’s birth, Selina was sure. The chariot of -the Penhales would roll onwards, steered by small, -strong hands.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She glanced triumphantly at the pair on the settle -and curled her thin lips. Then she rose quietly and -slipped off to bed. The yellow cat remained, waiting -its prey. Arethusina and John did not notice -Selina’s departure, they were engrossed in each -other. The girl had the farmer at her finger ends -and enjoyed the experience; she played on his senses -as on a keyboard. He loomed above her on the -settle, big, eager, boyish, with a passionate break -in his laughter. She kept him guessing, yielded and -retreated in turn, thrilled to feel how easily he responded -to her flying moods. What simpletons men -were!—and what fun!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>John shifted nearer up the settle, his great hot -hand closed timorously over hers; she snatched it -free and drew herself up.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“La! sir, you forget yourself, I think. I will -beg you to remember I am none of your farm -wenches! I—I . . .” She shook with indignation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>John trembled; he had offended, lost her. . . . -O fool! He tried to apologize and stuttered ridiculously. -He <span class='it'>had</span> lost her! The prospect of facing -a lifetime without this delectable creature, on whom -he had not bestowed a moment’s thought three -hours before, suddenly became intolerable. He bit -his nails with rage at his impetuosity. So close beside -him, yet gone forever! Had she gone already? -Melted into air? . . . A dream after all? He -glanced sideways. No, she was still there; he could -see the dim pallor of her face and neck against the -darkness, the folds of the bombazine dress billowing -out over the edge of the settle like a great -flower.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A faint sweet waft of perfume touched his nostrils. -Something stirred beside him; he looked -down. Her hand . . . her hand was creeping back -up the settle towards him! He heard a sound and -looked up again; she was crying! . . . Stay, <span class='it'>was</span> -she crying? No, by the Lord in heaven she was -not; she was <span class='it'>laughing</span>! In a flash he was on his -feet, had crushed her in his arms, as though to grasp -the dear dream before it could fade, and hold it -to him forever. He showered kisses on her mouth, -throat, forehead—anywhere. She did not resist, but -turned her soft face up to his, laughing still. -Tregors and Bosula were safe, safe for both of them -and all time.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At that moment the yellow cat sprang, and in -so doing toppled a clump of furze kindling over -the embers. The dry bush caught and flared, roaring, -up the chimney. The kitchen turned in a second -from black to red, and John felt the youngest -Miss Tregellas go suddenly rigid in his arms, her -blue eyes stared at him big with horror, her full -lips were drawn tight and colorless across her -clenched teeth. He kissed her once more, but it -was like kissing the dead.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then she came to life, struggled frantically, battered -at his mouth with both fists, giving little “Oh! -Ohs!” like a trapped animal mad with pain. He let -her go, amazed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She fled across the kitchen, crashing against the -table in her blind hurry, whipped round, stared at -him again and then ran upstairs, panting and sobbing. -He heard the bolt of her door click, and then -noises as though she was piling furniture against it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>John turned about, still amazed, and jumped back -startled. Who was that? . . . that ghoul’s mask -lit by flickers of red flame, snarling across the room? -Then he remembered it was himself of course, himself -in the old round mirror. After his accident -he had smashed every looking-glass at home and had -forgotten what he looked like. . . . During the -few hours of fool’s paradise he had forgotten about -his face altogether . . . supposed the girl knew -. . . had been told. The fatal furze bush burnt -out, leaving him in merciful darkness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>John opened the door, stumbled across to the -stable, saddled his horse and, riding hard, was at -Bosula with dawn.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When the farm girl went to call Arethusina next -morning she found the room empty and the bed -had not been slept in. Selina sent to the Squire -at once, but the youngest Miss Tregellas had not -returned. They discovered her eventually in an old -rab pit halfway between the two houses, her neck -broken; she had fallen over the edge in the dark. It -was supposed she was trying to find her way home.</p> - -<div><h1>CHAPTER II</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>Since that night, seventeen years before, John -Penhale had done no love-making nor had he -again visited Tregors. The Tregellas affair -had broken his nerve, but it had not impaired that -of his aunt in the slightest degree, and he was frightened -of her, being assured that, did he give her a -chance, she would try again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And now the old lady was dead, and in dying had -tried again. John pictured her casting her final -noose sitting up, gaunt and tall, in her four-poster -bed dictating her last will and testament to the -Helston attorney, awed farm hands waiting to -affix their marks, sunset staining the west window -and the black bull roaring in the yard below. And -it was a shrewd cast she had made; John could feel -its toils tightening about him. He had always been -given to understand that Tregors was as good as -his, and now it was as good as Carveth Donnithorne’s—Carveth -Donnithorne! John gritted his -teeth at the thought of the suave and ever prospering -ship chandler. Tregors had always been a -strong farm, but in the last seventeen years Selina -had increased the acreage by a third, by one hundred -acres of sweet upland grazing lopped from the Tregellas -estate. There were new buildings too, built -of moor granite to stand forever, and the stock -was without match locally. John’s yeoman heart -yearned to it. Oh, the clever old woman! John -pictured Carveth Donnithorne taking possession, -Carveth Donnithorne with his condescending airs, -patronizing wife and school of chubby little boys. -Had not Carveth goods enough in this world but -that he must have Tregors as well?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>John swore he should not have Tregors as well, -not if he could stop it. How could he stop it? -He puzzled his wits, but returned inevitably to the -one answer he was trying to evade, “Marry within -twelve months! Marry within twelve months!” -His aunt had made a sure throw, he admitted with -grim admiration, the cunning old devil! It was all -very well saying “marry,” but who would marry a -man that even the rough fisher girls avoided and -children hid from? He would have no more force -or subterfuge. If any woman consented to marry -him it must be in full knowledge of what she was -doing and of her own free will. There should be -no repetition of that night seventeen years before. -He shuddered. “No, by the Lord, no more of -that; rather let Tregors go to Carveth.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In imagination he saw the Squire’s daughter as he -was always seeing her in the dark nights when he -was alone, stricken numb in his arms, glazed horror -in her eyes—saw her running across the blind country, -sobbing, panting, stumbling in furrows, torn by -brambles, trying to get home, away from him—the -Terror. He shut his eyes, as though to shut out -the vision, and rode on past Germoe to Kenneggy -Downs.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The moon was flying through clouds like a circus -girl through hoops, the road was swept by winged -shadows. Puddles seemed to brim with milk at -one moment, ink the next. At one moment the surrounding -country was visible, a-gleam as with hoar -frost, and then was blotted out in darkness; it was -a night of complete and startling transformations. -The shadow of a bare oak leapt upon them suddenly, -flinging unsubstantial arms at man and horse -as though to grasp them, a phantom octopus. Penhale’s -mare shied, nearly unseating him. He came -out of his somber thoughts, kicked spurs into her -and drove her on at a smart trot. She swung forward, -trembling and uneasy, nostrils swelling, ears -twitching, as though she sensed uncanny presences -abroad. They reached the high ground above Perranuthnoe, -waste, gorse-covered downs. To the -south the great indent of Mount’s Bay gloomed and -glittered under cloud and moonshine; westward -Paul Hill rose like a wall, a galaxy of ships’ riding -lights pricking the shadow at its base. The track -began to drop downhill, the moors gave over to -fields with high banks. An old pack horse track, -choked with undergrowth, broke into the road from -the seaward side. The mare cocked her ears towards -it, snorted and checked. Penhale laid into -her with his whip. She bounded forward and shied -again, but with such violence this time that John -came out of the saddle altogether. He saw a -shadow rush across the road, heard something -thwack on the mare’s rump as she swerved from -under him, and he fell, not on the road as he expected, -but on top of a man, bearing him to the -ground. As John fell he knew exactly what he had -to deal with—highwaymen! The mare’s swerve -had saved him a stunning blow on the head. He -grappled with the assailant as they went down and -they rolled over and over on the ground feeling for -strangle holds. John was no tyro at the game; he -was muscled like a bull and had been taught many -a trick by his hind Bohenna, the champion, but this -thief was strong also and marvelously elusive. He -buckled and twisted under the farmer’s weight, -finally slipped out of his clutch altogether and leapt -to his feet. John scrambled up just in time to kick -the heavy oak cudgel from the man’s reach and -close with him again. John cross-buttocked and -back-heeled him repeatedly, but on each occasion the -man miraculously regained his feet. John tried -sheer strength, hugged the man to him, straining -to break his back. The man bent and sprang as -resilient as a willow wand. John hugged him closer, -trying to crush his ribs. The man made his teeth -meet in the farmer’s ear and slipped away again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Once more John was just in time to stop him -from picking up the club. He kicked it into the -ditch and set to work with his knuckles. But he -could not land a blow; wherever he planted his fists -the fellow was not, eluding them by a fraction of an -inch, by a lightning side-step or a shake of the head. -The man went dancing backwards and sideways, -hands down, bobbing his head, bending, swaying, -bouncing as though made of rubber. He began to -laugh. The laugh sent a shiver through John Penhale. -The footpad thought he had him in his hands, -and unless help came from somewhere the farmer -knew such was the case; it was only a question of -time and not much time. He was out of trim and -cooked to a finish already, while the other was skipping -like a dancing master, had breath to spare for -laughter.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At that time of night nobody would be on the -road, and help was not likely to drop from Heaven. -He had only himself to look to. He thought over -the manifold tricks he had seen in the wrestling -ring, thought swiftly and desperately, hit out with -his left and followed with an upward kick of his -right foot—Devon style. His fist missed as he expected, -but his boot caught the thief a tip under -the knee cap as he side-stepped. The man doubled -up, and John flung himself at him. The footpad -butted him in the pit of the stomach with his head -and skipped clear, shouting savagely in Romany, -but limping, limping! John did not know the language, -but it told him there was a companion to -reckon with—a fresh man; the struggle was hopeless. -Nevertheless he turned and ran for the club. -He was not fast enough, not fast enough by half; -three yards from the ditch the lamed thief was on -him. John heard the quick hop-skip of feet behind -him and dropped on one knee as the man sprang -for his back. The footpad, not expecting the drop, -went too high; he landed across John’s shoulders, -one arm dropping across the farmer’s chest. In a -flash John had him by the wrist and jerked upright, -at the same time dragging down on the wrist; it -was an adaptation of the Cornish master-throw, -“the flying mare.” The man went over John’s -shoulders like a rocket, made a wonderful effort to -save himself by a back somersault, but the tug on -his wrist was too much, and he crashed on his side -in the road. John kicked him on the head till he -lay still and, picking up the club, whirled to face the -next comer. Nobody came on. John was perplexed. -To whom had the fellow been shouting -if not to a confederate?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Perhaps the cur had taken fright and was skulking -in the gorse. Very well; he would drub him -out. He was flushed with victory and had the club -in his hands now. He was stepping towards the -furze when he heard a slight scrunching sound to -his left, and, turning, saw a dark figure squatting -on the bank at the roadside. John stood still, -breathing hard, his cudgel ready. The mysterious -figure did not stir. John stepped nearer, brandishing -his club. Still the figure made no move. John -stepped nearer yet, and at that moment the moon -broke clear of a mesh of clouds, flooding the road -with ghostly light, and John, to his astonishment, -saw that the confederate was a girl, a girl in a -tattered cloak and tarnished tumbler finery, munching -a turnip. Strolling acrobats! That explained -the man’s uncanny agility.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What are you doing here?” he demanded.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nothing, sir,” said the girl, chewing a lump of -the root.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ll have him hung and you transported for -this,” John thundered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I did you no harm,” said the girl calmly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>That was true enough. John wondered why she -had not come to the assistance of her man; tribe -law was strong with these outcasts, he understood. -He asked her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The girl shrugged her shoulders. “He beat me -yesterday. I wanted to see him beat. You done it. -Good!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She thrust a bare, well-molded arm in John’s face. -It was bruised from elbow to shoulder. She spat -at the unconscious tumbler.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What is he to you?” John asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nothing,” she retorted. “Muck,” and took another -wolfish bite at the turnip; she appeared ravenous.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>John turned his back on her. He had no intention -of proceeding with the matter, since to do so -meant carrying a stunned footpad, twelve stone at -least, a mile into Market Jew and later standing -the publicity of the Assizes. He was not a little -elated at the success of his “flying mare” and in -a mood to be generous. After all he had lost nothing -but a little skin; he would let the matter drop. -He picked the man up and slung him off the road -into the gorse of the pack track. Now for his horse. -He walked past the munching girl in silence, halted, -felt in his pocket, found a florin and jerked it to -her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Here,” he said, “get yourself an honest meal.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The florin fell in the ditch, the girl dropped off -the bank onto it as he had seen a hawk drop on a -field vole.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good God!” he muttered. “She must be -starved,” and walked on.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He would knock up the inn in Market Jew and -spend the remainder of the night there, he decided. -He would look for his horse in the morning—but -he expected it would trot home.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A hundred yards short of the St. Hilary turning -he came upon the mare; she was standing quietly, a -forefoot planted on a broken rein, holding herself -nose to the ground. He freed her, knotted the rein -and mounting clattered down the single street and -out on the beach road on the other side. Since he -had his horse he would push straight through after -all; if he stopped he would have to concoct some -story to account for his battered state, which would -be difficult. He went at a walk, pondering over -the events of the night. On his left hand the black -mass of St. Michael’s Mount loomed out of the -moon-silvered bay like some basking sea monster; -before him lay Penzance with the spire of St. Mary’s -rising above the masts of the coasters, spearing at -the stars.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At Ponsandane River the mare picked up a stone. -John jumped off, hooked it out and was preparing -to remount when he noticed that she had got her -head round and was staring back down the road, -ears pricked. There was some one behind them. -He waited a full minute, but could neither see nor -hear anything, so went on again, through Penzance, -over Newlyn Green and up the hill. The wind -had died away. It was the still hour that outrides -dawn; the east was already paling. In the farms -about Paul, John could hear the cocks bugling to -each other; hidden birds in the blackthorns gave -sleepy twitters; a colt whinnied “good morning” -from a near-by field and cantered along the hedge, -shaking the dew from its mane. Everything was -very quiet, very peaceful, yet John could not rid -himself of the idea that he was being followed. He -pulled up again and listened, but, hearing nothing, -rode on, calling himself a fool.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He dropped down into Trevelloe Bottoms, gave -the mare a drink in Lamorna stream and climbed -Boleigh. A wall-eyed sheep dog came out of a -cottage near the Pipers and flew, yelping, at the -horse’s heels. He cursed it roundly and it retired -whence it came, tail between its legs. As he turned -the bend in the road he heard the cur break into a -fresh frenzy of barking.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There <span class='it'>was</span> somebody behind him after all, somebody -who went softly and stopped when he did. -It was as he had suspicioned; the tumbler had come -to and was trailing him home to get his revenge—to -fire stacks or rip a cow, an old gypsy trick. John -swung the mare into a cattle track, tied her to a -blackthorn, pulled a heavy stone out of the mud and -waited, crouched against the bank, hidden in the -furze. He would settle this rogue once and for all. -Every yeoman instinct aroused, he would have faced -forty such in defense of his stock, his place.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dawn was lifting her golden head over the long -arm of the Lizard. A chain of little pink clouds -floated above her like adoring cherubs. Morning -mists drifted up from the switch-backed hills to the -north, white as steam. Over St. Gwithian tower the -moon hung, haggard and deathly pale, an old siren -giving place to a rosy débutante. In the bushes -birds twittered and cheeped, tuning their voices -against the day. John Penhale waited, bent double, -the heavy stone ready in his hands. The footpad -was a long time coming. John wondered if he had -taken the wrong turning—but that was improbable; -the mare’s tracks were plain. Some one might have -come out of the cottage and forced the fellow into -hiding—or he might have sensed the ambush. John -was just straightening his back to peer over the furze -when he heard the soft thud of bare feet on the -road, heard them hesitate and then turn towards -him, following the hoof prints. He held his breath, -judged the time and distance and sprang up, the -stone poised in both hands above his head. He -lowered it slowly and let it drop in the mud. It -was the girl!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She looked at the stone, then at John and her -mouth twitched with the flicker of a smile. John -felt foolish and consequently angry. He stepped -out of the bushes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why are you following me?” he demanded.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She looked down at her bare feet, then up at him -out of the corners of her deep dark eyes, but made -no answer.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>John grasped her by an arm and shook her. -“Can’t you speak? Why are you following me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She did not reply, but winced slightly, and John -saw that he was gripping one of the cruel bruises. -He released her, instantly contrite.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I did not mean to do that,” he said. Then, -hardening again: “But, look you, I’ll have no more -of this. I’ll have none of your kind round here, -burning ricks. If I catch you near my farm I’ll -hand you over to the law for . . . for what you -are and you’ll be whipped. Do you hear me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The girl remained silent, leaning up against the -bank, pouting, looking up at John under her long -lashes. She was handsome in a sulky, outlandish -way, he admitted. She had a short nose, high cheekbones -and very dark eyes with odd lights in them; -her bare head was covered with crisp black curls -and she wore big brass earrings; a little guitar was -tucked under one arm. The tattered cloak was -drawn tight about her, showing the thin but graceful -lines of her figure—a handsome trollop.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If you won’t speak you won’t . . . but, remember, -I have warned you,” said John, but with less -heat, as he untied his horse and mounted. As he -turned the corner he glanced furtively back and met -the girl’s eyes full. He put spurs to the mare, -flushing hotly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A quarter of an hour later he reined up in his -yard. He had been away rather less than twenty-four -hours, but it seemed like as many days. It -was good to be home. A twist of blue smoke at -a chimney told him Martha was stirring and he -would get breakfast soon. He heard the blatter of -calves in their shed and the deep, answering moo -of cows from the byre, the splash and babble of -the stream. In the elms the rooks had already begun -to quarrel—familiar voices.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He found Bohenna in the stable wisping a horse -and singing his one song, “I seen a ram at Hereford -Fair,” turned the mare over to him and sought the -yard again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was good to be home . . . and yet, and yet -. . . things moved briskly outside, one found adventures -out in the world, adventures that set the blood -racing. He was boyishly pleased with his tussle -with the vagabond, had tricked him rather neatly, -he thought; he must tell Bohenna about that. Then -the girl. She had not winced at the sight of his -face, not a quiver, had smiled at him even. He -wondered if she were still standing in the cow track, -the blue cloak drawn about her, squelching mud -through her bare toes—or was she ranging the fields -after more turnips—turnips! She was no better -than an animal—but a handsome animal for all that, -if somewhat thin. Oh, well, she had gone now; -he had scared her off, would never see her again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He turned to walk into the house and saw the -girl again. She was leaning against the gate post, -looking up at him under her lashes. He stood stock-still -for a moment, amazed as at a vision, and then -flung at her:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You—you . . . didn’t you hear what I said?” -She neither stirred nor spoke.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>John halted. He felt his fury going from him -like wind from a pricked bladder. In a second -he would be no longer master of himself. In the -glow of morning she was handsomer than ever; she -was young, not more than twenty, there was a blue -gloss on the black curls, the brass earrings glinted -among them; her skin had a golden sunburnt tint -and her eyes smoldered with curious lights.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What do you want?” John stammered, suddenly -husky.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The girl smiled up at him, a slow, full-lipped -smile. “You won me . . . so I came,” she said.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>John’s heart leapt with old pagan pride. To the -victor the spoils!—aye, verily! He caught the girl -by the shoulders and whirled her round so that his -own face came full to the sunrise.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you see this?” he cried. “Look well, look -well!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The girl stared at him steadily, without a tremor, -without the flick of an eyelid, and then, bending, -rubbed her forehead, cat-like, against his shoulder.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Marry,” she purred, “I’ve seen worse than that -where I came from.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For answer John caught her up in his arms and -marched, shouting with rough laughter, into the -house, the tumbler girl clasped tight to his breast, -her arms about his neck.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>To the victor the spoils!</p> - -<div><h1>CHAPTER III</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>Bosula—“The Owls’ House”—lay in the -Keigwin Valley, about six miles southwest of -Penzance. The valley drained the peninsula’s -bare backbone of tors, ran almost due south until -within a mile and a half of the sea, formed a sharp -angle, ran straight again and met the English Channel -at Monks Cove. A stream threaded its entire -length, its source a holy well on Bartinny Downs -(the water of which, taken at the first of the moon, -was reputed a cure for chest complaints). Towards -the river’s source the valley was a shallow swamp, -a wide bed of tussocks, flags, willow and thorn, the -haunt of snipe and woodcock in season, but as it -neared Bosula it grew narrower and deeper until -it emptied into the sea, pinched to a sharp gorge -between precipitous cliffs.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was a surprising valley. You came from the -west over the storm-swept, treeless table-land that -drives into the Atlantic like a wedge and is beaten -upon by three seas, came with clamorous salt gales -buffeting you this way and that, pelting you with -black showers of rain, came suddenly to the valley -rim and dropped downhill into a different climate, a -serene, warm place of trees with nothing to break -the peace but the gentle chatter of the stream. -When the wind set roundabouts of south it was -not so quiet. The cove men had a saw—</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“When the river calls the sea,</p> -<p class='line0'>Fishing there will be;</p> -<p class='line0'>When the sea calls the river,</p> -<p class='line0'>’Ware foul weather.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>Bosula stood at the apex of the angle, guarded -on all sides, but when the wind set southerly and -strong the boom of the breakers on the Twelve -Apostles reef came echoing up the valley in deep, -tremendous organ peals. So clear did they sound -that one would imagine the sea had broken inland -and that inundation was imminent.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The founder of the family was a tin-streamer -from Crowan, who, noting that the old men had -got their claws into every inch of payable dirt in -the parish, loaded his implements on a donkey and -went westward looking for a stream of his own. -In due course he and his ass meandered down -Keigwin Valley and pitched camp in the elbow. On -the fourth day Penhale the First, soil-stained and -unkempt, approached the lord of the manor and -proposed washing the stream on tribute. He held -out no hopes, but was willing to give it a try, being -out of work. The lord of the manor knew nothing -of tin or tinners, regarded the tatterdemalion with -casual contempt and let him draw up almost what -terms he liked. In fifteen years Penhale had taken -a small fortune out of the valley, bought surrounding -land and built a house on the site of his original -camp. From thenceforth the Penhales were farmers, -and each in his turn added something, a field, -a bit of moorland, a room to the house.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When John Penhale took possession the estate -held three hundred acres of arable land, to say -nothing of stretches of adjoining bog and heather, -useful for grazing cattle. The buildings formed a -square, with the yard in the center, the house on -the north and the stream enclosing the whole on -three sides, so that the place was serenaded with -eternal music, the song of running water, tinkling -among bowlders, purling over shallows, splashing -over falls.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Penhale, the tinner, built a two-storied house of -four rooms, but his successor had seven children, -and an Elizabethan, attuning himself to a prolific -age, thirteen. The first of these added a couple of -rooms, the second four. Since building forwards -encroached on the yard and building backwards -would bring them into the stream they, perforce, extended -sideways and westwards. In John Penhale’s -time the house was five rooms long and one thick, -with the front door stranded at the east end and -the thatch coming down so low the upper windows -had the appearance of old men’s eyes peering out -under arched and shaggy brows. There was little -distinctive about the house save the chimneys, which -were inordinately high, and the doorway which was -carved. Penhale the First, who knew something -of smelting and had ideas about draught, had set -the standard in chimney pots, but the Elizabethan -was responsible for the doorway. He pulled a half-drowned -sailor out of the cove one dawn, brought -him home, fed and clothed him. The castaway, a -foreigner of some sort, being unable to express gratitude -in words, picked up a hammer and stone chisel -and decorated his rescuer’s doorway—until then -three plain slabs of granite. He carved the date on -the lintel and a pattern of interwoven snakes on -the uprights, culminating in two comic little heads, -one on either side of the door, intended by the artist -as portraits of his host and hostess, but which they, -unflattered, and doubtless prompted by the pattern -below, had passed down to posterity as Adam and -Eve.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The first Penhale was a squat, burly man and -built his habitation to fit himself, but the succeeding -generations ran to height and were in constant danger -of braining themselves against the ceilings. -They could sit erect, but never rose without glancing -aloft, and when they stood up their heads well-nigh -disappeared among the deep beams. This had inculcated -in them the habit of stooping instinctively -on stepping through any door. A Dean of Gwithian -used to swear that the Penhale family entered his -spacious church bent double.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The first Penhale, being of small stature, made his -few windows low down; the subsequent Penhales -had to squat to see out of them. Not that the Penhales -needed windows to look out of; they were an -open-air breed who only came indoors to eat and -sleep. The ugly, cramped old house served their -needs well. They came home from the uplands or -the bottoms at the fall of night, came in from -plowing, shooting, hedging or driving cattle, came -mud-plastered, lashed by the winter winds, saw -Bosula lights twinkling between the sheltering trees, -bowed their tall heads between Adam and Eve and, -entering the warm kitchen, sat down to mighty meals -of good beef and good vegetables, stretched their -legs before the open hearth, grunting with full-fed -content, and yawned off to bed and immediate sleep, -lulled by the croon of the brook and the whisper of -the wind in the treetops. Gales might skim roofs -off down in the Cove, ships batter to matchwood on -the Twelve Apostles, upland ricks be scattered over -the parish, the Penhales of Bosula slept sound in -the lap of the hills, snug behind three-foot walls.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In winter, looking down from the hills, you could -barely see Bosula for trees, in summer not at all. -They filled the valley from side to side and for half -a mile above and below the house, oak, ash, elm and -sycamore with an undergrowth of hazel and thorn. -Near the house the stream, narrowed to a few feet, -ran between banks of bowlders piled up by the first -Penhale and his tinners. They had rooted up bowlders -everywhere and left them lying anyhow, on -their ends or sides, great uneven blocks of granite, -now covered with an emerald velvet of moss or -furred with gray and yellow lichen. Between these -blocks the trees thrust, flourishing on their own leaf -mold. The ashes and elms went straight up till -they met the wind leaping from hill to hill and then -stopped, nipped to an even height as a box-hedge is -trimmed by shears; but the thorns and hazels started -crooked and grew crooked all the way, their -branches writhing and tangling into fantastic clumps -and shapes to be overgrown and smothered in toils -of ivy and honeysuckle.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In spring the tanglewood valley was a nursery -of birds. Wrens, thrushes, chiffchaffs, greenfinches -and chaffinches built their nests in scented thickets -of hawthorn and may; blue and oxeye tits kept house -in holes in the apple and oak trees. These added -their songs to that of the brook. In spring the -bridal woods about Bosula rippled and thrilled with -liquid and debonair melody. But it was the owls -that were the feature of the spot. Winter or summer -they sat on their boughs and hooted to each -other across the valley, waking the woods with -startling and eerie screams. “To-whoo, wha-aa, -who-hoo!” they would go, amber eyes burning, and -then launch themselves heavily from their perches -and beat, gray and ghostly, across the moon. -“Whoo, wha-hoo!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Young lovers straying up the valley were apt to -clasp each other the tighter and whisper of men -murdered and evil hauntings when they heard the -owls, but the first Penhale in his day, camped with -his ass in the crook of the stream, took their banshee -salutes as a good omen. He lay on his back in the -leaves listening to them and wondering at their -number.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Bos hula enweer ew’n teller na,” said he in -Cornish, as he rolled over to sleep. “Truly this -is the owls’ house.”</p> - -<div><h1>CHAPTER IV</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>When John Penhale carried the gypsy girl -into Bosula, he thought she would be off -again in a fortnight or a month at most. -On the contrary she curled up as snug as a dormouse, -apparently prepared to stay forever. At -first she followed him wherever he went about the -farm, but after a week she gave that up and remained -at Bosula absorbed in the preparation of -food.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The number of really satisfying meals the girl -Teresa had had in her time could be counted on -her fingers and toes, almost. Life had been maintained -by a crust here and a bone there. She was -only half gypsy; her mother had been an itinerant -herbalist, her father a Basque bear-leader, and she -was born at Blyth Fair. Her twenty-two years had -been spent on the highways, singing and dancing -from tavern to tavern, harried by the law on one -side and hunger on the other. She had no love for -the Open Road; her feet were sore from trudging -it and she knew it led nowhere but to starvation; -her mother had died in a ditch and her father had -been hanged. For years she had been waiting a -chance to get out of the dust, and when John came -along, knocked out the tumbler and jerked her a -florin she saw that possible chance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A sober farmer who tossed silver so freely should -be a bachelor, she argued, and a man who could -fight like that must have a good deal of the lusty -animal about him. She knew the type, and of all -men they were the easiest to handle. She followed -up the clew hot foot, and now here she was in a -land of plenty. She had no intention of leaving -in a fortnight, a month, or ever, if she could help -it, no desire to exchange three meat meals daily, -smoking hot, for turnips; or a soft bed for the -lee of a haystack. She would sit on the floor after -supper, basking at the roaring hearth, her back -propped against John’s knees, and listen to the drip -of the eaves, the sough of the treetops, the echoed -organ crashes of the sea, snuggle closer to the -farmer and laugh.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When he asked her why she did that she shrugged -her shoulders. But she laughed to think of what -she was escaping, laughed to think that the tumbler -was out in it. But for that flung florin and the -pricking of her thumbs she would have been out -in it too, crouched under a hedge, maybe, soaked -and shivering. Penhale need have had no fears she -would leave him; on the contrary she was afraid he -would tire of her, and strove by every means to -bind him to her irrevocably. She practiced all her -wiles on John, ran to him when he came in, fondled -and kissed him, rubbed her head on his shoulder, -swore he didn’t care for her, pretended to cry, any -excuse to get taken in his arms; once there she had -him in her power. The quarter strain of gitano -came uppermost then, the blood of generations of -ardent southern women, professional charmers all, -raced in her veins and prompted her, showed her -how and when. It was all instinctive and quite irresistible; -the simple northern yeoman was a clod in -her hands.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Martha had found Teresa some drugget clothes, -rummaging in chests that lay, under the dust of -twenty years, in the neglected west wing—oak chests -and mahogany with curious iron clasps and hinges, -the spoil of a score of foundered ships. Teresa -had been close behind the woman when the selection -was made and she had glimpsed many things that -were not drugget. When she gave up following -John abroad she took to spending most of her time, -between meals, in the west wing, bolting the doors -behind her so that Martha could not see what she -was doing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>John was lurching home down the valley one -autumn evening, when, as he neared Bosula, he -heard singing and the tinkling of melodious wires. -There was a small grove of ashes close ahead, encircling -an open patch of ground supposed to be -a fairy ring, in May a purple pool of bluebells, but -then carpeted with russet and yellow leaves. He -stepped nearer, peered round an oak bole and saw -a sight which made him stagger and swear himself -bewitched. There was a marvelous lady dancing -in the circlet, and as she danced she sang, twanging -an accompaniment on a little guitar.</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Then, Lovely Boy, bring hither</p> -<p class='line0'>The Chaplet, e’er it wither,</p> -<p class='line0'>Steep’d in the various Juices</p> -<p class='line0'>The Cluster’d Vine produces;</p> -<p class='line0'>The Cluster’d Vine produces.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>She was dressed in a straight-laced bodice stitched -with silver and low cut, leaving her shoulders bare; -flowing daffodil sleeves caught up at the elbows and -a cream-colored skirt sprigged with blue flowers and -propped out at the hips on monstrous farthingales. -On her head she wore a lace fan-tail—but her feet -were bare. She swept round and round in a circle, -very slow and stately, swaying, turning, curtseying -to the solemn audience of trees.</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“So mix’t with sweet and sour,</p> -<p class='line0'>Life’s not unlike the flower;</p> -<p class='line0'>Its Sweets unpluck’d will languish,</p> -<p class='line0'>And gather’d ’tis with anguish;</p> -<p class='line0'>And gather’d ’tis with anguish.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>The glare of sunset shot through gaps in the wood -in quivering golden shafts, fell on the smooth trunks -of the ashes transforming them into pillars of gold. -In this dazzle of gold the primrose lady danced, -in and out of the beams, now glimmering, now in -hazy and delicate shadow. A puff of wind shook -a shower of pale leaves upon her, they drifted about -her like confetti, her bare feet rustled among them, -softly, softly.</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“This, round my moisten’d Tresses,</p> -<p class='line0'>The use of Life expresses:</p> -<p class='line0'>Wine blunts the thorn of Sorrow,</p> -<p class='line0'>Our Rose may fade to-morrow:</p> -<p class='line0'>Our Rose—may—fade—to-morrow.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>The sun went down behind the hill; twilight, -powder-blue, swept through the wood, quenching the -symphony in yellows. The lady made a final fritter -of strings, bowed to the biggest ash and faded -among the trees, towards Bosula. John clung to his -oak, stupefied. Despite his Grammar School education -he half believed in the crone’s stories of Pixies -and “the old men,” and if this was not a supernatural -being what was it? A fine lady dancing in -Bosula woods at sundown—and in the fairy circle -too! If not a sprite where did she come from? -There was not her match in the parish, or hundred -even. He did not like it at all. He would go home -by circling over the hill. He hesitated. That was -a long detour, he was tired and his own orchard -was not a furlong distant. His common sense returned. -Damme! he would push straight home, he -was big and strong enough whatever betide. He -walked boldly through the woods, whistling away -his fears, snapping twigs beneath his boots.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He came to a dense clump of hollies at the edge -of the orchard and heard the tinkle-tinkle again, -right in front of him. He froze solid and stared -ahead. It was thick dusk among the bushes; he -could see nothing. Tinkle-tinkle—from the right -this time. He turned slowly, his flesh prickling. -Nothing. A faint rustle of leaves behind his back -and the tinkle of music once more. John began -to sweat. He was pixie-led for certain—and only -fifty yards from his own door. If one listened to -this sort of thing one was presently charmed and -lost forever, he had heard. He would make a dash -for it. He burst desperately through the hollies -and saw the primrose lady standing directly in front -of him on the orchard fringe. He stopped. She -curtsied low.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, Jan, Jan,” she laughed. “Jan, come here -and kiss me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Teresa!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She pressed close against him and held up her -full, tempting mouth. He kissed her over and -over.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where did you get these—these clothes?” he -asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Out of the old chests,” said she. “You like me -thus? . . . love me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For answer he hugged her to him and they went -on into the kitchen linked arm in arm. Martha in -her astonishment let the cauldron spill all over the -floor and the idiot daughter threw a fit.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The drugget dress disappeared after that. -Teresa rifled the chests and got some marvelous -results. The chests held the hoardings of a century, -samples of every fashion, washed in from -wrecks on the Twelve Apostles, wardrobes of officers’ -mistresses bound for the garrison at Tangier, -of proud ladies that went down with Indiamen, -packet ships, and vessels sailing for the Virginia -Colony. Jackdaw pickings that generations of Penhale -women had been too modest to wear and too -feminine to part with. Gowns, under gowns, bodices, -smocks and stomachers of silk, taffeta, sarsenet -and satin of all hues and shapes, quilted, brocaded, -embroidered, pleated, scalloped and slashed; cambric -and holland ruffs, collars, bands, kerchiefs and -lappets; scarves, trifles of lace pointed and godrooned; -odd gloves of cordovan leather, heavily -fringed; vamped single shoes, red heeled; ribbons; -knots; spangled garters; feathers and fans.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The clothes were torn and faded in patches, eaten -by moth, soiled and rusted by salt water, but Teresa -cared little; they were treasure-trove to her, the -starveling. She put them all on in turn (as the -Penhale wives had done before her—but in secret) -without regard to fit, appropriateness or period and -with the delight of a child dressing up for a masquerade. -She dressed herself differently every evening—even -wearing articles with showy linings inside -out—aiming only at a blaze of color and spending -hours in the selection.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The management of the house she left entirely -to Martha, which was wise enough, seeing she knew -nothing of houses. John coming in of an evening -never knew what was in store for him; it gave life -an added savour. He approached Adam and Eve, -his heart a-flutter—what would she be like this -time?—opened the low door and stepped within. -And there she would be, standing before the hearth -waiting for him, mischievous and radiant, brass -earrings winking, a knot of ribbons in her raven -curls, dressed in scarlet, cream, purple or blue, cloth -of gold or silver lace—all worn and torn if you -came to examine closely, but, in the leaping firelight, -gorgeous.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Sometimes she would spend the evening wooing -him, sidling into his arms, rubbing with her cheek -and purring in her cat fashion; and sometimes she -would take her guitar and, sitting cross-legged before -the hearth, sing the songs by which she had -made her living. Pretty, innocent twitters for the -most part, laments to cruel Chloes, Phyllises and -Celias in which despairing Colins and Strephons -sang of their broken hearts in tripping, tuneful -measures; morris and country airs she gave also -and patriotic staves—</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>   “Tho’ the Spaniards invade</p> -<p class='line0'>    Our Int’rest and Trade</p> -<p class='line0'>And often our Merchant-men plunder,</p> -<p class='line0'>    Give us but command</p> -<p class='line0'>    Their force to withstand,</p> -<p class='line0'>We’ll soon make the slaves truckle under.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>Such stuff stirred John. As the lyrics lulled him, -he would inflate his chest and tap his toe on the -flags in time with the tune, very manful.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>All this heady stuff intoxicated the recluse. He -felt a spell on the place, could scarcely believe it -was the same dark kitchen in which he had sat alone -for seventeen years, listening to the stream, the rain -and the wind. It was like living in a droll-teller’s -story where charcoal burners fell asleep on enchanted -barrows and woke in fairy-land or immortals -put on mortal flesh and sojourned in the homes of -men. Reared on superstition among a race that -placed balls on their roofs and hung rags about holy -wells to keep off witches, he almost smelt magic now. -At times he wondered if this strange creature he -had met on the high moors under the moon were -what she held to be, if one day she would not get -a summons back to her own people, the earth gape -open for her and he would be alone again. There -had been an authentic case in Zennor parish; his own -grandmother had seen the forsaken husband. He -would glance at Teresa half fearfully, see her -squatting before the blaze, lozenges of white skin -showing through the rips in her finery, strong fingers -plucking the guitar strings, round throat swelling as -she sang—</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“I saw fair Clara walk alone;</p> -<p class='line0'>The feathered snow came softly down . . .”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='noindent'>—and scout his suspicions. She was human enough—and -even if she were not, sufficient for the -day. . . .</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As for the girl, with the unstinted feeding, she -put on flesh and good looks. Her bones and angles -disappeared, her figure took on bountiful curves, -her mouth lost its defiant pout. She had more than -even she wanted to eat, a warm bed, plenty of colorful -kickshaws and a lover who fell prostrate before -her easiest artifices. She was content—or very -nearly so. One thing remained and that was to put -this idyllic state of affairs on a permanent basis. -That accomplished, her cup of happiness would -brim, she told herself. How to do it? She fancied -it was more than half done already and that, unless -she read him wrong, she would presently have such -a grip on the farmer he would never throw her off. -By January she was sure of herself and laid her -cards on the table.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>According to her surmise John took her forthwith -into St. Gwithian, a-pillion on the bay mare, -and married her, and on the third of July a boy -was born. It was a great day at Bosula; all the -employees, including Martha, got blind drunk, while -John spent a delightful afternoon laboriously -scratching a letter to Carveth Donnithorne apprising -him of the happy event.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Upstairs, undisturbed by the professional chatter -of wise women, Teresa lay quietly sleeping, a fluffy -small head in the crook of her arm, a tired smile -on her lips—she was in out of the rain for good.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It is to be presumed that in the Donnithorne vault -of Cury Church the dust of old Selina at length lay -quiet—the Penhales would go on and on.</p> - -<div><h1>CHAPTER V</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>The first boy was born in 1754 and was followed -in 1756 by another. They christened -the eldest Ortho, a family name, and the -second Eli.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When his younger son was three months old John -died. He got wet, extricating a horse from a bog-hole, -and took no heed, having been wet through -a hundred times before. A chill seized him; he -still took no notice. The chill developed into pneumonia, -but he struggled on, saying nothing. Then -Bohenna found him prostrate in the muck of the -stable; he had been trying to yoke the oxen with -the intention of going out to plow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Bohenna carried him, protesting, up to bed. -Only when he was dying would he admit he was -ill. He was puzzled and angry. Why should he -be sick now who had never felt a qualm before? -What was a wetting, i’ faith! For forty odd winters -he had seldom been dry. It was ridiculous! -He tried to lift himself, exhorting the splendid, -loyal body that had never yet failed him to have -done with this folly and bear him outside to the -sunshine and the day’s work. It did not respond; -might have been so much lead. He fell back, betrayed, -helpless, frightened, and went off into a -delirium. The end was close. He came to his -senses once again about ten o’clock at night and -saw Teresa bending over him, the new son in her -arms. She was crying and had a tender look in -her tear-bright eyes he had never seen before. He -tried to smile at her. Nothing to cry about. He’d -be all right in the morning—after a night’s sleep—go -plowing—everything came right in the morning. -Towards midnight Martha, who was watching, -set up a dreadful screech. It was all over. As -if awaiting the signal came a hooting from the -woods about the house, “Too-whee-wha-ho-oo-oo!”—the -Bosula owls lamenting the passing of its -master.</p> - -<hr class='tbk'/> - -<p class='pindent'>Fate, in cutting down John Penhale in his prime, -did him no disservice. He went into oblivion -knowing Teresa only as a thing of beauty, half -magical, wholly adorable. He was spared the years -of disillusionment which would have pained him -sorely, for he was a sensitive man.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Teresa mourned for her husband with a passion -which was natural to her and which was very highly -considered in the neighborhood. At the funeral she -flung herself on the coffin, and refused to be loosened -from it for a quarter of an hour, moaning and -tearing at the lid with her fingers. Venerable dames -who had attended every local interment for half -a century wagged their bonnets and admitted they -had never seen a widow display a prettier spirit.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Teresa was quite genuine in her way. John had -treated her with a gentleness and generosity she had -not suspected was to be found on this earth, and -now this kindly cornucopia had been snatched from -her—and just when she had made so sure of him -too! She blubbered in good earnest. But after -the lawyer’s business was over she cheered up.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the first flush of becoming a father, John had -ridden into Penzance and made a will, but since Eli’s -birth he had made no second; there was plenty of -time, he thought, years and years of it. Consequently -everything fell to Ortho when he came of -age, and in the meanwhile Teresa was sole guardian. -That meant she was mistress of Bosula and had the -handling of the hundred and twenty pounds invested -income, to say nothing of the Tregors rents, fifty -pounds per annum. One hundred and seventy -pounds a year to spend! The sum staggered her. -She had hardly made that amount of money in her -whole life. She sat up that night, long after the -rest of the household had gone to bed, wrapped in -delicious dreams of how she would spend that annual -fortune. She soon began to learn. Martha hinted -that, in a lady of her station, the wearing of black -was considered proper as a tribute to the memory -of the deceased, so, finding nothing dark in the -chests, she mounted a horse behind Bohenna and -jogged into town.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A raw farmer’s wife, clutching a bag of silver -and demanding only to be dressed in black, is a -gift to any shopman. The Penzance draper called -up his seamstresses, took Teresa’s measure for a -silk dress—nothing but silk would be fitting, he -averred; the greater the cost the greater the tribute—added -every somber accessory that he could think -of, separated her from £13.6.4 of her hoard and -bowed her out, promising to send the articles by -carrier within three days. Teresa went through the -ordeal like one in a trance, too awed to protest or -speak even. On the way home she sought to console -herself with the thought that her extravagance -was on John’s, dear John’s behalf. Still thirteen -pounds, six shillings and fourpence!—more than -Bohenna’s wages for a year gone in a finger snap! -Ruin stared her in the face.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The black dress, cap, flounced petticoat, stiff stays, -stockings, apron, cloak of Spanish cloth and high-heeled -shoes arrived to date and set the household -agog. Teresa, its devastating price forgotten, peacocked -round the house and yard all day, swelling -with pride, the rustle of the silk atoning for the -agony she was suffering from the stays and shoes. -As the sensation died down she yearned for fresh -conquests, so mounting the pillion afresh, made a -tour through the parish, paying special attention to -Gwithian Church-town and Monks Cove.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The tour was a triumph. Women rushed to their -cottage doors and stared after her, goggling. At -Pridden a party of hedgers left work and raced -across a field to see her go by. Near Tregadgwith -a farmer fell off his horse from sheer astonishment. -She was the sole topic of the district for a week or -more. John’s memory was duly honored.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In a month Teresa was tired of the black dress; -her fancy did not run to black. The crisp and -shining new silk had given her a distaste for the -old silks, the soiled and tattered salvage of wrecks. -She stuffed the motley rags back in the chests and -slammed the lids on them. She had seen some -breath-taking rolls of material in that shop in Penzance—orange, -emerald, turquoise, coral and lilac. -She shut her eyes and imagined herself in a flowing -furbelowed dress of each of these colors in turn—or -one combining a little of everything—oh, rapture!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She consulted Martha in the matter. Martha was -shocked. It was unheard of. She must continue to -wear black in public for a year at least. This intelligence -depressed Teresa, but she was determined -to be correct, as she had now a position to maintain, -was next thing to a lady. Eleven months more to -wait, heigh-ho!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then, drawn by the magnet of the shops, she went -into Penzance again. Penzance had become something -more than a mere tin and pilchard port; visitors -attracted by its mild climate came in by every -packet; there was a good inn, “The Ship and -Castle,” and in 1752 a coffee house had been opened -and the road to Land’s End made possible for carriages. -Many fine ladies were to be seen fanning -themselves at windows in Chapel Street or strolling -on the Green, and Teresa wanted to study their costumes -with a view to her own.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She dismounted at the Market Cross, moved -about among the booths and peeped furtively in at -the shops. They were most attractive, displaying -glorious things to wear and marvelous things to -eat—tarts, cakes, Dutch biscuits, ginger-breads -shaped like animals, oranges, plum and sugar candy. -Sly old women wheedled her to buy, enlarging ecstatically -on the excellence and cheapness of their -wares. Teresa wavered and reflected that though -she might not be able to buy a new dress for a year -there was no law against her purchasing other things. -The bag of silver burnt her fingers and she fell. -She bought some gingerbread animals at four for -a farthing, tasted them, thought them ambrosia and -bought sixpennorth to take with her, also lollipops. -She went home trembling at her extravagance, but -when she came to count up what she had spent it -seemed to have made no impression on the bag of -silver. In six weeks she went in again, bought a -basketful of edibles and replaced her brass earrings -with large gold half-moons. When these were paid -for the bag was badly drained. Teresa took fright -and visited town no more for the year—but as a -matter of fact she had spent less than twenty pounds -in all. But she had got in the way of spending now.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The tin works in which John’s money was invested -paid up at the end of the year (one hundred -and twenty-six pounds, seventeen shillings and eight-pence -on this occasion), and Tregors rent came in -on the same day. It seemed to Teresa that the -heavens had opened up and showered uncounted -gold upon her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She went into Penzance next morning as fast as -the bay mare could carry her and ordered a dress -bordered with real lace and combining all the hues -of the rainbow. She was off. Never having had -any money she had not the slightest idea of its value -and was mulcted accordingly. In the third year of -widowhood she spent the last penny of her income.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The farm she left to Bohenna, the house to -Martha, the children to look after themselves, and -rode in to Penzance market and all over the hundred, -to parish feasts, races and hurling matches, -a notable figure with her flaming dresses, raven hair -and huge earrings, laying the odds, singing songs -and standing drinks in ale houses like any squire.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When John died she was at her zenith. The early -bloom of her race began to fade soon after, accelerated -by gross living. She still ate enormously, -as though the hunger of twenty-two lean years was -not yet appeased. She was like an animal at table, -seizing bones in her hands and tearing the meat off -with her teeth, grunting the while like a famished -dog, or stuffing the pastries she bought in Penzance -into her mouth two at a time. She hastened from -girlish to buxom, from buxom to stout. The bay -mare began to feel the increasing weight on the -pillion. Bohenna was left at home and Teresa rode -alone, sitting sideways on a pad, or a-straddle when -no one was looking. Yet she was still comely in a -large way and had admirers aplenty. Sundry impecunious -gentlemen, hoping to mend their fortunes, -paid court to the lavish widow, but Teresa saw -through their blandishments, and after getting all -possible sport out of them sent them packing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With the curate-in-charge of St. Gwithian it was -the other way about. Teresa made the running. -She went to church in the first place because it -struck her as an opportunity to flaunt her superior -finery in public and make other women feel sick. -She went a second time to gaze at the parson. This -gentleman was an anemic young man with fair hair, -pale blue eyes, long hands and a face refined through -partial starvation. (The absentee beneficiary allowed -him eighteen pounds a year.) Obeying the -law of opposites, the heavy dark gypsy woman was -vaguely attracted by him at once and the attraction -strengthened.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He was something quite new to her. Among the -clumsy-limbed country folk he appeared so slim, so -delicate, almost ethereal. Also, unable to read or -write herself and surrounded by people as ignorant -as she, his easy familiarity with books and the verbose -phrasing of his sermons filled her with admiration. -On Easter Sunday he delivered himself of a -particularly flowery effort. Teresa understood not a -word of it, but, nevertheless, thought it beautiful -and wept audibly. She thought the preacher looked -beautiful too, with his clear skin, veined temples and -blue eyes. A shaft of sunlight pierced the south -window and fell upon his fair head as though an -expression of divine benediction. Teresa thought -he looked like a saint. Perhaps he was a saint.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She rode home slowly, so wrapped in meditation -that she was late for dinner, an unprecedented occurrence. -She would marry that young man. If she -were going to marry again it must be to some one -she could handle, since the law would make him -master of herself and her possessions. The curate -would serve admirably; he would make a pretty -pet and no more. He could keep her accounts too. -She was always in a muddle with money. The -method she had devised of keeping tally by means of -notched sticks was most untrustworthy. And, incidentally, -if he really were a saint her hereafter -was assured. God could never condemn the wedded -wife of a saint and clergyman to Hell; it wouldn’t -be decent. She would marry that young man.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She began the assault next day by paying her overdue -tithes and throwing in a duck as makeweight. -Two days later she was up again with a gift of a -goose, and on the following Sunday she presented -the astonished clerk with eightpennorth of gingerbreads. -Since eating was the occupation nearest to -the widow’s heart she sought to touch the curate’s -by showering food upon him. Something edible went -to the Deanery at least twice a week, occasionally -by a hind, but more often Teresa took it herself. -A fortnight before Whitsuntide Teresa, in chasing -an errant boar out of the yard, kicked too violently, -snapped her leg and was laid up for three months. -Temporarily unable to reduce the curate by her personal -charms she determined to let her gifts speak -for her, doubled the offerings, and eggs, fowls, butter, -cheese and hams passed from the farm to the -Deanery in a constant stream. Lying in bed with -nothing to do, the invalid’s thoughts ran largely -upon the clerk. She remembered him standing in -the pulpit that Easter Sunday, uttering lovely, if -unintelligible words, slim and delicate, the benedictory -beam on his flaxen poll; the more she pictured -him the more ethereally beautiful did he become. -He would make a charming toy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As soon as she could hobble about she put on -her best dress (cherry satin), and, taking the bull -by the horns, invited her intended to dinner. She -would settle matters without further ado. The -young man obeyed the summons with feelings divided -between fear and determination; he knew -perfectly well what he was in for. Nobody but an -utter fool could have mistaken the meaning of the -sighs and glances the big widow had thrown when -visiting him before her accident. There was no -finesse about Teresa. She wanted to marry him, -and prudence told him to let her. Two farms and -four hundred pounds a year—so rumor had it—the -catch of the district and he only a poor clerk. He -was sick of poverty—Teresa’s bounty had shown -him what it was to live well—and he dreaded returning -to the old way of things. Moreover he -admired her, she was so bold, so luscious, so darkly -handsome, possessed of every physical quality he -lacked. But he was afraid of her for all that—if -she ever got really angry with him, good Lord!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It took every ounce of determination he owned to -drive his feet down the hill to Bosula; twice he -stopped and turned to go back. He was a timid -young man. His procrastination made him late -for dinner. When he reached the farm, the meal -had already been served. His hostess was hard at -work; she would not have delayed five minutes for -King George himself. She had a mutton bone in -her hands when the curate entered. She did not -notice him for the moment, so engrossed was she, -but tore off the last shred of meat, scrunched the -bone with her teeth and bit out the marrow. The -curate reeled against the door post, emitting an involuntary -groan. Teresa glanced up and stared at -him, her black eyebrows meeting.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Who was this stranger wabbling about in her -doorway, his watery eyes popping out of his podgy -face, his fleshy knees knocking together, his dingy -coat stretched tightly across his protruding stomach? -A lost inn-keeper? A strayed tallow chandler? -No, by his cloth he was a clerk. Slowly she recognized -him. He was <span class='it'>her</span> curate, ecod! Her pretty -toy! Her slim, transparent saint developed into -this corpulent earthling! <span class='it'>Fat</span>, ye Gods! She hurled -the bone at his head—which was unreasonable, seeing -it was she had fattened him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The metamorphosed curate turned and bolted out -of the house, through the yard and back up the hill -for home.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My God,” he panted as he ran, “biting bones -up with her teeth, with her teeth—my God, it might -have been <span class='it'>me</span>!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>That was the end of that.</p> - -<div><h1>CHAPTER VI</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>In the meanwhile the Penhale brothers grew and -grew. Martha took a sketchy charge of their -infancy, but as soon as they could toddle they -made use of their legs to gain the out o’ doors and -freedom. At first Martha basted them generously -when they came in for meals, but they soon put a -stop to that by not showing up at the fixed feeding -times, watching her movements from coigns of vantage -in the yard and robbing the larder when her -back was turned. Martha, thereupon, postponed -the whippings till they came in to bed. Once more -they defeated her by not coming in to bed; when -trouble loomed they spent the night in the loft, -curled up like puppies in the hay. Martha could -not reach them there. She dared not trust herself -on the crazy ladder and Bohenna would give her -no assistance; he was hired to tend stock, he said, -not children.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For all that the woman caught the little savages -now and again, and when she did she dressed them -faithfully with a birch of her own making. But -she did not long maintain her physical advantage.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One afternoon when Ortho was eight and Eli -six she caught them red-handed. The pair had been -out all the morning, sailing cork boats and mudlarking -in the marshes. They had had no dinner. -Martha knew they would be homing wolfish hungry -some time during the afternoon and that a raid -was indicated. There were two big apple pasties -on the hearth waiting the mistress’ supper and -Martha was prepared to sell her life for them, since -it was she that got the blame if anything ran short -and she had suffered severely of late.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At about three o’clock she heard the old sheep -dog lift up its voice in asthmatic excitement and -then cease abruptly; it had recognized friends. The -raiders were at hand. She hid behind the settle -near the door. Presently she saw a dark patch -slide across the east door-post—the shadow of -Ortho’s head. The shadow slid on until she knew -he was peering into the kitchen. Ortho entered -the kitchen, stepping delicately, on bare, grimy toes. -He paused and glanced round the room. His eye -lit on the pasties and sparkled. He moved a chair -carefully, so that his line of retreat might be clear, -beckoned to the invisible Eli, and went straight for -the mark. As his hands closed on the loot Martha -broke cover. Ortho did not look frightened or -even surprised; he did not drop the pasty. He -grinned, dodged behind the table and shouted to -his brother, who took station in the doorway.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Martha, squalling horrid threats, hobbled halfway -round the table after Ortho, who skipped in the -opposite direction and nearly escaped her. She just -cut him off in time, but she could not save the pasty. -He slung it under her arm to his confederate and -dodged behind the table again. Eli was fat and -short-legged. Martha could have caught him with -ease, but she did not try, knowing that if she did -Ortho would have the second pasty. As it was, -Ortho was hopelessly cornered; he should suffer for -both. Ortho was behind the table again and difficult -to reach. She thought of the broom, but it -was at the other side of the kitchen; did she turn -to get it Ortho would slip away.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli reappeared in the doorway lumpish and stolid; -he had hidden the booty and come back to see the -fun. Martha considered, pushed the table against -the wall and upturned it. Ortho sprang for the -door, almost gained it, but not quite. Martha -grasped him by the tail of his smock, drew him to -her and laid on. But Ortho, instead of squirming -and whimpering as was his wont, put up a fight. -He fought like a little wild cat, wriggling and snarling, -scratching with toes and finger nails. Martha -had all she could do to hold him, but hold him she -did, dragged him across the floor to the peg where -hung her birch (a bunch of hazel twigs) and gave -him a couple of vicious slashes across the seat of -his pants. She was about to administer a third -when an excruciating pain nipped her behind her -bare left ankle. She yelled, dropped Ortho and the -birch as if white-hot, and grabbed her leg. In the -skin of the tendon was imprinted a semi-circle of -red dents—Eli’s little sharp teeth marks. She -limped round the kitchen for some minutes, vowing -dreadful vengeance on the brothers, who, in the -meanwhile, were sitting astride the yard gate munching -the pasty.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The pair slept in the barn for a couple of nights, -and then, judging the dame’s wrath to have passed, -slipped in on the third. But Martha was waiting -for Eli, birch in hand, determined to carry out her -vengeance. It did not come off. She caught Eli, -but Ortho flew to the rescue this time. The two -little fiends hung on her like weasels, biting, clawing, -squealing with fury, all but dragging the clothes -off her. She appealed to Teresa for help, but the -big woman would do nothing but laugh. It was as -good as a bear-bait. Martha shook the brothers -off somehow and lowered her flag for good. Next -day Ortho burnt the birch with fitting ceremony, and -for some years the brothers ran entirely wild.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>If Martha failed to inspire any respect in the -young Penhales they stood in certain awe of her -daughter Wany on account of her connection with -the supernatural. In the first place she was a -changeling herself. In the second, Providence having -denied her wits, had bequeathed her an odd -sense. She was weather-wise; she felt heat, frost, -rain or wind days in advance; her veins might have -run with mercury. In the third place, and which -was far more attractive to the boys, she knew the -movements of all the “small people” in the valley—the -cows told her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The cows were Wany’s special province. She -could not be trusted with any housework however -simple, because she could not bring her mind to it -for a minute. She had no control over her mind -at all; it was forever wandering over the hills and -far away in dark, enchanted places.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But cows she could manage, and every morning -the cows told her what had passed in the half-world -the night before.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There were two tribes of “small people” in the -Keigwin Valley, Buccas and Pixies. In the Buccas -there was no harm; they were poor foreigners, the -souls of the first Jew miners, condemned for their -malpractices to perpetual slavery underground. -They inhabited a round knoll formed of rocks and -rubble thrown up by the original Penhale and were -seldom seen, even by the cows, for they had no -leisure and their work lay out of sight in the earth’s -dark, dripping tunnels. Once or twice the cows -had glimpsed a swarthy, hook-nosed old face, caked -in red ore and seamed with sweat, gazing wistfully -through a crack in the rocks—but that was all. -Sometimes, if, under Wany’s direction, you set your -ear to the knoll and listened intently, you could hear -a faint thump and scrape far underground—the -Buccas’ picks at work. Bohenna declared these -sounds emanated from badgers, but Bohenna was -of the earth earthy, a clod of clods.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Pixies lived by day among the tree roots at -the north end of Bosula woods, a sprightly but vindictive -people. At night they issued from a hollow -oak stump, danced in their green ball rooms, paid -visits to distant kinsfolk or made expeditions against -offending mortals. The cows, lying out all night in -the marshes, saw them going and coming. There -were hundreds of them, the cows said; they wore -green jerkins and red caps and rode rabbits, all -but the king and queen, who were mounted on white -hares. They blew on horns as they galloped, and -the noise of them was like a flock of small birds -singing. On moonless nights a cloud of fireflies -sped above them to light the way. The cows heard -them making their plans as they rode afield, laughing -and boasting as they returned, and reported to -Wany, who passed it on to the spellbound brothers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But this did not exhaust the night life in the -valley. According to Wany, other supernaturals -haunted the neighborhood, specters, ghosts, men -who had sold their souls to the devil, folk who -had died with curses on them, or been murdered -and could not rest. There was a demon huntsman -who rode a great black stallion behind baying hellhounds; -a woman who sat by Red Pool trying to -wash the blood off her fingers; a baby who was -heard crying but never seen. Even the gray druid -stones she invested with periodic life. On such and -such a night the tall Pipers stalked across the fields -and played to the Merry Maidens who danced -round thrice; the Men-an-Tol whistled; the Logan -rocked; up on misty hills barrows opened and old -Cornish giants stepped out and dined hugely, with -the cromlechs for tables and the stars for tapers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The stories had one virtue, namely that they -brought the young Penhales home punctually at set -of sun. The wild valley they roamed so fearlessly -by day assumed a different aspect when the enchanted -hours of night drew on; inanimate objects -stirred and drew breath, rocks took on the look of -old men’s faces, thorn bushes changed into witches, -shadows harbored nameless, crouching things. The -creak of a bough sent chills down their spines, the -hoot of an owl made them jump, a patch of moonlight -on a tree trunk sent them huddling together, -thinking of the ghost lady; the bark of a fox and a -cow crashing through undergrowth set their hearts -thumping for fear of the demon huntsman. If -caught by dusk they turned their coats inside out -and religiously observed all the rites recommended -by Wany as charms against evil spirits. If they -were not brought up in the love of God they were -at least taught to respect the devil.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With the exception of this spiritual concession -the Penhale brothers knew no restraint; they ran -as wild as stoats. They arose with the sun, stuffed -odds and ends of food in their pockets and were -seen no more while daylight lasted.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In spring there was plenty of bird’s-nesting to be -done up the valley. Every other tree held a nest -of some sort, if you only knew where to look, up -in the forks of the ashes and elms, in hollow boles -and rock crevices, cunningly hidden in dense ivy-clumps -or snug behind barbed entanglements of -thorn. Bohenna, a predatory naturalist, marked -down special nests for them, taught them to set -bird and rabbit snares and how to tickle trout.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In spring they hunted gulls’ eggs as well round -the Luddra Head, swarming perpendicular cliffs -with prehensile toes and fingers hooked into cracks, -wriggling on their stomachs along dizzy foot-wide -shelves, leaping black crevices with the assurance -of chamois. It was an exciting pursuit with the -sheer drop of two hundred feet or so below one, -a sheer drop to jagged rock ledges over which the -green rollers poured with the thunder of heavy -artillery and then poured back, a boil of white water -and seething foam. An exciting pursuit with the -back draught of a southwesterly gale doing its utmost -to scoop you off the cliffside, and gull mothers -diving and shrieking in your face, a clamorous snowstorm, -trying to shock you off your balance by the -whir of their wings and the piercing suddenness of -their cries.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The brothers spent most of the summer at Monks -Cove playing with the fisher children, bathing and -scrambling along the coast. The tide ebbing left -many pools, big and little, among the rocks, clear -basins enameled with white and pink sea lichen, -studded with limpets, yellow snails, ruby and emerald -anemones. Delicate fronds of colored weed -grew in these salt-water gardens, tiny green crabs -scuttered along the bottom, gravel-hued bull-cod -darted from shadow to shadow. They spent tense -if fruitless hours angling for the bull-cod with bent -pins, limpet baited. In the largest pool they learnt -to swim. When they were sure of themselves they -took to the sea itself.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Their favorite spot was a narrow funnel between -two low promontories, up which gulf the rollers -raced to explode a white puff of spray through a -blow-hole at the end. At the mouth of the funnel -stood a rock they called “The Chimney,” the top -standing eight feet above low water level. This -made an ideal diving place. You stood on the -“Chimney Pot,” looked down through glitters and -glints of reflected sunshine, down through four -fathoms of bottle-green water, down to where fantastic -pennants of bronze and purple weed rippled -and purled and smooth pale bowlders gleamed in -the swaying light—banners and skulls of drowned -armies. You dived, pierced cleanly through the -green deeps, a white shooting star trailing silver -bubbles. Down you went, down till your fingers -touched the weed banners, curved and came up, saw -the water changing from green to amber as you -rose, burst into the blaze and glitter of sunlight -with the hiss of a breaker in your ears, saw it curving -over you, turned and went shoreward shouting, -slung by giant arms, wallowing in milky foam, -plumed with diamond spray. Then a quick dash -sideways out of the sparkling turmoil into a quiet -eddy and ashore at your leisure to bask on the rocks -and watch the eternal surf beating on the Twelve -Apostles and the rainbows glimmering in the haze -of spindrift that hung above them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Porpoises went by, skimming the surface with -beautiful, lazy curves, solitary cormorants paddled -past, popping under and reappearing fifty yards -away, with suspicious lumps in the throat. Now -and then a shoal of pilchards crawled along the -coast, a purple stain in the blue, with a cloud of -vociferous gannets hanging over it, diving like -stones, rising and poising, glimmering in the sun -like silver tinsel. Sometimes a brown seal cruised -along, sleek, round-headed, big-eyed, like a negro -baby.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was the Channel traffic to watch as well, -smacks, schooners, ketches and scows, all manner -of rigs and craft; Tyne collier brigs, grimy as chimney-sweeps; -smart Falmouth packets carrying mails -to and from the world’s ends; an East Indiaman, -maybe, nine months from the Hooghly, wallowing -leisurely home, her quarters a-glitter of “gingerbread -work,” her hold redolent with spices; and -sometimes a great First-Rate with triple rows of -gun-ports, an admiral’s flag flying and studding sails -set, rolling a mighty bow-wave before her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Early one summer morning they heard the boom -of guns and round Black Carn came a big Breton -lugger under a tremendous press of sail, leaping the -short seas like a greyhound. On her weather quarter -hung a King’s Cutter, gaff-topsail and ring-tail -set, a tower of swollen canvas. A tongue of flame -darted from the Breton’s counter, followed by a -mushroom of smoke and a dull crash. A jet of -white water leapt thirty feet in the air on the cutter’s -starboard bow, then another astern of her and -another and another. She seemed to have run -among a school of spouting whales, but in reality -it was the ricochets of a single round-shot. The -cutter’s bow-chaser replied, and jets spouted all -round the lugger. The King’s ship was trying to -crowd the Breton ashore and looked in a fair way -to do so. To the excited boys it appeared that the -lugger must inevitably strike the Twelve Apostles -did she hold her course. She held on, passed into -the drag of the big seas as they gathered to hurl -themselves on the reef. Every moment the watchers -expected to see her caught and crashed to splinters -on the jagged anvil. She rose on a roaring -wave crest, hung poised above the reef for a breathless -second and clawed by, shaking the water from -her scuppers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Cove boys cheered the lugger as she raced -by, waving strips of seaweed and dancing with joy. -They were not so much for the French as against -the Preventive; a revenue cutter was their hereditary -foe, a spoke in the Wheel of Fortune.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Up the Froggy,” they yelled. “Up Johnny -Roscoff! Give him saltpeter soup Moosoo! Hurrah! -Hooroo!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The two ships foamed out of sight behind the -next headland, the boom of their pieces sounding -fainter and fainter.</p> - -<hr class='tbk'/> - -<p class='pindent'>Those were good days for the Penhale brothers, -the days of early boyhood.</p> - -<div><h1>CHAPTER VII</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho and Wany were in Penzance looking -for cows that had been taken by the Press -gang, when they met the Pope of Rome -wearing a plumed hat and Teresa’s second best dress. -He had an iron walking stick in his hand with a -negro head carved at the top and an ivory ferrule, -and every time he tapped the road it rang under -him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hollow, you see,” said His Holiness. “Eaten -away by miners and Buccas—scandalous! One -more convulsion like the Lisbon earthquake of fifty-five -and we shall all fall in. Everything is hollow, -when you come to think of it—cups, kegs, cannon, -ships, churches, crowns and heads—everything. We -shall not only fall in but inside out. If you don’t -believe me, listen.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Whereupon he gathered his skirts and ran up -Market Jew Street laying about him with the iron -stick, hitting the ground, the houses and bystanders -on the head, and everything he touched rumbled like -a big or little gong, in proportion to its size. Finally -he hit the Market House; it exploded and Ortho -woke up.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was a full gale blowing from the southwest -and the noise of the sea was rolling up the -valley in roaring waves. The Bosula trees creaked -and strained. A shower of broken twigs hit the -window and the wind thudded on the pane like a -fist. Ortho turned over on his other side and was -just burying his head under the pillow when he heard -the explosion again. It was a different note from -the boom of the breakers, sharper. He had heard -something like that before—where? Then he remembered -the Breton with the cutter in chase—guns! -A chair fell over in his mother’s room. She -was up. A door slammed below, boots thumped upstairs, -Bohenna shouted something through his -mother’s door and clumped down hurriedly. Ortho -could not hear all he said, but he caught two essential -words, “Wreck” and “Cove.” More noise on -the stairs and again the house door slammed; his -mother had gone. He shook Eli awake.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There’s a ship ashore down to Cove,” he said; -“banging off guns she was. Mother and Ned’s -gone. Come on.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli was not anxious to leave his bed; he was -comfortable and sleepy. “We couldn’t do nothing,” -he protested.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Might see some foreigners drowned,” said -Ortho optimistically. “She might be a pirate like -was sunk in Newlyn last year, full of blacks and -Turks.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They’d kill and eat us,” said Eli.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho shook his head. “They’ll be drowned first—and -if they ain’t Ned’ll wrastle ’em.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In settlement of further argument he placed his -foot in the small of his brother’s back and projected -him onto the floor. They dressed in the dark, fumbled -their way downstairs and set off down the valley. -In the shelter of the Bosula woods they made -good progress; it was comparatively calm there, -though the treetops were a-toss and a rotten bough -hurtled to earth a few feet behind them. Once -round the elbow and clear of the timber, the gale -bent them double; it rushed, shrieking, up the funnel -of the hills, pushed them round and backwards. -Walking against it was like wading against a strong -current. The road was the merest track, not four -feet at its widest, littered with rough bowlders, -punctuated with deep holes. The brothers knew -every twist and trick of the path, but in the dark -one can blunder in one’s own bedroom; moreover -the wind was distorting everything. They tripped -and stumbled, were slashed across the face by flying -whip-thongs of bramble, torn by lunging thorn -boughs, pricked by dancing gorse-bushes. Things -suddenly invested with malignant animation bobbed -out of the dark, hit or scratched one and bobbed -back again. The night was full of mad terror.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Halfway to the Cove, Ortho stubbed his toe for -the third time, got a slap in the eye from a blackthorn -and fell into a puddle. He wished he hadn’t -come and proposed that they should return. But -Eli wouldn’t hear of it. He wasn’t enjoying himself -any more than his brother, but he was going -through with it. He made no explanation, but -waddled on. Ortho let him get well ahead and then -called him back, but Eli did not reply. Ortho -wavered. The thought of returning through those -creaking woods all alone frightened him. He -thought of all the Things-that-went-by-Night, of -hell-hounds, horsemen and witches. The air was -full of witches on broomsticks and demons on black -stallions stampeding up the valley on a dreadful -hunt. He could hear their blood-freezing halloos, -the blare of horns, the baying of hounds. He -wailed to Eli to stop, and trotted, shivering, after -him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The pair crawled into Monks Cove at last plastered -with mud, their clothes torn to rags. A feeble -pilchard-oil “chill” burnt in one or two windows, -but the cottages were deserted. Spindrift, mingled -with clots of foam, was driving over the roofs in -sheets. The wind pressed like a hand on one’s -mouth; it was scarcely possible to breathe facing -it. Several times the boys were forced down on all -fours to avoid being blown over backwards. The -roar of the sea was deafening, appalling. Gleaming -hills of surf hove out of the void in quick succession, -toppled, smashed, flooded the beach with -foam and ran back, sucking away the sands.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The small beach was thronged with people; all -the Covers were there, men, women and children, -also a few farm-folk, drawn by the guns. They -sheltered behind bowlders, peered seawards, and -shouted in each other’s ears.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Spanisher, or else Portingal,” Ortho heard a -man bellow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Jacky’s George seen she off Cribba at sundown. -Burnt a tar barrel and fired signals southwest of -Apostles—dragging by her lights. She’ll bring up -presently and then part—no cables won’t stand this. -The Minstrel’ll have her.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, the Carracks, with this set,” growled a second. -“Carracks for a hundred poun’. They’ll crack -she like a nut.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Carracks, Minstrel or Shark’s Fin, she’m <span class='it'>ours</span>,” -said the first. “Harken!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Came a crash from the thick darkness seawards, -followed a grinding noise and second crash. The -watchers hung silent for a moment, as though awed, -and then sprang up shouting.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Struck!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Carracks have got her!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Please God a general cargo!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Shan’t be long now, my dears, pickin’s for one -and all.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Men tied ropes round their waists, gave the ends -to their women-folk and crouched like runners -awaiting the signal.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A dark object was tossed high on the crest of a -breaker, dropped on the beach, dragged back and -rolled up again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Half a dozen men scampered towards it and -dragged it in, a ship’s pinnace smashed to splinters. -Part of a carved rail came ashore, a poop-ladder, -a litter of spars and a man with no head.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>These also were hauled above the surf line; the -wreckers wanted a clear beach. Women set to -work on the spars, slashing off tackle, quarreling -over the possession of valuable ropes and block. A -second batch of spars washed in with three more -bodies tangled amongst them, battered out of shape. -Then a mass of planking, timbers, barrel staves, -some bedding and, miraculously, a live dog. Suddenly -the surf went black with bobbing objects; the -cargo was coming in—barrels.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A sea that will play bowls with half-ton rocks -will toss wine casks airily. The breakers flung them -on the beach; they trundled back down the slope -and were spat up again. The men rushed at them, -whooping; rushed right into the surf up to their -waists, laid hold of a prize and clung on; were -knocked over, sucked under, thrown up and finally -dragged out by the women and ancients pulling like -horses on the life-lines. A couple of tar barrels -came ashore among the others. Teresa, who was -much in evidence, immediately claimed them, and -with the help of some old ladies piled the loose -planking on the wreck of the pinnace, saturated the -whole with tar and set it afire to light the good -work. In a few minutes the gale had fanned up -a royal blaze. That done, she knotted a salvaged -halliard about Bohenna, and with Davy, the second -farm hand, Teresa and the two boys holding on to -the shore end, he went into the scramble with the -rest.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Barrels were spewed up by every wave, the majority -stove in, but many intact. The fisher-folk -fastened on them like bulldogs, careless of risk. -One man was stunned, another had his leg broken. -An old widow, having nobody to work for her and -maddened at the sight of all this treasure-trove going -to others, suddenly threw sanity to the winds, -dashed into the surf, butted a man aside and flung -herself on a cask. The cask rolled out with the -back-drag, the good dame with it. A breaker burst -over them and they went out of sight in a boil of -sand, gravel and foam. Bohenna plunged after -them, was twice swept off his feet, turned head over -heels and bumped along the bottom, choking, the -sand stinging his face like small shot. He groped -out blindly, grasped something solid and clung on. -Teresa, feeling more than she could handle on her -line, yelled for help. A dozen sprang to her assistance, -and with a tug they got Bohenna out, Bohenna -clinging to the old woman, she still clinging to her -barrel. She lay on the sand, her arms about her -prize, three parts drowned, spitting salt water at -her savior.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He laughed. “All right, mother; shan’t snatch -it from ’ee. ’Tis your plunder sure ’nough.” Took -breath and plunged back into the surf. The flow -of cargo stopped, beams still came in, a top mast, -more shattered bodies, some lengths of cable, bedding, -splinters of cabin paneling and a broken chest, -valueless odds and ends. The wreckers set about -disposing of the sound casks; men staggered off -carrying them on rough stretchers, women and children -rolled others up the beach, the coils of rope -disappeared. Davy, it turned out, had brought -three farm horses and left them tied up in a pilchard-press. -These were led down to the beach now, -loaded (two barrels a horse), and taken home by -the men.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Teresa still had a cask in hand. Bohenna could -hardly make a second journey before dawn. Moreover, -it was leaking, so she stove the head in with -a stone and invited everybody to help themselves. -Some ran to the houses for cups and jugs, but others -could not wait, took off their sodden shoes and baled -out the contents greedily. It was overproof Oporto -wine and went to their unaccustomed heads in no -time. Teresa, imbibing in her wholesale fashion, -was among the first to feel the effects. She began -to sing. She sang “Prithee Jack, prithee Tom, pass -the can around” and a selection of sottish ditties -which had found favor in Portsmouth taverns, suiting -her actions to the words. From singing she -passed to dancing, uttering sharp “Ai-ees” and -“Ah-has” and waving and thumping her detached -shoe as though it were a tambourine. She infected -the others. They sang the first thing that came into -their heads and postured and staggered in an endeavor -to imitate her, hoarse-throated men dripping -with sea water, shrill young women, gnarled beldames -dribbling at the mouth, loose-jointed striplings, -cracked-voiced ancients contracted with rheumatism, -squeaky boys and girls. Drink inspired -them to strange cries, extravagant steps and gesticulations. -They capered round the barrel, dipping -as they passed, drank and capered again, each according -to his or her own fashion. Teresa, the -presiding genius, lolled over the cask, panting, -shrieking with laughter, whooping her victims on -to fresh excesses. They hopped and staggered -round and round, chanting and shouting, swaying in -the wind which swelled their smocks with grotesque -protuberances, tore the women’s hair loose and set -their blue cloaks flapping. Some tumbled and rose -again, others lay where they fell. They danced in -a mist of flying spindrift and sand with the black -cliffs for background, the blazing wreckage for light, -the fifes and drums of the gale for orchestra. It -might have been a scene from an infernal ballet, a -dance of witches and devils, fire-lit, clamorous, abandoned.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The eight drowned seamen, providers of this -good cheer, lay in a row apart, their dog nosing -miserably from one to the other, wondering why -they were so indifferent when all this merriment was -toward, and barking at any one who approached -them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When the Preventive men arrived with dawn they -thought at first it was not a single ship that had -foundered but a fleet, so thick was the beach with -barrel staves and bodies, but even as they stared -some corpses revived, sat up, rose unsteadily and -made snake tracks for the cottages; they were -merely the victims of Teresa’s bounty. Teresa herself -was fast asleep behind a rock when the Preventive -came, but she woke up as the sun rose in -her eyes and spent a pleasant hour watching their -fruitless hunt for liquor and offering helpful suggestions.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Hunger gnawing her, she whistled her two sons -as if they had been dogs and made for home, tacking -from side to side of the path like a ship beating -to windward and cursing her Maker every time she -stumbled. The frightened boys kept fifty yards in -rear.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In return for Teresa’s insults the Preventives -paid Bosula a visit later in the day. Teresa, refreshed -by some hours’ sleep, followed the searchers -round the steading, jeering at them while they -prodded sticks into hay-stacks and patches of newly -dug ground or rapped floors and walls for hollow -places. She knew they would never find those kegs; -they were half a mile away, sunk in a muddy pool -further obscured by willows. Bohenna had walked -the horses upstream and down so that there should -be no telltale tracks. The Preventives were drawing -a blank cover. It entertained Teresa to see them -getting angrier and angrier. She was prodigal with -jibes and personalities. The Riding Officer retired -at dusk, informing the widow that it would give -him great pleasure to tear her tongue out and fry -it for breakfast. Teresa was highly amused. Her -good humor recovered and that evening she broached -a cask, hired a fiddler and gave a dance in the -kitchen.</p> - -<div><h1>CHAPTER VIII</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>The Penhale brothers grew and grew, put off -childish things and began to seek the company -of men worshipfully and with emulation, -as puppies imitate grown dogs. Ortho’s first -hero was a fisherman whose real name was George -Baragwanath, but who was invariably referred to -as “Jacky’s George,” although his father, the possessive -Jacky, was long dead and forgotten and -had been nothing worth mentioning when alive.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Jacky’s George was a remarkable man. At the -age of seventeen, while gathering driftwood below -Pedn Boar, he had seen an intact ship’s pinnace -floating in. The weather was moderate, but there -was sufficient swell on to stave the boat did it strike -the outer rocks—and it was a good boat. The only -way to save it was to swim off, but Jacky’s George, -like most fishermen, could not swim. He badly -wanted that boat; it would make him independent -of Jacky, whose methods were too slow to catch a -cold, leave alone fish. Moreover, there was a girl -involved. He stripped off his clothes, gathered the -bundle of driftwood in his arms, flopped into the -back wash of a roller and kicked out, frog-fashion, -knowing full well that his chances of reaching the -boat were slight and that if he did not reach it he -would surely drown.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He reached the boat, however, scrambled up over -the stern and found three men asleep on the bottom. -His heart fell like lead. He had risked his life -for nothing; he’d still have to go fishing with the -timorous Jacky and the girl must wait.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Here,” said he wearily to the nearest sleeper. -“Here, rouse up; you’m close ashore . . . be scat -in a minute.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sleeper did not stir. Jacky’s George kicked -him none too gently. Still the man did not move. -He then saw that he was dead; they were all dead. -The boat was his after all! He got the oars out -and brought the boat safely into Monks Cove. -Quite a sensation it made—Jacky’s George, stark -naked, pulling in out of the sea fog with a cargo -of dead men. He married that girl forthwith, was -a father at eighteen, a grandfather at thirty-five. -In the interval he got nipped by the Press Gang -in a Falmouth grog shop and sent round the world -with Anson in the <span class='it'>Centurion</span>, rising to the rank of -quarter-gunner. One of the two hundred survivors -of that lucrative voyage, he was paid off with a -goodly lump of prize money, and, returning to his -native cove, opened an inn with a florid, cock-hatted -portrait of his old commander for sign.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Jacky’s George, however, was not inclined to a -life of bibulous ease ashore. He handed the inn -over to his wife and went to sea again as gunner -in a small Falmouth privateer mounting sixteen -pieces. Off Ushant one February evening they were -chased by a South Maloman of twice their weight -of metal, which was overhauling them hand over fist -when her foremast went by the board and up she -went in the wind. Jacky’s George was responsible -for the shot that disabled the Breton, but her parting -broadside disabled Jacky’s George; he lost an -arm.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He was reported to have called for rum, hot tar -and an ax. These having been brought, he gulped -the rum, chopped off the wreckage of his forearm, -soused the spurting stump in tar and fainted. He -recovered rapidly, fitted a boat-hook head to the -stump and was at work again in no time, but the -accident made a longshoreman of him; he went no -more a-roving in letters of marque, but fished offshore -with his swarm of sons, Ortho Penhale -occasionally going with him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Physically Jacky’s George was a sad disappointment. -Of all the Covers he was the least like what -he ought to have been, the last man you would have -picked out as the desperado who had belted the -globe, sacked towns and treasure ships, been master -gunner of a privateer and killed several times his -own weight in hand-to-hand combats. He was not -above five feet three inches in height, a chubby, -chirpy, red-headed cock-robin of a man who drank -little, swore less, smiled perpetually and whistled -wherever he went—even, it was said, at the graveside -of his own father, in a moment of abstraction -of course.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His wife, who ran the “Admiral Anson” (better -known as the “Kiddlywink”), was a heavy dark -woman, twice his size and very downright in her -opinions. She would roar down a roomful of tipsy -mariners with ease and gusto, but the least word -of her smiling little husband she obeyed swiftly and -in silence. It was the same with his children. -There were nine of them—two daughters and seven -sons—all red-headed and freckled like himself, a -turbulent, independent tribe, paying no man respect—but -their father.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho could not fathom the nature of the little -man’s power over them; he was so boyish himself, -took such childish delight in their tales of mischief, -seemed in all that boatload of boys the youngest -and most carefree. Then one evening he had a -glimpse of the cock-robin’s other side. They were -just in from sea, were lurching up from the slip -when they were greeted by ominous noises issuing -from the Kiddlywink, the crash of woodwork, -hoarse oaths, a thump and then growlings as of a -giant dog worrying a bone. Jacky’s George broke -into a run, and at the same moment his wife, terrified, -appeared at the door and cried out, “Quick! -Quick do ’ee! Murder!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Jacky’s George dived past her into the house, -Ortho, agog for any form of excitement, close behind -him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The table was lying over on its side, one bench -was broken and the other tossed, end on, into a -corner. On the wet floor, among chips of shattered -mugs, two men struggled, locked together, a big -man on top, a small man underneath. The former -had the latter by the throat, rapidly throttling him. -The victim’s eyeballs seemed on the point of bursting, -his tongue was sticking out.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Tinners!” wailed Mrs. Baragwanath. “Been -drinkin’ all day—gert stinkin’ toads!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Jacky’s George did not waste time in wordy remonstrance; -he got the giant’s chin in the crook -of his sound arm and tried to wrench it up. Useless; -the maddened brute was too strong and too heavy. -The man underneath gave a ghastly, clicking choke. -In another second there would have been murder -done in the “Admiral Anson” and a blight would -fall on that prosperous establishment, killing trade. -That would never do. Without hesitation its landlord -settled the matter, drove his stump-hook into -the giant’s face, gaffed him through the cheek as -he would a fish.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come off!” said he.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The man came off.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come on!” He backed out, leading the man -by the hook.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Lift a hand or struggle and I’ll drag your face -inside out,” said Jacky’s George. “This way, if -you please.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The man followed, bent double, murder in his -eyes, hands twitching but at his sides.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At the end of the hamlet Jacky’s George halted. -“You owe me your neck, mate, but I don’t s’pose -you’ll thank me, tedd’n in human nature, you would,” -said he, sadly, as though pained at the ingratitude -of mortal man. “Go on up that there road till -you’m out of this place an’ don’t you never come -back.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He freed the hook deftly and jumped clear. -“Now crowd all canvas, do ’ee.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The great tinner put a hand to his bleeding cheek, -glared at the smiling cock-robin, clenched his fists -and teeth and took a step forward—one only. A -stone struck him in the chest, another missed his -head by an inch. He ducked to avoid a third and -was hit in the back and thigh, started to retreat at -a walk, broke into a run and went cursing and stumbling -up the track, his arms above his head to protect -it from the rain of stones, Goliath pursued by -seven red-headed little Davids, and all the Cove -women standing on their doorsteps jeering.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Two mugs an’ a bench seat,” Jacky’s George -commented as he watched his sons speeding the parting -guest. “Have to make t’other poor soul pay -for ’em, I s’pose.” He turned back into the Kiddlywink -whistling, “Strawberry leaves make maidens -fair.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho enjoyed going to sea with the Baragwanath -family; they put such zest into all they did, no -slovenliness was permitted. Falls and cables were -neatly coiled or looped over pins, sail was stowed -properly, oars tossed man-o’-war fashion, everything -went with a snap. Furthermore, they took -chances. For them no humdrum harbor hugging; -they went far and wide after the fish and sank their -crab-pots under dangerous ledges no other boat -would tackle. In anything like reasonable weather -they dropped a tier or two seaward of the Twelve -Apostles. Even on the calmest of days there was -a heavy swell on to the south of the reef, especially -with the tide making. It was shallow there and -the Atlantic flood came rolling over the shoal in -great shining hills. At one moment you were up -in the air and could see the brown coast with its -purple indentations for miles, the patchwork fields, -scattered gray farmhouses, the smoke of furze fires -and lazy clouds rolling along the high moors. At -the next moment you were in the lap of a turquoise -valley, shut out from everything by rushing cliffs -of water. There were oars, sheets, halliards, back-ropes -and lines to be pulled on, fighting fish to be -hauled aboard, clubbed and gaffed. And always -there was Jacky’s George whistling like a canary, -pointing out the various rigs of passing vessels, -spinning yarns of privateer days and of Anson’s -wonderful voyage, of the taking of Paita City and -the great plate ship <span class='it'>Nuestra Señora de Covadonga</span>. -And there was the racing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Very jealous of his craft’s reputation was Jacky’s -George; a hint of defiance from another boat and -he was after the challenger instanter, even though -it took him out of his course. Many a good spin -did Ortho get coming in from the Carn Base Wolf -and other outer fishing grounds, backed against the -weather-side with the Baragwanath boys, living ballast, -while the gig, trembling from end to end, went -leaping and swooping over the blue and white hillocks -on the trail of an ambitious Penberth or Porgwarra -man. Sheets and weather stays humming in -the blast, taut and vibrant as guitar strings; sails -rigid as though carved from wood, lee gunnel all -but dipping under; dollops of spray bursting aboard -over the weather bow—tense work, culminating in -exultation as they crept up on the chase, drew to -her quarter, came broad abeam and—with derisive -cheers—passed her. Speed was a mania with the -cock-robin; he was in perpetual danger of sailing -the <span class='it'>Game Cock</span> under; on one occasion he very -nearly did.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They were tearing, close-hauled, through the Runnelstone -Passage, after an impudent Mouseholeman, -when a cross sea suddenly rose out of nowhere and -popped aboard over the low lee gunnel. In a second -the boat was full of water; only her gunnels and -thwarts were visible. It seemed to Ortho that he -was standing up to his knees in the sea.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Luff!” shouted Jacky’s George.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His eldest son jammed the helm hard down, but -the boat wouldn’t answer. The way was off her; -she lay as dead as a log.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Leggo sheets!” shouted the father. “Aft all -hands!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho tumbled aft with the Baragwanath boys -and watched Jacky’s George in a stupor of fright. -The little man could not be said to move; he flickered, -grabbed up an oar, wrenched the boat’s head -round, broke the crest of an oncoming wave by -launching the oar blade at it and took the remainder -in his back.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Heave the ballast out an’ bale,” he yelled gleefully, -sitting in the bows, forming a living bulwark -against the waves. “Bale till your backs break, my -jollies.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They bailed like furies, baled with the first things -to hand, line tubs, caps, boots, anything, in the -meanwhile drifting rapidly towards the towering -cliffs of Tol-pedn-Penwith. The crash of the breakers -on the ledges struck terror through Ortho. -They sounded like a host of ravenous great beasts -roaring for their prey—him. If the boat did not -settle under them they would be dashed to pieces -on those rocks; death was inevitable one way or the -other. He remembered the Portuguese seamen -washed in from the Twelve Apostles without heads. -He would be like that in a few minutes—no head—ugh!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Jacky’s George, jockeying the bows, improvising -a weather cloth from a spare jib, was singing, “Hey, -boys, up we go!” This levity in the jaws of destruction -enraged Ortho. The prospect of imminent -death might amuse Jacky’s George, who had -eaten a rich slice of life, but Ortho had not and -was terrified. He felt he was too young to die; -it was unfair to snatch a mere boy like himself. -Moreover, it was far too sudden; no warning at all. -At one moment they were bowling along in the sunshine, -laughing and happy, and at the next up to -their waists in water, to all intents dead, cold, headless, -eaten by crabs—ugh! He thought of Eli up -the valley, flintlock in hand, dry, happy, safe for -years and years of fun; thought of the Owls’ House -bathed in the noon glow, the old dog asleep in the -sun, pigeons strutting on the thatch, copper pans -shining in the kitchen—thought of his home, symbol -of all things comfortable and secure, and promised -God that if he got out of the mess he would never -set foot in a boat again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The roar of the breakers grew louder and he -felt cold and sick with fear, but nevertheless baled -with the best, baled for dear life, realizing for the -first time how inexpressibly precious life may be. -Jacky’s George whistled, cracked jokes and sang -“The Bold British Tar.” He made such a din as -to drown the noise of the surf. The “British Tar” -had brave words and a good rousing chorus. The -boys joined in as they baled; presently Ortho found -himself singing too.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Six lads toiling might and main can shift a quantity -of water. The gig began to brisk in her movements, -to ride easier. Fifty yards off the foam-draped -Hella Rock Jacky’s George laid her to her -course again—but the Mouseholeman was out of -sight.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>No Dundee harpooner, home from a five years’ -cruise, had a more moving story of perils on the -deep to tell than did Ortho that night. He staggered -about the kitchen, affecting a sea roll, spat -over his shoulder and told and retold the tale till -his mother boxed his ears and drove him up to bed. -Even then he kept Eli awake for two hours, baling -that boat out over and over again; he had enjoyed -every moment of it, he said. Nevertheless he did -not go fishing for a month, but the Baragwanath -family were dodging off St. Clements Isle before -sun-up next day, waiting for that Mousehole boat -to come out of port. When she did they led her -down to the fishing grounds and then led her home -again, a tow-rope trailing derisively over the <span class='it'>Game -Cock’s</span> stern. They were an indomitable breed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho recovered from his experience off Tol-Pedn -and, despite his promise to his Maker, went to sea -occasionally, but that phase of his education was -nearing its close. Winter and its gales were approaching, -and even the fearless cock-robin seldom -ventured out. When he did go he took only his four -eldest boys, departed without ostentation, was gone -a week or even two, and returned quietly in the -dead of night.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Scilly—to visit his sister,” was given by Mrs. -Baragwanath as his destination and object, but it -was noted that these demonstrations of brotherly -affection invariably occurred when the “Admiral -Anson’s” stock of liquor was getting low. The wise -drew their own conclusions. Ortho pleaded to be -taken on one of these mysterious trips, but Jacky’s -George was adamant, so he had perforce to stop -at home and follow the <span class='it'>Game Cock</span> in imagination -across the wintry Channel to Guernsey and back -again through the patrolling frigates, loaded to the -bends with ankers of gin and brandy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Cut off from Jacky’s George, he looked about for -a fresh hero to worship and lit upon Pyramus Herne.</p> - -<div><h1>CHAPTER IX</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>Pyramus Herne was the head of a family -of gypsy horse dealers that toured the south -and west of England, appearing regularly in -the Land’s End district on the heels of the New -Year. They came not particularly to do business, -but to feed their horses up for the spring fairs. -The climate was mild, and Pyramus knew that to -keep a beast warm is to go halfway towards fattening -it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He would arrive with a chain of broken-down -skeletons, tied head to tail, file their teeth, blister -and fire their game legs and turn them loose in -the sheltered bottoms for a rest cure. At the end -of three months, when the bloom was on their new -coats, he would trim their feet, pull manes and tails, -give an artistic touch here and there with the shears, -paint out blemishes, make old teeth look like new -and depart with a string of apparently gamesome -youngsters frolicking in his tracks.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was his practice to pitch his winter camp in a -small coppice about two and a half miles north of -Bosula. It was no man’s land, sheltered by a wall -of rocks from the north and east, water was plentiful -and the trees provided fuel. Moreover, it was -secluded, a weighty consideration, for the gypsy -dealt in other things besides horses, in the handling -of which privacy was of the first import. In short -he was a receiver of stolen goods and valuable articles -of salvage. He gave a better price than the -Jew junk dealers in Penzance because his travels -opened a wider market and also he had a reputation -of never “peaching,” of betraying a customer for -reward—a reputation far from deserved, be it said, -but he peached always in secret and with consummate -discretion.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He did lucrative business in salvage in the west, -but the traffic in stolen goods was slight because -there were no big towns and no professional thieves. -The few furtive people who crept by night into -the little wood seeking the gypsy were mainly thieves -by accident, victims of sudden overwhelming temptations. -They seldom bargained with Pyramus, but -agreed to the first price offered, thrust the stolen -articles upon him as if red-hot and were gone, radiant -with relief, frequently forgetting to take the -money.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I am like their Christ,” said Pyramus; “they -come to me to be relieved of their sins.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In England of those days gypsies were regarded -with well-merited suspicion and hunted from pillar -to post. Pyramus was the exception. He passed -unmolested up and down his trade routes, for he -was at particular pains to ingratiate himself with -the two ruling classes—the law officers and the -gentry—and, being a clever man, succeeded.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The former liked him because once “King” -Herne joined a fair there would be no trouble with -the Romanies, also he gave them reliable information -from time to time. Captain Rudolph, the notorious -Bath Road highwayman, owed his capture -and subsequent hanging to Pyramus, as did also a -score of lesser tobymen. Pyramus made no money -out of footpads, so he threw them as a sop to Justice.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The gentry Pyramus fawned on with the oily cunning -of his race. Every man has a joint in his harness, -magistrates no less. Pyramus made these -little weaknesses of the great his special study. One -influential land owner collected snuff boxes, another -firearms. Pyramus in his traffickings up and down -the world kept his eyes skinned for snuff boxes and -firearms, and, having exceptional opportunities, usually -managed to bring something for each when he -passed their way, an exquisite casket of tortoise-shell -and paste, a pair of silver-mounted pistols with Toledo -barrels. Some men had to be reached by other -means.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Lord James Thynne was partial to coursing. -Pyramus kept an eye lifted for greyhounds, bought -a dog from the widow of a Somersetshire poacher -(hung the day before) and Lord James won ten -matches running with it; the Herne tribe were welcome -to camp on his waste lands forever.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But his greatest triumph was with Mr. Hugo -Lorimer, J. P., of Stane, in the county of Hampshire. -Mr. Lorimer was death on gypsies, maintaining -against all reason that they hailed from -Palestine and were responsible for the Crucifixion. -He harried them unmercifully. He was not otherwise -a devout man; the persecution of the Romanies -was his sole form of religious observance. Even -the astute Pyramus could not melt him, charm he -never so wisely.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This worried King Herne, the more so because -Mr. Lorimer’s one passion was horses—his own -line of business—and he could not reach him -through it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He could not win the truculent J. P. by selling -him a good nag cheap because he bred his own and -would tolerate no other breed. He could not even -convey a good racing tip to the gentleman because -he did not bet. The Justice was adamant; Pyramus -baffled.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then one day a change came in the situation. -The pride of the stud, the crack stallion “Stane Emperor,” -went down with fever and, despite all ministrations, -passed rapidly from bad to worse. All -hope was abandoned. Mr. Lorimer, infinitely more -perturbed than if his entire family had been in a -like condition, sat on an upturned bucket in the -horse’s box and wept.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>To him entered Pyramus, pushing past the -grooms, fawning, obsequiously sympathetic, white -with dust. He had heard the dire news at Downton -and came instanter, spurring.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Might he humbly crave a peep at the noble sufferer? -. . . Perhaps his poor skill might effect -something. . . . Had been with horses all his life. -. . . Had succeeded with many cases abandoned by -others more learned. . . . It was his business and -livelihood. . . . Would His Worship graciously permit? . . .</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His Worship ungraciously grunted an affirmative. -Gypsy horse coper full of tricks as a dog of fleas. -. . . At all events could make the precious horse -no worse. . . . Go ahead!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Pyramus bolted himself in with the animal, and -in two hours it was standing up, lipping bran-mash -from his hand, sweaty, shaking, but saved.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Hugo Lorimer was all gratitude, his one soft -spot touched at last. Pyramus must name his own -reward. Pyramus, both palms upraised in protest, -would hear of no reward, honored to have been of -any service to <span class='it'>such</span> a gentleman.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Departed bowing and smirking, the poison he -had blown through a grating into the horse’s manger -the night before in one pocket, the antidote in the -other.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Henceforward the Herne family plied their trade -undisturbed within the bounds of Mr. Lorimer’s -magistracy to the exclusion of all other gypsies and -throve mightily in consequence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He had been at pains to commend himself to -Teresa Penhale, but had only partly succeeded. She -was the principal land owner in the valley where -he wintered and it was necessary to keep on her -right side.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The difficulty with Teresa was that, being of -gypsy blood herself, she was proof against gypsy -trickery and exceeding suspicious of her own kind. -He tried to present her with a pair of barbaric gold -earrings, by way of throwing bread upon the waters, -but she asked him how much he wanted for them -and he made the fatal mistake of saying “nothing.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nothing to-day and my skin to-morrow?” she -sneered. “Outside with you!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Pyramus went on the other tack, pretended not -to recognize her as a Romni, addressed her in English, -treated her with extravagant deference and saw -to it that his family did the same.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It worked. Teresa rather fancied herself as a -“lady”—though she could never go to the trouble -of behaving like one—and it pleased her to find -somebody who treated her as such. It pleased her -to have the great King Herne back his horse out -of her road and remain, hat in hand, till she had -passed by, to have his women drop curtsies and his -bantlings bob. It worked—temporarily. Pyramus -had touched her abundant conceit, lulled the Christian -half of her with flattery, but he knew that the -gypsy half was awake and on guard. The situation -was too nicely balanced for comfort; he looked -about for fresh weight to throw into his side of the -scale.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One day he met Eli, wandering up the valley -alone, flintlock in hand, on the outlook for woodcock.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Pyramus could be fascinating when he chose; it -lubricated the wheels of commerce. He laid himself -out to charm Eli, told him where he had seen -a brace of cock and also some snipe, complimented -him on his villainous old blunderbuss, was all gleaming -teeth, geniality and oil. He could not have -made a greater mistake. Eli was not used to charm -and had instinctive distrust of the unfamiliar. He -had been reared among boors who said their say -in the fewest words and therefore distrusted a -talker. Further, he was his father’s son, a Penhale -of Bosula on his own soil, and this fellow was an -Egyptian, a foreigner, and he had an instinctive -distrust of foreigners. He growled something incoherent, -scowled at the beaming Pyramus, shouldered -his unwieldy cannon and marched off in the -opposite direction.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Pyramus bit his fleshy lip; nothing to be done with -that truculent bear cub—but what about the -brother, the handsome dark boy? What about -him—eh?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He looked out for Ortho, met him once or twice -in company with other lads, made no overtures beyond -a smile, but heeled his mare and set her caracoling -showily.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He did not glance round, but he knew the boy’s -eyes were following him. A couple of evenings -after the last meeting he came home to learn that -young Penhale had been hanging about the camp -that afternoon.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The eldest Herne son, Lussha, had invited him -in, but Ortho declined, saying he had come up to -look at some badger diggings. Pyramus smiled into -his curly beard; the badger holes had been untenanted -for years. Ortho came up to carry out a -further examination of the badger earths the very -next day.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Pyramus saw him, high up among the rocks of -the carn, his back to the diggings, gazing wistfully -down on the camp, its tents, fires, and horses. He -did not ask the boy in, but sent out a scout with -orders to bring word when young Penhale went -home.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The scout returned at about three o’clock. -Ortho, he reported, had worked stealthily down -from the carn top and had been lying in the bracken -at the edge of the encampment for the last hour, -imagining himself invisible. He had now gone off -towards Bosula. Pyramus called for his mare to -be saddled, brushed his breeches, put on his best -coat, mounted and pursued. He came up with the -boy a mile or so above the farm and brought -his mount alongside caracoling and curveting. -Ortho’s expressive eyes devoured her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good day to you, young gentleman,” Pyramus -called, showing his fine teeth. Ortho grinned in -return.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Wind gone back to the east; we shall have a -spell of dry weather, I think,” said the gypsy, making -the mare do a right pass, pivot on her hocks -and pass to the left.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yeh,” said Ortho, his mouth wide with admiration.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>King Herne and his steed were enough to take -any boy’s fancy; they were dressed to that end. -The gypsy had masses of inky hair, curled mustaches -and an Assyrian beard, which frame of black -served to enhance the brightness of his glance, the -white brilliance of his smile. He was dressed in -the coat he wore when calling on the gentry, dark -blue frogged with silver lace, and buff spatter-dashes. -He sat as though bolted to the saddle from -the thighs down; the upper half of him, hinged at -the hips, balanced gracefully to every motion of -his mount, lithe as a panther for all his forty-eight -years.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And the mare—she was his pride and delight, -black like himself, three-quarter Arab, mettlesome, -fine-boned, pointed of muzzle, arched of neck. Unlike -her mates, she was assiduously groomed and -kept rugged in winter so that her coat had not -grown shaggy. Her long mane rippled like silken -threads, her tail streamed behind her like a banner. -The late sunshine twinked on the silver mountings -of her bridle and rippled over her hide till she -gleamed like satin. She bounded and pirouetted -along beside Ortho, light on her feet as a ballerina, -tossed her mane, pricked her crescent ears, showed -the whites of her eyes, clicked the bit in her young -teeth, a thing of steel and swansdown, passion and -docility.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho’s eyes devoured her. Pyramus noted it, -laughed and patted the glossy neck.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You like my little sweet—eh? She is of blood -royal. Her sire was given to the Chevalier Lombez -Muret by the Basha of Oran in exchange for three -pieces of siege ordnance and a chiming clock. The -dam of that sire sprang from the sacred mares of -the Prophet Mahomet, the mares that though dying -of thirst left the life-giving stream and galloped to -the trumpet call. There is the blood of queens in -her.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She is a queen herself,” said Ortho warmly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Pyramus nodded. “Well said! I see you have -an eye for a horse, young squire. You can ride, -doubtless?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes—but only pack-horses.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So—only pack-horses, farm drudges—that is -doleful traveling. See here, mount my ‘Rriena,’ -and drink the wind.” He dropped the reins, vaulted -off over the mare’s rump and held out his hand for -Ortho’s knee.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Me! I . . . I ride her?” The boy stuttered, -astounded.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The gypsy smiled his dazzling, genial smile. -“Surely—an you will. There is nothing to fear; -she is playful only, the heart of a dove. Take hold -of the reins . . . your knee . . . up you go!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He hove the boy high and lowered him gently -into the saddle.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Stirrups too long? Put your feet in the leathers—so. -An easy hand on her mouth, a touch will -serve. Ready? Then away, my chicken.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He let go the bridle and clapped his palms. The -mare bounded into the air. Ortho, frightened, -clutched the pommel, but she landed again light as a -feather, never shifting him in the saddle. Smoothly -she caracoled, switching her plumy tail, tossing her -head, snatching playfully at the bit. There was -no pitch, no jar, just an easy, airy rocking. Ortho -let her gambol on for a hundred yards or so, and -then, thinking he’d better turn, fingered his off rein. -He no more than fingered the rein, but the mare -responded as though she divined his thoughts, circled -smoothly and rocked back towards Pyramus.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Round again,” shouted the gypsy, “and give her -rein; there’s a stretch of turf before you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Again the mare circled. Ortho tapped her with -his heels. A tremble ran through her, an electric -thrill; she sprang into a canter, from a canter to -a gallop and swept down the turf all out. It was -flight, no less, winged flight, skimming the earth. -The turf streamed under them like a green river; -bushes, trees, bowlders flickered backwards, blurred, -reeling. The wind tore Ortho’s cap off, ran fingers -through his hair, whipped tears to his eyes, blew -jubilant bugles in his ears, drowning the drum of -hoofs, filled his open mouth, sharp, intoxicating, the -heady wine of speed. He was one with clouds, -birds, arrows, all things free and flying. He wanted -to sing and did so, a wordless, crazy caroling. -They swept on, drunk with the glory of it. A barrier -of thorn stood across the way, and Ortho came -to his senses. They would be into it in a minute -unless he stopped the mare. He braced himself for -a pull—but there was no need; she felt him stiffen -and sit back, sat back herself and came to a full -stop within ten lengths. Ortho wiped the happy -tears from his eyes, patted her shoulder, turned and -went back at the same pace, speed-drunk again. -They met the gypsy walking towards them, the -dropped cap in hand. He called to the mare; she -stopped beside him and rubbed her soft muzzle -against his chest. He looked at the flushed, enraptured -boy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She can gallop, my little ‘Rriena’?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Gallop! Why, yes. Gallop! I . . . I never -knew . . . never saw . . . I . . .” Words failed -Ortho.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Pyramus laughed. “No, there is not her match -in the country. But, mark ye, she will not give -her best to anybody. She felt the virtue in you, -knew you for her master. You need experience, -polish, but you are a horseman born, flat in the -thigh, slim-waisted, with light, strong hands.” The -gypsy’s voice pulsed with enthusiasm, his dark eyes -glowed. “Tcha! I wish I had the schooling of you; -I’d make you a wizard with horses!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, I wish you would! Will you, will you?” -cried Ortho.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Pyramus made a gesture with his expressive -hands.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I would willingly—I love a bold boy—but . . .”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Pyramus shrugged his shoulders. “The lady, your -mother, has no liking for me. She is right, doubtless; -you are Christian, gentry, I but a poor Rom -. . . still I mean no harm.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She shall never know, never,” said Ortho -eagerly. “Oh, I would give anything if you would!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Pyramus shook his head reprovingly. “You must -honor your parents, Squire; it is so written . . . -and yet I am loath to let your gifts lie fallow; a -prince of jockeys I could make you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He bit his finger nails as though wrestling with -temptation. “See here, get your mother’s leave and -then come, come and a thousand welcomes. I have -a chestnut pony, a red flame of a pony, that would -carry you as my beauty carries me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He vaulted into the saddle, jumped the mare -over a furze bush, whirled about, waved his hat -and was gone up the valley, scattering clods. -Ortho watched the flying pair until they were out -of sight, and then turned homewards, his heart -pounding, new avenues of delight opening before -him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Out of sight, Pyramus eased Rriena to a walk -and, leaning forward, pulled her ears affectionately. -“Did he roll all over you and tug your mouth, my -sweetmeat?” he purred. “Well, never again. But -we have him now. In a year or two he’ll be master -here and I’ll graze fifty nags where I grazed twenty. -We will fatten on that boy.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho reported at the gypsy camp shortly after -sun-up next morning; he was wasting no time. Questioned, -he swore he had Teresa’s leave, which was -a lie, as Pyramus knew it to be. But he had covered -himself; did trouble arise he could declare he -understood the boy had got his mother’s permission.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho did not expect to be discovered. Teresa -was used to his being out day and night with either -Bohenna or Jacky’s George and would not be curious. -The gypsies had the head of the valley to -themselves; nobody ever came that way except the -cow-girl Wany, and she had no eyes for anything -but the supernatural.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The riding lessons began straightway on Lussha’s -red pony “Cherry.” The chestnut was by no means -as perfect a mount as the black mare, but for all -that a creditable performer, well-schooled, speedy -and eager, a refreshing contrast to the stiff-jointed, -iron-mouthed farm horses. Pyramus took pains -with his pupil. Half of what he had said was true; -the boy was shaped to fit a saddle and his hands -were sensitive. There was a good deal of the artist -in King Herne. It pleased him to handle promising -material for its own sake, but above all he sought -to infect the boy with horse-fever to his own material -gain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The gypsy camp saw Ortho early and late. He -returned to Bosula only to sleep and fill his pockets -with food. Food in wasteful plenty lay about everywhere -in that slip-shod establishment; the door was -never bolted. He would creep home through the -orchard, silence the dogs with a word, take off his -shoes in the kitchen, listen to Teresa’s hearty snores -in the room above, drive the cats off the remains -of supper, help himself and tiptoe up to bed. Nobody, -except Eli, knew where he spent his days; -nobody cared.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The gypsies attracted him for the same reason -that they repelled his brother; they were something -new, something he did not understand.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho did not find anything very elusive about -the males; they were much like other men, if quicker-witted -and more suave. It was the women who -intrigued and, at the same time, awed him. He -had watched them at work with the cards, bent -over the palm of a trembling servant girl or farm -woman. What did they know? What didn’t they -know? What virtue was in them that they should -be the chosen mouthpieces of Destiny? He would -furtively watch them about their domestic duties, -stirring the black pots or nursing their half-naked -brats, and wonder what secrets the Fates were even -then whispering into their ringed ears, what enigmas -were being made plain to those brooding eyes. He -felt his soul laid bare to those omniscient eyes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But it was solely his own imagination that -troubled him. The women gave him no cause; they -cast none but the gentlest glances at the dark boy. -Sometimes of an evening they would sing, not the -green English ballads and folk-songs that were their -stock-in-trade, but epics of Romany heroes, threnodies -and canzonets.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Pyramus was the principal soloist. He had a -pliant, tuneful voice and accompanied himself on a -Spanish guitar.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He would squat before the fire, the women in a -row opposite him, toss a verse across to them, and -they would toss back the refrain, rocking to the -time as though strung on a single wire.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The scene stirred Ortho—the gloomy wood, the -overhanging rocks, the gypsy king, guitar across -his knees, trumpeting his wild songs of love and -knavery; and the women and girls, in their filthy, -colorful rags, seen through a film of wood smoke, -swaying to and fro, to and fro, bright eyes and -barbaric brass ornaments glinting in the firelight. -On the outer circle children and men lay listening -in the leaf mold, and beyond them invisible horses -stamped and shifted at their pickets, an owl hooted, -a dog barked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The scene stirred Ortho. It was so strange, and -yet somehow so familiar, he had a feeling that sometime, -somewhere he had seen it all before; long ago -and far away he had sat in a camp like this and -heard women singing. He liked the boastful, -stormy songs, “Invocation to Timour,” “The Master -Thief,” “The Valiant Tailor,” but the dirges -carried him off, one especially. It was very sweet -and sad, it had only four verses and the women sang -each refrain more softly than the one before, so -that the last was hardly above a whisper and dwindled -into silence like the wind dying away—“aië, -aië; aië, aië.” Ortho did not understand what it -was about, its name even, but when he heard it -he lost himself, became some one else, some one else -who understood perfectly crept inside his body, -forced his tears, made him sway and feel queer. -Then the gypsy women across the fire would glance -at him and nudge each other quietly. “See,” they -would whisper, “his Rom grandfather looking out -of his eyes.”</p> - -<div><h1>CHAPTER X</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>One evening, in late February, there was -mullet pie for supper which was so much to -Teresa’s taste that she ate more than even -her heroic digestive organs could cope with, rent -the stilly night with lamentations and did not get -up for breakfast. Towards nine o’clock, she felt -better, at eleven was herself again and, remembering -it was Paul Feast, dressed in her finery and rode -off to see the sport.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She arrived to witness what appeared to be a -fratricidal war between the seafaring stalwarts of -the parish and the farm hands. A mob of boys -and men surged about a field, battling claw and -hoof for the possession of a cow-hide ball which -occasionally lobbed into view, but more often lay -buried under a pile of writhing bodies.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Teresa was very fond of these rough sports and -journeyed far and wide to see them, but what held -her interest most that afternoon was a party of -gentry who had ridden from Penzance to watch -the barbarians at play. Two ladies and three gentlemen -there were, the elder woman riding pillion, -the younger side-saddle. They were very exquisite -and superior, watched the uncouth mob through -quizzing glasses and made witty remarks after the -manner of visitors at a menagerie commenting on -near-human antics of the monkeys. The younger -woman chattered incessantly; a thinly pretty creature, -wearing a gold-braided cocked hat and long -brown coat cut in the masculine mode.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Eliza, Eliza, I beseech you look at that woman’s -stomacher! . . . And that wench’s farthingale! -Elizabethan, I declare; one would imagine oneself -at a Vauxhall masquerade. Mr. Borlase, I felicitate -you on your entertainment.” She waved her -whip towards the mob. “Bear pits are tedious by -comparison. I must pen my experiences for <span class='it'>The -Spectator</span>—‘Elegantia inter Barbaros, or a Lady’s -Adventures Among the Wild Cornish.’ Tell me, -pray, when it is all over do they devour the dead? -We must go before that takes place; I shall positively -expire of fright—though my cousin Venables, -who has voyaged the South Seas, tells me cannibals -are, as a rule, an amiable and loving people, vastly -preferable to Tories. Captain Angus, I have -dropped my kerchief . . . you neglect me, sir! -My God, Eliza, there’s a handsome boy! . . . Behind -you. . . . The gypsy boy on the sorrel pony. -What a pretty young rogue!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The whole party turned their heads to look at -the Romany Apollo. Teresa followed their example -and beheld it was Ortho. Under the delusion -that his mother was abed and, judging by the noise -she made, at death’s door, he had ventured afield -in company with four young Hernes. He wore no -cap, his sleeve was ripped from shoulder to cuff -and he was much splashed all down his back and -legs. He did not see his mother; he was absorbed -in the game. Teresa shut her teeth, and drew a -long, deep breath through them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The battle suddenly turned against the fishermen; -the farm hands, uttering triumphant howls, began -to force them rapidly backwards towards the -Church Town. Ortho and his ragged companions -wheeled their mounts and ambled downhill to see -the finish. Teresa did not follow them. She found -her horse, mounted and rode straight home.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The gypsy boy on the sorrel pony—the <span class='it'>gypsy</span> -boy!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>People were taking her Ortho, Ortho Penhale of -Bosula and Tregors, for a vagabond Rom, were -they?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was furious, but admitted they had cause—dressed -like a scarecrow and mixed up with a crowd -of young horse thieves! Teresa swore so savagely -that her horse started. Anyhow she would stop -it at once, at once—she’d settle all this gypsy business—<span class='it'>gypsy</span>! -Time after time she had vowed to -send Ortho to school, but she was always hard up -when it came to the point, and year after year -slipped by. He must be somewhere about sixteen -now—fifteen, sixteen or seventeen—she wasn’t sure, -and it didn’t matter to a year or so, she could look -it up in the parish registers if need be. He should -go to Helston like his father and learn to be a -gentleman—and, incidentally, learn to keep accounts. -It would be invaluable to have some one -who could handle figures; then the damned tradesmen -wouldn’t swindle her and she’d have money -again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The gypsy boy!” . . . The words stung her -afresh. Had she risen out of the muck of vagrancy -to have her son slip back into it? Never! She’d -settle all that. Not for a moment did she doubt -her ability to cope with Ortho. What must John -in heaven be thinking of her stewardship? She -wept with mingled anger and contrition. To-morrow -she’d open a clean page. Ortho should go to -school at once. <span class='it'>Gypsy!</span> She’d show them!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was heavily in debt, but the money should -be found somehow. All the way home she was -planning ways and means.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho returned late that night and went to bed -unconscious that he had been found out. Next -morning he was informed that he was to go with -his mother to Penzance. This was good tidings. -He liked going to town with Teresa. She bought -all kinds of eatables and one saw life, ladies and -gentlemen; a soldier or two sometimes; blue-water -seamen drunk as lords and big wind-bound ships -at anchor. He saddled the dun pony and jogged -alongside her big roan, prattling cheerfully all the -way.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She watched him, her interest aroused. He certainly -was good looking, with his slim uprightness, -eager expression, and quick, graceful movements. -He had luminous dark eyes, a short nose, round -chin and crisp black curls—like her own. He was -like her in many ways, many ways. Good company -too. He told her several amusing stories and -laughed heartily at hers. A debonair, attractive -boy, very different from his brother. She felt suddenly -drawn towards him. He would make a good -companion when he came back from school. His -looks would stir up trouble in sundry dove-cotes -later on, she thought, and promised herself much -amusement, having no sympathy for doves.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was not until they arrived in Penzance that -she broke the news that he was going to school. -Ortho was a trifle staggered at first, but, to her -surprise, took it very calmly, making no objections. -In the first place it was something new, and the -prospect of mixing with a herd of other boys struck -him as rather jolly; secondly, he was fancying himself -enormously in the fine clothes with which -Teresa was loading him; he had never had anything -before but the roughest of home-spuns stitched -together by Martha and speedily reduced to shreds. -He put the best suit on there and then, and strutted -Market Jew Street like a young peacock ogling its -first hen.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They left Penzance in the early afternoon (spare -kit stuffed in the saddle-bags). In the ordinary way -Teresa would have gone straight to the “Angel” -at Helston and ordered the best, but now, in keeping -with her new vow of economy, she sought a -free night’s lodging at Tregors—also she wanted to -raise some of the rent in advance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho was entered at his father’s old school next -day.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Teresa rode home pleasantly conscious of duty -done, and Ortho plunged into the new world, convinced -that he had only to smile and conquer. In -which he erred. He was no longer a Penhale in his -own parish, prospective squire of the Keigwin Valley, -but an unsophisticated young animal thrust into -a den of sophisticated young animals and therefore -a heaven-sent butt for their superior humor. Rising -seventeen, and set to learn his A, B, C in the lowest -form among the babies! This gave the wits an -admirable opening. That he could ride, sail a boat -and shoot anything flying or running weighed as -nothing against his ignorance of Latin declensions.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He sought to win some admiration, or even tolerance -for himself by telling of his adventures with -Pyramus and Jacky’s George, but it had the opposite -effect. His tormentors (sons of prosperous -land owners and tradesmen) declared that any one -who associated with gypsies and fishermen must be -of low caste himself and taunted him unmercifully. -They would put their hands to their mouths and -halloo after the manner of fish-hawkers. “Mackerel! -Fresh mack-erel! . . . Say, Penhale, what’s -the price of pilchards to-day?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Or “Hello, Penhale, there’s one of your Pharaoh -mates at the gate—with a monkey. Better go and -have a clunk over old times.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Baiting Penhale became a fashionable pastime. -Following the example of their elders, the small -boys took up the ragging. This was more than -Ortho could stand. He knocked some heads together, -whereby earning the reputation of a bully.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A bulky, freckled lad named Burnadick, propelled -by friends and professing himself champion of the -oppressed, challenged Ortho to fight.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho had not the slightest desire to fight the -reluctant champion, but the noncombatants (as is -the way with noncombatants) gave him no option. -They formed a ring round the pair and pulled the -coats off them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For a moment or two it looked as if Ortho would -win. An opening punch took him under the nose -and stung him to such a pitch of fury that he tumbled -on top of the freckled one, whirling like a windmill, -fairly smothering him. But the freckled one was -an old warrior; he dodged and side-stepped and -propped straight lefts to the head whenever he got -a chance, well knowing that Ortho could not last the -crazy pace.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho could not, or any mortal man. In a couple -of minutes he was puffing and grunting, swinging -wildly, giving openings everywhere. The heart was -clean out of him; he had not wanted to fight in the -first place and the popular voice was against him. -Everybody cheered Burnadick; not a single whoop -for him. He ended tamely, dropped his fists and -gave Burnadick best. The mob jeered and hooted -and crowded round the victor, who shook them off -and walked away, licking his raw knuckles. He -had an idea of following Penhale and shaking hands -with him . . . hardly knew what the fight had been -about . . . wished the other fellows weren’t always -arranging quarrels for him; they never gave his -knuckles time to heal. He’d have a chat with -Penhale one of these days . . . to-morrow perhaps. . .</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His amiable intentions never bore fruit, for on -the morrow his mother was taken ill, and he was -summoned home and nobody else had any kindly -feelings for Ortho. He wrestled with incomprehensible -primers among tittering infants during -school hours; out of school he slunk about, alone -always, cold-shouldered everywhere. His sociable -soul grew sick within him, he rebelled at the sparse -feeding, hated the irritable, sarcastic ushers, the -bewildering tasks, the boys, the confinement, everything. -At night, in bed, he wept hot tears of misery.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A spell of premature spring weather touched the -land. Incautious buds popped out in the Helston -back gardens; the hedgerow gorse was gilt-edged; -the warm scent of pushing greenery blew in from -the hillsides. Armadas of shining cloud cruised -down the blue. Ortho, laboriously spelling C, A, T, -cat, R, A, T, rat, in a drowsy classroom, was troubled -with dreams. He saw the Baragwanath family -painting the <span class='it'>Game Cock</span> on the Cove slip, getting -her summer suit out of store; saw the rainbows -glimmering over the Twelve Apostles, the green and -silver glitter of the Channel beyond; smelt sea-weed; -heard the lisp of the tide. He dreamt of Pyramus -Herne wandering northwards with Lussha, and the -other boys behind bringing up the horses, wandering -over hill and dale, new country out-reeling before -him every day. He bowed over the desk and buried -his face in the crook of his arm.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A fly explored the spreading ear of “Rusty -Rufus,” the junior usher. He woke out of his -drowse, one little pig eye at a time, and glanced -stealthily round his class. Two young gentlemen -were playing noughts and crosses, two more were -flipping pellets at each other; a fifth was making -chalk marks on the back of a sixth, who in turn was -absorbed in cutting initials in the desk; a seventh -appeared to be asleep. Rufus, having slumbered -himself, passed over the first six and fell upon his -imitator.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Penhale, come here,” he rumbled and reached -for his stick.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho obeyed. The usher usually indulged in -much labored sarcasm at the boy’s expense, but -he was too lazy that afternoon.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hand,” he growled.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho held out his hand. “Rufus” swung back -the stick and measured the distance with a puckered -eye. Ortho hated him; he was a loathly sight, lying -back in his chair, shapeless legs straddled out before -him, fat jowl bristling with the rusty stubble -from which he got his name, protuberant waistcoat -stained with beer and snuff—a hateful beast! An -icy glitter of cruelty—a flicker as of lightning reflected -on a stagnant pool—suddenly lit the indolent -eyes of the junior usher and down came the cane -whistling. But Ortho’s hand was not there to receive -it. How it came about he never knew. He -was frightened by the revealing blaze in Rufus’ eyes, -but he did not mean to shirk the stick; his hand -withdrew itself of its own accord, without orders -from his brain—a muscular twitch. However it -happened the results were fruitful. Rufus cut himself -along the inside of his right leg with all his -might. He dropped the stick, bounded out of his -chair and hopped about the class, cursing horribly, -yelping with pain. Ortho stood transfixed, horrified -at what he had done. A small boy, his eyes round -with admiration, hissed at him from behind his -hand:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Run, you fool—he’ll kill you!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho came to his senses and bolted for the door.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But Rufus was too quick for him. He bounded -across the room, choking, spluttering, apoplectic, -dirty fat hands clawing the air. He clawed Ortho -by the hair and collar and dragged him to him. -Ortho hit out blindly, panicked. He was too frightened -to think; he thought Rufus was going to kill -him and fought for his life with the desperation of -a cornered rat. He shut his eyes and teeth, rammed -Rufus in the only part of him he could reach, namely -the stomach. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven—it -was like hitting a jelly. At the fourth blow -he felt the usher’s grip on him loosen. At the -fifth he was free, the sixth sent the man to the floor, -the seventh was wasted.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Rufus lay on the boards, clutching his stomach, -making the most dreadful retching noises. The -small boys leapt up on their desks cheering and -exhorting Ortho to run. He ran. Out of the door, -across the court, out of the gates, up the street and -out into the country. Ran on and on without looking -where he was going, on and on.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was fully an hour later before it occurred to -him that he was running north, but he did not -change direction.</p> - -<hr class='tbk'/> - -<p class='pindent'>Teresa was informed of Ortho’s sensational departure -two days later. The school authorities -sent to Bosula, expecting to find the boy had returned -home and were surprised that he had not. -Where had he got to? Teresa had an idea that -he was hiding somewhere in the district, and combed -it thoroughly, but Ortho was not forthcoming. The -gypsy camp was long deserted, and Jacky’s George -had gone to visit his Scillonian sister by the somewhat -circuitous route of Guernsey.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It occurred to her that he might be lying up in -the valley, surreptitiously fed by Eli, and put Bohenna -on to beat it out, but the old hind drew blank. -She then determined that he was with the tinners -around St. Just (a sanctuary for many a wanted -Cornishman), and since there was no hope of extricating -him from their underground labyrinths the -only thing to do was to wait. He’d come home in -time, she said, and promised the boy a warm reception -when he did.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then came a letter from Pyramus Herne—dictated -to a public letter writer. Pyramus was at -Ashburton buying Dartmoor ponies and Ortho was -with him. Pyramus was profuse with regrets and -disclaimed all responsibility. Ortho had caught up -with him at Launceston, foot-sore, ragged, starving, -terrified—but adamant. He, Pyramus, had -chided him, begged him to return, even offered to -lend him a horse to carry him back to Helston or -Bosula, but Ortho absolutely refused to do either—declaring -that rather than return he would kill himself. -What was to be done? He could not turn a -friendless and innocent boy adrift to starve or be -maltreated by the beggars, snatch-purses and loose -women who swarmed into the roads at that season -of the year. What was he to do? He respectfully -awaited Teresa’s instructions, assuring her that in -the meanwhile Ortho should have the best his poor -establishment afforded and remained her ladyship’s -obedient and worshipful servant, etc.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Teresa took the letter to the St. Gwithian parish -clerk to be read and bit her lip when she learnt -the contents. The clerk asked her if she wanted -a reply written, but she shook her head and went -home. Ortho could not be brought back from -Devon handcuffed and kept chained in his room. -There was nothing to be done.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>So her son had reverted to type. She did not -think it would last long. The Hernes were prosperous -for gypsies. Ortho would not go short of -actual food and head cover, but there would be -days of trudging against the wind and rain, soaked -and trickling from head to heel, beds in wet grass; -nights of thunder with horses breaking loose and -tumbling over the tents; shuddering dawns chilling -the very marrow; parched noons choked with dust; -riots at fairs, cudgels going and stones flying; filth, -blows, bestiality, hard work and hard weather, hand -to mouth all the way. Ortho was no glutton for -punishment; he would return to the warm Owls’ -House ere long, curl up gratefully before the fire, -cured of his wanderlust. All was for the best doubtless, -Teresa considered, but she packed Eli off to -school in his place; the zest for duty was still strong -in her—and, furthermore, she must have somebody -who could keep accounts.</p> - -<div><h1>CHAPTER XI</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli went to school prepared for a bad time. -Ortho had not run away for nothing; he was -no bulldog for unprofitable endurance—lessons -had been irksome, no doubt—but he should -have been in his element among a horde of boys. -He liked having plenty of his own kind about him -and naturally dominated them. He had won over -the surly Gwithian farm boys with ease; the turbulent -Monks Cove fisher lads looked to him as chief, -and even those wild hawks, the young Hernes, followed -him unquestioning into all sorts of mischief. -Yet Ortho had fled school as from torment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>If the brilliant and popular brother had come to -grief how much more trouble was in store for him, -the dullard? Eli set his jaw. Come what might, -he would see it through; he would stick at school, -willy-nilly, until he got what he wanted out of it, -namely the three R’s. It had been suddenly borne -in on Eli that education had its uses.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Chance had taken him to the neighboring farm -of Roswarva, which bounded Polmenna moors on -the west. There was a new farmer in possession, a -widower by the name of Penaluna, come from the -north of the Duchy with a thirteen-year daughter, -an inarticulate child, leggy as a foal.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli, scrambling about the Luddra Head, had discovered -an otter’s holt, and then and there lit a -smoke fire to test if the tenant were at home or -not. The otter was at home and came out with a -rush. Eli attempted to tail it, but his foot slipped -on the dry thrift and he sprawled on top of the -beast, which bit him in three places. He managed -to drop a stone on it as it slid away over the rocks, -but he could hardly walk. Penaluna met him limping -across a field dragging his victim by the tail, -and took him to Roswarva to have his wounds -tied up.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli had not been to Roswarva since the days of -its previous owners, a beach-combing, shiftless -crew, and he barely recognized the place. The -kitchen was creamy with whitewash; the cupboards -freshly painted; the table scrubbed spotless; the -ranked pans gleamed like copper moons; all along -the mantelshelf were china dogs with gilt collars -and ladies and gentlemen on prancing horses, hawks -perched a-wrist. In the corner was an oak grandfather -clock with a bright brass face engraved with -the signs of the zodiac and the cautionary words:</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“I mark ye Hours but cannot stay their Race;</p> -<p class='line0'>Nor Priest nor King may buy a moment’s Grace;</p> -<p class='line0'>Prepare to meet thy Maker face to face.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>Sunlight poured into the white kitchen through -the south window, setting everything a-shine and -a-twinkle—a contrast to unkempt Bosula, redolent -of cooking and stale food, buzzing with flies, incessantly -invaded by pigs and poultry. Outside -Roswarva all was in the same good shape; the -erst-littered yard cleared up, the tumbledown sheds -rebuilt and thatched. Eli limped home over trim -hedges, fields cultivated up to the last inch and -plentifully manured and came upon his own land—crumbling -banks broken down by cattle and grown -to three times their proper breadth with thorn and -brambles; fields thick with weeds; windfalls lying -where they had dropped; bracken encroaching from -every point.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He had never before remarked anything amiss -with Bosula, but, coming straight from Roswarva, -the contrast struck him in the face. He thought -about it for two days, and then marched over to -Roswarva. He found Simeon Penaluna on the -cliff-side rooting out slabs of granite with a crowbar -and piling them into a wall. A vain pursuit, -Eli thought, clearing a cliff only fit for donkeys and -goats.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What are you doing that for?” he asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Potatoes,” said Simeon.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why here, when you got proper fields?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Open to sun all day, and sea’ll keep ’em warm -at night. No frost. I’ll get taties here two weeks -earlier than up-along.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How do you know?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Read it. Growers in Jersey has been doin’ it -these years.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli digested this information and leaned against -the wall, watching Penaluna at work.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli liked the man’s air of patient power, also his -economy of speech. He decided he was to be -trusted. “You’re a good farmer, aren’t you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes,” said Penaluna truthfully.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What’s wrong with our place, Bosula?” Eli inquired.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Under-manned,” said Penaluna. “Your father -had two men besides himself and he worked like a -bullock and was clever, I’ve heard tell. Now you’ve -got but two, and not a head between ’em. Place -is going back. Come three years the trash’ll strangle -’e in your beds.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli took the warning calmly. “We’ll stop that,” -he announced.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Penaluna subjected him to a hard scrutiny, spat -on his palms, worked the crow-bar into a crevice -and tried his weight on it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hum! Maybe—but you’d best start soon.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli nodded and considered again. “Are you -clever?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Penaluna swung his bar from left to right; the -rock stirred in its bed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No—but I can read.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli’s eyes opened. That was the second time -reading had been mentioned. What had that school-mastering -business to do with real work like farming?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Went to free-school at Truro,” Simeon explained. -“There’s clever ones that writes off books -and I reads ’em. There’s smart notions in books—sometimes. -I got six books on farming—six -brains.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Um-m,” muttered Eli, the idea slowly taking -hold.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In return for advice given, he helped the farmer -pile walls until sunset and not another word was -interchanged. When he got home it was to learn -that Ortho was in Devon with Pyramus and that -he was to go to school in his stead.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli’s feelings were mixed. If Ortho had had a -bad time he would undoubtedly have worse, but on -the other hand he would learn to read and could -pick other people’s brains—like Penaluna. He rode -to Helston with his mother, grimly silent all the -way, steeling himself to bear the rods for Bosula’s -sake. But Ortho, by the dramatic manner of his -exit, had achieved popularity when it was no longer -of any use to him. Eli stepped in at the right -moment to receive the goodly heritage.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Was he not own brother to the hero who had -tricked Rufus into slicing himself across the leg and -followed up this triumph by pummeling seven bells -out of the detested usher and flooring him in his -own classroom? The story had lost nothing in the -mouths of the spectators. A half-minute scramble -between a sodden hulk of a man and a terrified boy -had swollen into a Homeric contest as full of incident -as the Seven Years’ War, lasting half an hour -and ending in Rufus lying on the floor, spitting blood -and imploring mercy. Eli entered the school surrounded -by a warm nimbus of reflected glory and -took Ortho’s place at the bottom of the lowest -form.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>That he was the criminal’s brother did not endear -him to Rufus, who gave him the benefit of -his acid tongue from early morn to dewy eve, but -beyond abuse the usher did not go. Eli was not tall, -but he was exceptionally sturdy and Rufus had not -forgotten a certain affair. He was chary of these -Penhales—little better than savages—reared among -smugglers and moor-men—utterly undisciplined . . . -no saying what they might do . . . murder one, even. -He kept his stick for the disciplined smaller fry -and pickled his tongue for Eli. Eli did not mind -the sarcasm in the least. His mental hide was far -too thick to feel the prick—and anyhow it was only -talk.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One half-holiday bird’s-nesting in Penrose woods, -he came upon the redoubtable Burnadick similarly -engaged and they compared eggs. In the midst of -the discussion a bailiff appeared on the scene and -they had to run for it. The bailiff produced dogs and -the pair were forced to make a wide detour via Praze -and Lanner Vean. Returning by Helston Mill, -they met with a party of town louts who, having -no love for the “Grammar scholards,” threw stones. -A brush ensued, Eli acquitting himself with credit. -The upshot of all this was that they reached school -seven minutes late for roll call and were rewarded -with a thrashing. Drawn together by common pain -and adventure, the two were henceforth inseparable, -forming a combination which no boy or party of -boys dared gainsay. With Rufus’ sting drawn and -the great Burnadick his ally Eli found school life -tolerable. He did not enjoy it; the food was insufficient, -the restraint burdensome, but it was by no -means as bad as he had expected. By constant repetition -he was getting a parrot-like fluency with his -tables and he seldom made a bad mistake in spelling—providing -the word was not of more than one -syllable.</p> - -<hr class='tbk'/> - -<p class='pindent'>At the Owls’ House in the meanwhile economy -was still the rage. Teresa’s first step was to send -the cattle off to market. In vain did Bohenna expostulate, -pointing out that the stock had not yet -come to condition and further there was no market. -It was useless. Teresa would not listen to reason; -into Penzance they went and were sold for a song. -After them she pitched pigs, poultry, goats and the -dun pony. Her second step was to discharge the -second hind, Davy. Once more Bohenna protested. -He could hardly keep the place going as it was, he -said. The moor was creeping in to right and left, -the barn thatch tumbling, the banks were down, the -gates falling to pieces. He could not be expected -to be in more than two places at once. Teresa replied -with more sound than sense and a shouting -match ensued, ending in Teresa screaming that she -was mistress and that if Bohenna didn’t shut his -mouth and obey orders she’d pack him after -Davy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But if Teresa bore hard on others she sacrificed -herself as well. Not a single new dress did she -order that year, and even went to the length of selling -two brooches, her second best cloak and her -third best pair of earrings. Parish feasts, races, -bull-baitings and cock-fights she resolutely eschewed; -an occasional stroll down the Cove and a pot of ale -at the Kiddlywink was all the relaxation she allowed -herself. By these self-denying ordinances she was -able to foot Eli’s school bills and pay interest on -her debts, but her temper frayed to rags. She railed -at Martha morning, noon and night, threw plates -at Wany and became so unbearable that Bohenna -carried all his meals afield with him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli came home for a few days’ holiday at midsummer, -but spent most of his waking hours at -Roswarva.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On his last evening he went ferreting with Bohenna. -The banks were riddled with rabbit sets, -but so overgrown were they it was almost impossible -to work the fitchets. Their tiny bells tinkled here -and there, thither and hither in the dense undergrowth, -invisible and elusive as the clappers of derisive -sprites. They gamboled about, rejoicing in -their freedom, treating the quest of fur as a secondary -matter. Bohenna pursued them through the -thorns, shattering the holy hush of evening with -blasphemies.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“This ought to be cut back, rooted out,” Eli observed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The old hind took it as a personal criticism and -turned on him, a bramble scratch reddening his -cheek, voice shaking with long-suppressed resentment. -“Rooted out, saith a’! Cut back! Who’s -goin’ do et then? Me s’pose.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He held out his knotted fists, a resigned ferret -swinging in each.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Look you—how many hands have I got? Two -edden a? Two only. But your ma do think each -o’ my fingers is a hand, I b’lieve. Youp! Comin’ -through!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A rabbit shot out of a burrow on the far side -of the hedge, the great flintlock bellowed and it -turned somersaults as neatly as a circus clown.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There’ll be three of us here when I’ve done -schooling next midsummer and Ortho comes home,” -said Eli calmly, ramming down a fresh charge. -“We’ll clear the trash and put the whole place in -crop.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Bohenna glanced up, surprised. “Oh, will us? -An’ where’s cattle goin’?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sell ’em off—all but what can feed themselves -on the bottoms. Crops’ll fetch more to the acre -than stock.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My dear soul! Harken to young Solomon! -. . . Who’s been tellin’ you all this?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Couple of strong farmers I’ve talked with on -half holidays near Helston—and Penaluna.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Bohenna bristled. Wisdom in foreign worthies -he might admit, but a neighbor . . . !</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What’s Simeon Penaluna been sayin’? Best -keep his long nose on his own place; I’ll give it -a brear wrench if I catch it sniffing over here! -What’d he say?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Said he wondered you didn’t break your heart.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Humph!” Bohenna was mollified, pleased that -some one appreciated his efforts; this Penaluna, at -least, sniffed with discernment. He listened quietly -while Eli recounted their neighbor’s suggestions.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They talked farming all the way home, and it -was a revelation to him how much the boy had -picked up. He had no idea Eli was at all interested -in it, had imagined, from his being sent to school, -that he was destined for a clerk or something bookish. -He had looked forward to fighting a losing -battle, for John’s sake and Bosula’s sake, single-handed, -to the end. Saw himself, a silver ancient, -dropping dead at the plow tail and the triumphant -bracken pouring over him like a sea. But now the -prospect had changed. Here was a true Penhale -coming back to tend the land of his sires. With -young blood at his back they would yet save the -place. He knew Eli, once he set his face forward, -would never look back; his brain was too small to -hold more than one idea. He gloated over the boy’s -promising shoulders, thick neck and sturdy legs. He -would root out the big bowlders as his father had -done, swing an ax or scythe from cock-crow to owl-light -without flag, toss a sick calf across his shoulders -and stride for miles, be at once the master and -lover of his land, the right husbandman. But of -Ortho, the black gypsy son, Bohenna was not so -sure. Nevertheless hope dawned afresh and he -went home to his crib among the rocks singing, “I -seen a ram at Hereford Fair” for the first time in -six months.</p> - -<hr class='tbk'/> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli was back again a few days before Christmas, -and on Christmas Eve Ortho appeared. There was -nothing of the chastened prodigal about him; he -rode into the yard on a showy chestnut gelding -(borrowed from Pyramus), ragged as a scarecrow, -but shouting and singing. He slapped Bohenna on -the back, hugged Eli affectionately, pinned his mother -against the door post and kissed her on both cheeks -and her nose, chucked old Martha under the chin -and even tossed a genial word at the half-wit -Wany.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With the exception of Eli, no one was particularly -elated to see him back—they remembered him only -as an unfailing fount of mischief—but from Ortho’s -manner one would have concluded he was restoring -the light of their lives. He did not give them time -to close their front. They hardly knew he had arrived -before he had embraced them all. The -warmth of his greeting melted their restraint. Bohenna’s -hairy face split athwart in a yellow-toothed -grin, Martha broke into bird-like twitters, Wany -blushed, and Teresa said weakly, “So you’re back.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She had not forgiven him for his school escapade -and had intended to make his return the occasion -of a demonstration as to who ruled the roost -at Bosula. But now she thought she’d postpone it. -He had foiled her for the moment, kissed her . . . -she couldn’t very well pitch into him immediately -after that . . . not immediately. Besides, deep in -her heart she felt a cold drop of doubt. A new -Ortho had come back, very different from the callow, -pliant child who had ridden babbling to Helston -beside her ten months previously. Ortho had -grown up. He was copper-colored with exposure, -sported a downy haze on his upper lip and was full -two inches taller. But the change was not so much -physical as spiritual. His good looks were, if anything, -emphasized, but he had hardened. Innocence -was gone from his eyes; there was the faintest edge -to his mirth. She had not wanted to be kissed, had -struggled against it, but he had taken her by surprise, -handled her with dispatch and assurance that -could only come of practice—Master Ortho had not -been idle on his travels. An idea occurred to her -that she had been forestalled; it was Ortho who had -made the demonstration. Their eyes met, crossed -like bayonets and dropped. It was all over in the -fraction of a second, but they had felt each other’s -steel.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Teresa was not alarmed by the sudden development -of her first-born. She was only forty-one, -weighed fourteen stone, radiated rude health and -feared no living thing. Since John’s death she had -not seen a man she would have stood a word from; -a great measure of her affection for her husband -sprang from the knowledge that he could have -beaten her. She apprised Ortho’s slim figure and -mentally promised him a bellyful of trouble did he -demand it, but for the moment she concluded to let -bygones be—just for the moment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho flipped some crumbs playfully over Wany, -assured Martha she had not aged a day, told Bohenna -they’d have a great time after woodcock, -threw his arm around Eli’s neck and led him out -into the yard.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“See here what I’ve got for you, my old heart,” -said he, fishing in his pocket. “Bought it in Portsmouth.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He placed a little brass box in Eli’s hand. It -had a picture of a seventy-four under full sail chased -on the lid and the comfortable words, “Let jealous -foes no hearts dismay, Vernon our hope is, God our -stay.” Inside was coiled a flint steel and fuse. Eli -was profoundly touched. Ortho’s toes were showing -through one boot, his collar bones had chafed -holes in his shirt and his coat was in ribbons. The -late frost must have nipped him severely, yet he -had not spent his few poor pence in getting himself -patched up, but bought a present for him. As a -matter of fact the little box had cost Ortho no small -self-denial.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli stammered his thanks—which Ortho laughed -aside—and the brothers went uphill towards Polmenna -Down, arms about shoulders, talking, talking. -Eli furnished news of Helston. Burnadick -was sorry about that row he had had with Ortho—the -other fellows pushed him on. He was a splendid -fellow really, knew all about hare-hunting and -long-dogs. Eli only wished he could have seen -Ortho ironing Rufus out! It must have been a -glorious set-to! Everybody was still talking about -it. Rufus had never been the same since—quaking -and shaking. Dirty big jellyfish!—always swilling -in pot-houses and stalking serving-maids—the whole -town had laughed over his discomfiture.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho was surprised to learn of his posthumous -popularity at Helston. Eli’s version of the affair -hardly coincided with his recollection in a single particular. -All he remembered was being horribly -frightened and hitting out blindly with results that -astonished him even more than his victim. Still, -since legend had chosen to elevate him to the pinnacle -of a St. George, suppressor of dragons, he -saw no reason to disprove it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They passed on to other subjects. How had -Ortho got on with the Romanies? Oh, famously! -Wonderful time—had enjoyed every moment of it. -Eli would never believe the things he had seen. -Mountains twice . . . three . . . four times as -high as Chapel Carn Brea or Sancreed Beacon; -rivers with ships sailing on them as at sea; great -houses as big as Penzance in themselves; lords and -ladies driving in six-horse carriages; regiments of -soldiers drilling behind negro drummers, and fairs -with millions of people collected and all the world’s -marvels on view; Italian midgets no higher than -your knee, Irish giants taller than chimneys, two-headed -calves and six-legged lambs, contortionists -who knotted their legs round their necks, conjurers -who magicked glass balls out of country boys’ ears; -dancing bears, trained wolves and an Araby camel -that required but one drink a month. Prizefights he -had seen also; tinker women battling for a purse -in a ring like men, and fellows that carried live -rats in their shirt bosoms and killed them with their -teeth at a penny a time. And cities! . . . Such -cities! Huge enough to cover St. Gwithian parish, -with streets so packed and people so elegant you -thought every day must be market day.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>London? No-o, he had not been quite to London. -But travelers told him that some of the places -he had seen—Exeter, Salisbury, Plymouth, Winchester—were -every bit as good—in some ways better. -London, in the opinion of many, was overrated. -Oh, by the way, in Salisbury he had seen the cream -of the lot—two men hanged for sheep-stealing; they -kicked and jerked in the most comical fashion. A -wonderful time!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The recital had a conflicting effect on Eli. To -him Ortho’s story was as breath-taking as that of -some swart mariner returned from fabulous spice -islands and steamy Indian seas—but at the same -time he was perturbed. Was it likely that his -brother, having seen the great world and all its -wonders, would be content to settle down to the humdrum -life at Bosula and dour struggle with the wilderness? -Most improbable. Ortho would go adventuring -again and he and Bohenna would have -to face the problem alone. Bohenna was not getting -any younger. His rosy hopes clouded over. -He must try to get Ortho to see the danger. After -all Bosula would come to Ortho some day; it was -his affair. He began forthwith, pointed out the -weedy state of the fields, the littered windfalls, the -invasion of the moor. To his surprise Ortho was -immediately interested—and indignant.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What had that lazy lubber Bohenna been up -to? . . . And Davy? By Gad, it was a shame! -He’d let ’em know. . . .”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli explained that Davy had been turned off and -Bohenna was doing his best. “In father’s time there -were three of ’em here and it was all they could -manage, working like bullocks,” said he, quoting -Penaluna.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then why haven’t we three men now?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mother says we’ve got no money to hire ’em.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho’s jaw dropped. “No money! <span class='it'>We?</span> . . . -Good God! Where’s it all gone to?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli didn’t know, but he did know that if some -one didn’t get busy soon they’d have no farm left. -“It’s been going back ever since father died,” he -added.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho strode up and down, black-browed, biting -his lip. Then he suddenly laughed. “Hell’s bells,” -he cried. “What are we fretting about? There -are three of us still, ain’t there? . . . You, me ’n -Ned. I warrant we’re a match for a passel of old -brambles, heh? I warrant we are.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli was amazed and delighted. Did Ortho really -mean what he said?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then—then you’re not going gypsying again?” -he asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho spat. “My Lord, no—done with that. -It’s a dog’s life, kicked from common to heath, living -on hedge-hogs, sleeping under bushes, never dry—mind -you, I enjoyed it all—but I’ve had all I -want. No, boy”—once more he hugged his brother -to him—“I’m going to stop home long o’ thee—us’ll -make our old place the best in the Hundred—in -the Duchy—and be big rosy yeomen full of -good beef and cider. . . . Eh, look at that!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sun had dipped. Cirrus dappled the afterglow -with drifts of smoldering, crimson feathers. -It was as though monster golden eagles were battling -in the upper air, dropping showers of lustrous, -blood-stained plumes. Away to the north -the switch-backed tors rolled against the sky, wine-dark -against pale primrose. Mist brimmed the valleys; -dusk, empurpled, shrouded the hills. The -primrose faded, a star outrider blinked boldly in -the east, then the green eve suddenly quivered with -the glint of a million million spear-heads—night’s -silver cohorts advancing. So still was it that the -brothers on the hilltop could plainly hear the babble -and cluck of the hidden stream below them; the -thump of young rabbits romping in near-by fields -and the bark of a dog at Boskennel being answered -by another dog at Trevider. From Bosula yard -came the creak and bang of a door, the clank of -a pail—Bohenna’s voice singing:</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“I seen a ram at Hereford Fair,</p> -<p class='line0'>The biggest gert ram I did ever behold.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho laughed and took up the familiar song, sent -his pleasant, tuneful voice ringing out over the darkling -valley:</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“His fleece were that heavy it stretched to the ground,</p> -<p class='line0'>His hoofs and his horns they was shodden wi’ gold.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>Below them sounded a gruff crow of mirth from -Bohenna and the second verse:</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“His horns they was curlèd like to the thorn tree,</p> -<p class='line0'>His fleece was as white as the blossom o’ thorn;</p> -<p class='line0'>He stamped like a stallion an’ roared like a bull,</p> -<p class='line0'>An’ the gert yeller eyes of en sparkled wi’ scorn.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>Among the bare trees a light winked, a friendly, -beckoning wink—the kitchen window.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho drew a deep breath and waved his hand. -“Think I’d change this—this lew li’l’ place I was -born in for a gypsy tilt, do ’ee? No, no, my dear! -Not for all the King’s money and all the King’s -gems! I’ve seen ’s much of the cold world as I -do want—and more.” He linked his arm with Eli’s. -“Come on; let’s be getting down-along.”</p> - -<hr class='tbk'/> - -<p class='pindent'>That night the brothers slept together in the same -big bed as of old. Eli tumbled to sleep at once, -but Ortho lay awake. Towards ten o’clock he heard -what he had been listening for, the “Te-whoo-whee-wha-ha” -of the brown owls calling to each other. -He grunted contentedly, turned over and went to -sleep.</p> - -<div><h1>CHAPTER XII</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>Christmas passed merrily at Bosula that -year. Martha was an authority on “feasten” -rites and delicacies, and Christmas was the -culmination. Under her direction the brothers festooned -the kitchen with ropes of holly and ivy, and -hung the “kissing bush”—two barrel hoops swathed -in evergreens—from the middle beam.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Supper was the principal event of the day, a prodigious -spread; goose giblet pie, squab pie made -of mutton, raisins and onions, and queer-shaped saffron -cakes, the whole washed down with draughts -of “eggy-hot,” an inspiring compound of eggs, hot -beer, sugar and rum, poured from jug to jug till -it frothed over.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Bosula household sat down at one board and -gorged themselves till they could barely breathe. -Upon them in this state came the St. Gwithian choir, -accompanied by the parish fiddler, “Jiggy” Dan, and -a score or so of hangers on. They sang the sweet -and simple old “curls” of the West Country, “I saw -three ships come sailin’ in,” “Come and I will sing -you,” “The first good joy that Mary had,” and</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Go the wayst out, Child Jesus,</p> -<p class='line0'>Go the wayst out to play;</p> -<p class='line0'>Down by God’s Holy Well</p> -<p class='line0'>I see three pretty children</p> -<p class='line0'>As ever tongue can tell.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>Part singing is a natural art in Cornwall. The -Gwithian choir sang well, reverently and without -strain. Teresa, full-fed after long moderation, -was in melting mood. The carols made her feel -pleasantly tearful and religious. She had not been -to church since the unfortunate affair with the -curate, but determined she would go the very next -Sunday and make a rule of it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She gave the choir leader a silver crown and -ordered eggy-hot to be served round. The choir’s -eyes glistened. Eggy-hot seldom came their way; -usually they had to be content with cider.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Martha rounded up the company. The apple -trees must be honored or they would withhold their -fruit in the coming year. Everybody adjourned to -the orchard, Martha carrying a jug of cider, Bohenna -armed with the flintlock, loaded nearly as full -as himself. Wany alone was absent; she was slipping -up the valley to the great barrow to hear the -Spriggans, the gnome-miners, sing their sad carols -as was the custom of a Christmas night.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Bosula host grouped, lantern-lit, round the -king tree of the orchard; Martha dashed the jug -against the trunk and pronounced her incantation:</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Health to thee, good apple tree!</p> -<p class='line0'>Hatsful, packsful, great bushel-bags full!</p> -<p class='line0'>Hurrah and fire off the gun.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>Everybody cheered. Bohenna steadied himself -and pulled the trigger. There was a deafening roar, -a yard-long tongue of flame spurted from the muzzle, -Bohenna tumbled over backwards and Jiggy -Dan, uttering an appalling shriek, fell on his face -and lay still.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The scared spectators stooped over the fiddler.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Dead is a?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ess, dead sure ’nough—dead as last year, pore -soul.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Panegyrics on the deceased were delivered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A brilliant old drinker a was.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ess, an’ a clean lively one to touch the strings.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Shan’t see his like no more.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“His spotty sow coming to her time too—an’ a -brearly loved roast sucking pig, the pretty old boy.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Bohenna sat up in the grass and sniffed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There’s a brear strong smell o’ burning, seem -me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The company turned on him reproachfully. -“Thou’st shotten Jiggy Dan. Shot en dead an’ -a-cold. Didst put slugs in gun by mistake, Ned?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Bohenna scratched his head. “Couldn’t say -rightly this time o’ night . . . maybe I did . . . -but, look ’ee, there wasn’t no offense meant; ’twas -done in good part, as you might say.” He sniffed -again and stared at the corpse of his victim.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Slugs or no seem me the poor angel’s more hot -than cold. Lord love, he’s afire! . . . The wad’s -catched in his coat!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>That such was the case became painfully apparent -to the deceased at the same moment. He sprang -to his feet and bounded round and round the group, -uttering ghastly howls and belaboring himself behind -in a fruitless endeavor to extinguish the smoldering -cloth. The onlookers were helpless with -laughter; they leaned against each other and sobbed. -Teresa in particular shook so violently it hurt her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Somebody suggested a bucket of water, between -chokes, but nobody volunteered to fetch it; to do -so would be to miss the fun.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The stream,” hiccoughed Bohenna, holding his -sides. “Sit ’ee down in stream, Dan, my old beauty, -an’ quench thyself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A loud splash in the further darkness announced -that the unhappy musician had taken his advice.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The apple trees fully secured for twelve months, -the party returned to the kitchen, but the incident -of Dan had dissipated the somewhat pious tone -of the preceding events. Teresa, tears trickling -down her cheeks, set going a fresh round of eggy-hot. -Ortho pounced on Tamsin Eva, the prettiest -girl in the room, carried her bodily under the kissing -bush and saluted her again and again. Other men -and boys followed suit. The girls fled round the -kitchen in mock consternation, pursued by flushed -swains, were captured and embraced, giggling and -sighing. Jiggy Dan, sniffing hot liquor as a pointer -sniffs game, limped, dripping, in from the stream, -was given an old petticoat of Martha’s to cover his -deficiencies, a pot of rum, propped up in a corner -and told to fiddle for dear life. The men, headed -by Ortho, cleared the kitchen of furniture, and then -everybody danced old heel and toe country dances, -skipped, bowed, sidled, passed up and down the -middle and twirled around till the sweat shone like -varnish on their scarlet faces.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The St. Gwithian choir flung themselves into it -heart and soul. They were expected at Monks Cove -to sing carols, were overdue by some hours, but they -had forgotten all about that.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Teresa danced with the best, with grace and -agility extraordinary in a woman of her bulk. She -danced one partner off his feet and all but stunned -another against the corner of the dresser, bringing -most of the crockery crashing to earth. She then -produced that relic of her vagabondage, the guitar, -and joined forces with Jiggy Dan.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The fun became furious. The girls shook the -tumbled hair from their eyes, laughed roguishly; -the men whooped and thumped the floor with their -heavy boots. Jiggy Dan, constantly primed with -rum by the attentive Martha, scraped and sawed at -his fiddle, beating time with his toe. Teresa plucked -at the guitar till it droned and buzzed like a hive -of melodious bees. Occasionally she sang ribald -snatches. She was in high feather, the reaction -from nine months’ abstinence. The kitchen, lit by -a pile of dry furze blazing in the open hearth, grew -hotter and hotter.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The dancers stepped and circled in a haze of dust, -steaming like overdriven cattle. Eli alone was out -of tune with his surroundings. The first effects of -the drink had worn off, leaving him with a sour -mouth and slightly dizzy. The warmer grew the -others, the colder he became.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He scowled at the junketers from his priggish altitude -and blundered bedward to find it already occupied -by the St. Gwithian blacksmith, who, dark -with the transferable stains of his toil, lay sprawled -across it, boots where his head should have been. -Eli rolled the unconscious artificer to the floor (an -act which in no way disturbed that worthy’s slumbers) -and turned in, sick and sulky.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With Ortho, on the other hand, things were never -better. He had not drunk enough to cloud him and -he was getting a lot of fun out of Tamsin Eva and -her “shiner.” Tamsin, daughter of the parish clerk, -was a bronze-haired, slender creature with a skin -like cream and roses and a pretty, timid manner. -Ortho, satiated with swarthy gypsy charmers, -thought her lovely and insisted upon dancing with -her for the evening. That her betrothed was present -and violently jealous only added piquancy to the -affair. The girl was not happy—Ortho frightened -her—but she had not enough strength of mind to -resist him. She shot appealing glances at her swain, -but the boy was too slow in his movements and -fuddled with unaccustomed rum. The sober and -sprightly Ortho cut the girl out from under his nose -time and time again. Teresa, extracting appalling -discords from the guitar, noted this by-play with -gratification; this tiger cub of hers promised good -sport.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Towards one o’clock the supply of spirituous impulse -having given out, the pace slackened down. -Chastened husbands were led home by their wives. -Single men tottered out of doors to get a breath -of fresh air and did not return, were discovered at -dawn peacefully slumbering under mangers, in hen -roosts and out-of-the-way corners. Tamsin Eva’s -betrothed was one of these. He was entering the -house fired with the intention of wresting his lass -from Ortho and taking her home when something -hit him hard on the point of the jaw and all the -lights went out. He woke up next morning far -from clear as to whether he had blundered into the -stone door post or somebody’s ready fist. At all -events it was Ortho who took Tamsin home.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Teresa fell into a doze and had an uncomfortable -dream. All the people she disliked came and made -faces at her, people she had forgotten ages ago and -who in all decency should have forgotten her. They -flickered out of the mists, distorted but recognizable, -clutched at her with hooked fingers, pressed closer -and closer, leering malevolently. Teresa was dismayed. -Not a friend anywhere! She lolled forward, -moaning, “John! Oh, Jan!” Jiggy Dan’s -elbow hit her cheek and she woke up to an otherwise -empty kitchen filled with the reek of burnt -pilchard oil, a dead hearth, and cold night air pouring -in through the open door. She shuddered, -rubbed her sleepy lids and staggered, yawning, to -bed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Jiggy Dan, propped up in the corner, fiddled on, -eyes sealed, mind oblivious, arm sawing mechanically.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They found him in the morning on the yard muck -heap, Martha’s petticoat over his head, fiddle -clasped to his bosom, back to back with a snoring -sow.</p> - -<hr class='tbk'/> - -<p class='pindent'>The Christmas festivities terminated on Twelfth -Night with the visit of goose dancers from Monks -Cove, the central figure of whom was a lad wearing -the hide and horns of a bullock attended by -other boys dressed in female attire. Horse-play and -crude buffoonery was the feature rather than dancing, -and Teresa got some more of her crockery -smashed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Next morning Eli went to Helston for his last -term and Ortho took off his coat.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When Eli came home at midsummer he could -hardly credit his eyes. Ortho had performed miracles. -Very wisely he had not attempted to fight -back the moor everywhere, but had concentrated, -and the fields he had put in crop were done thoroughly, -deep-plowed, well manured and evenly sown—Penaluna -could not make a better show.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The brothers walked over the land on the evening -of Eli’s return; everywhere the young crops -stood up thick and healthy, pushing forwards to -fruition. Ortho glowed with justifiable pride, -talked farming eagerly. He and Ned had given -the old place a hammering, he said. By the Holy -they had! Mended the buildings, whitewashed the -orchard trees, grubbed, plowed, packed ore-weed -and sea-sand, harrowed and hoed from dawn-blink -to star-wink, day in, day out—Sundays included. -But they’d get it all back—oh, aye, and a hundredfold.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli had been in the right; agriculture was the -thing—the good old soil! You put in a handful -and picked up a bushel in a few months. Cattle—pah! -One cow produced but one calf per annum -and that was not marketable for three or four years. -No—wheat, barley and oats forever!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Now Eli was home they could hold all they’d got -and reclaim a field or so a year. In next to no -time they’d have the whole place waving yellow from -bound to bound. Ortho even had designs on the -original moor, saw no reason why they should not -do their own milling in time—they had ample water -power. He glowed with enthusiasm. Eli’s cautious -mind discounted much of these grandiose schemes, -but his heart went out to Ortho; the mellowing -fields before him had not been lightly won.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho was as lean as a herring-bone, sweated -down to bare muscle and sinew. His finger nails -were broken off short, his hands scarred and calloused, -his face was torn with brambles and leathern -with exposure. He had fought a good fight and was -burning for more. Oh, splendid brother!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ned Bohenna was loud in Ortho’s praise. He -was a marvel. He was quicker in the uptake than -even John had been and no work was too hard for -him. The old hind was most optimistic. They had -seeded a fine area and crops were looking famous. -Come three years at this pace the farm would be -back where it was at John’s death, the pick of the -parish.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For the rest, there was not much news. Martha -had been having the cramps severely of late and -Wany was getting whister than ever. Said she was -betrothed to a Spriggan earl who lived in the big -barrow. He had promised to marry her as soon -as he could get his place enlarged—he, he!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There had been a sea battle fought with gaffs -and oars off the Gazells between Jacky’s George and -a couple of Porgwarra boats. Both sides accused -each other of poaching lobster pots. Jacky’s George -sank a Porgwarra boat by dropping a lump of -ballast through her—and then rescued the crew. -They had seen a lot of Pyramus Herne, altogether -too much of Pyramus Herne. He had come down -with a bigger mob of horses and donkeys than usual -and grazed them all over the farm—after dark. -Seeing the way he had befriended Ortho, they could -not well say much to him, especially as they had -grass to spare at present; but it could not go on -like that.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli buckled to beside the others. They got the -hay in, and, while waiting for the crops to ripen, -pulled down a bank (throwing two small fields into -one), rebuilt a couple more, cleaned out the orchard, -hoed the potatoes and put a new roof on the stables. -They were out of bed at five every morning and into -it at eight of an evening, dead-beat, soiled with earth -and sweat, stained with sun and wind. They worked -like horses, ate like wolves and slept like sloths.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho led everywhere. He was first afoot in the -morning, last to bed at night. His quick mind discerned -the easiest way through difficulties, but when -hard labor was inevitable he sprang at it with a -cheer. His voice rang like a bugle round Bosula, -imperious yet merry. He was at once a captain and -a comrade.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Under long days of sunshine and gentle drenches -of rain the crops went on from strength to strength. -It would be a bumper year.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then came the deluge. Wany, her uncanny -weather senses prickling, prophesied it two days in -advance. Bohenna was uneasy, but Ortho, pointing -to the serene sky, laughed at their fears. The next -day the heat became oppressive, and he was not so -sure. He woke at ten o’clock that night to a terrific -clap of thunder, sat up in bed, and watched the little -room flashing from black to white from the winks -of lightning, his own shadow leaping gigantic across -the illuminated wall; heard the rain come up the -valley, roaring through the treetops like surf, break -in a cataract over the Owls’ House and sweep on. -“This’ll stamp us out . . . beat us flat,” he muttered, -and lay wondering what he should do, if there -was anything to do, and as he wondered merciful -sleep came upon him, weary body dragging the spirit -down with it into oblivion.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The rain continued with scarcely less violence for -a week, held off for two days and came down again. -August crept out blear-eyed and draggle-tailed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Penhales saved a few potatoes and about -one-fifth of the cereals—not enough to provide them -with daily bread; they would actually have to buy -meal in the coming year. Bohenna, old child of the -soil, took the calamity with utter calm; he was inured -to these bitter caprices of Nature. Ortho -shrugged his shoulders and laughed. It was nobody’s -fault, he said; they had done all they could; -Penaluna had fared no better. The only course -was to whistle and go at it again; that sort of thing -could hardly happen twice running. He whistled -and went at it again, at once, breaking stone out -of a field towards Polmenna, but Eli knew that for -all his brave talk the heart was out of him. There -was a lassitude in his movements; he was merely -making a show of courage.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Gradually he slowed down. He began to visit -the Kiddlywink of a night, and lay abed long after -sunrise.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At the end of October a fresh bolt fell out of -the blue. The Crowan tin works, in which the -Penhale money was invested, suddenly closed down. -It turned out that they had been running at a loss -for the last eight months in the hope of striking -a new lode, a debt of three hundred pounds had been -incurred, the two other shareholders were without -assets, so, under the old Cost Book system current -in Cornish mining, Teresa was liable for the whole -sum.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was at first aghast, then furious; swore she’d -have the law of the defaulters and hastened straightway -into Penzance to set her lawyer at them. Fortunately -her lawyer was honest; she had no case -and he told her so. When she returned home she -was confronted by her sons; they demanded to know -how they stood. She turned sulky and refused details, -but they managed to discover that there was -not five pounds in the house, that there would be -no more till the Tregors rent came in, and even then -was pledged to money-lenders and shop-keepers—but -as to the extent of her liabilities they could not -find out. She damned them as a pair of ungrateful -whelps and went to bed as black as thunder.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho had a rough idea as to the houses Teresa -patronized, so next day the brothers went to town, -and after a door to door visitation discovered that -she owed in the neighborhood of four hundred -pounds! Four plus three made seven—seven hundred -pounds! What was it to come from? The -Penhales had no notion. By selling off all their -stock they might possibly raise two hundred. Two -hundred, what was that? A great deal less than -half. Their mother would spend the rest of her -life in a debtor’s prison! Oh, unutterable shame!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They doddered about Penzance, sunk in misery. -Then it occurred to Ortho to consult the lawyer. -These quill-driving devils were as cunning as dog -foxes; what they couldn’t get round or over they’d -wriggle through.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The lawyer put them at their ease at once. Mortgage -Bosula or Tregors . . . nothing simpler. -Both strong farms should produce the required sum—and -more. He explained the system, joined his -finger-tips and beamed at the pair over the top.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The brothers shifted on their chairs and pronounced -for Tregors simultaneously. The lawyer -nodded. Very well then. As soon as he got their -mother’s sanction he would set to work. Ortho -promised to settle his mother and the two left.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho had no difficulty with Teresa. He successfully -used the hollow threat of a debtor’s prison -to her, for she had been in a lock-up several times -during her roving youth and had no wish to return.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Besides she was sick of debt, of being pestered -for money here, there and everywhere.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She gave her consent readily enough, and within a -fortnight was called upon to sign.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Carveth Donnithorne, the ever-prospering ship chandler -of Falmouth, was the mortgagee; nine hundred -and fifty pounds was the sum he paid, and -very good value it was.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Teresa settled the Crowan liabilities with the -lawyer, and, parading round the town, squared all -her other accounts in a single afternoon. She did -it in style, swept into the premises of those who -had pressed her, planked her money down, damned -them for a pack of thieves and leeches, swore that -was the end of her custom and stamped majestically -out.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She finished up in a high state of elation. She -had told a number of her enemies exactly what she -thought of them, was free of debt and had a large -sum of ready money in hand again—two hundred -and fifty pounds in three canvas bags, the whole -contained in a saddle wallet.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Opposite the market cross she met an old crony, -a retired ship captain by the name of Jeremiah Gish, -and told him in detail what she had said to the shop-keepers. -The old gentleman listened with all his -ears. He admired Teresa immensely. He admired -her big buxom style, her strength, her fire, but most -of all he revered her for her language. Never in -forty years seafaring had he met with such a flow -of vituperation as Teresa could loose when roused, -such range, such spontaneity, such blistering invention. -It drew him like music. He caught her affectionately -by the arm, led her to a tavern, treated her -to a pot of ale and begged her to repeat what she -had said to the shop-keepers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Teresa, nothing loth, obliged. The old tarpaulin -listened rapt, nodded his bald head in approval, an -expression on his face of one who hears the chiming -of celestial spheres.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A brace of squires jingled in and hallooed to -Teresa. Where had she been hiding all this time? -The feasten sports had been nothing without her. -She ought to have been at Ponsandane the week before. -They had a black bull in a field tied to a -ship’s anchor. The ring parted and the bull went -loose in the crowd with two dogs hanging on him. -Such a screeching and rushing you never did see! -Old women running like two-year-olds and young -women climbing like squirrels and showing leg. . . . -Oh, mercy! The squire hid his face in his hands -and gulped.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Teresa guffawed, took a pound out of one of -the bags, strapped up the wallet again and sat on -it. Then she called the pot boy and ordered a round -of drinks. To blazes with economy for that one -evening!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The company drank to her everlasting good -health, to her matchless eyes and cherry lips. One -squire kissed her; she boxed his ears—not too hard. -He saluted the hand that smote him. His friend -passed his arm round her waist—she let it linger.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Jerry Gish leaned forward and tapped her on -the knee. “Tell ’em what you said to that draper, -my blossom—ecod, yes, and to the Jew . . . tell -’em.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Once more Teresa obliged. The company applauded. -Very apt; that was the way to talk to -the sniveling swine! But her throat must be dry -as a brick. They banged their pots. “Hey, boy! -Another round, damme!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Other admirers drifted in and greeted Teresa -with warmth. Where had she been all this time? -They had missed her sorely. There was much rejoicing -among the unjust over one sinner returned.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Teresa’s soul expanded as a sunflower to the sun. -They were all old friends and she was glad to be -with them again. Twice more for the benefit of -newcomers did Captain Gish prevail on her to repeat -what she had said to her creditors, and by -general request she sang three songs. The pot boy -ran his legs off that night.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Towards eleven p. m. she shook one snoring admirer -from her shoulder, removed the hand of another -from her lap, dropped an ironical curtsey to -the prostrate gentlemen about her and, grasping -the precious wallet, rocked unsteadily into the yard. -She had to rouse an ostler to girth her horse up for -her, and her first attempts at mounting met with disaster, -but she got into the saddle at last, and once -there nothing short of gunpowder could dislodge -her. Her lids were like lead; drowsiness was crushing -her. She kept more or less awake until Bucca’s -Pass was behind, but after that she abandoned the -struggle and sleep swallowed her whole.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was aroused at Bosula gate by the barking -of her own dogs, unstrapped the wallet, turned the -roan into the stable as it stood, and staggered upstairs. -Five minutes later she was shouting at the -top of her lungs. She had been robbed; one of the -hundred pound bags was missing!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The household ran to her call. When had she -missed it? Who had she been with? Where had -she dropped it? Teresa was not clear about anything. -She might have dropped it anywhere between -Penzance and home, or again she might have -been robbed in the tavern or the streets. The point -was that she had lost one hundred pounds and they -had got to find it—now, at once! They were to -take the road back, ransack the town, inform the -magistrates. Out with them! Away!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Having delivered herself, she turned over and -was immediately asleep.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho went back to bed. He would go to Penzance -if necessary, he said, but it was useless before -dawn. Let the others look close at home first.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Wany and Martha took a lantern and prodded -about in the yard, clucking like hens. Eli lit a second -lantern and went to the stable. Perhaps his -mother had dropped the bag dismounting. He -found the roan horse standing in its stall, unsaddled -it, felt in the remaining wallet, turned over the litter—nothing. -As he came out he noticed that the second -horse was soaking wet. Somebody had been -riding hard, could only have just got in before -Teresa. Ortho of course. He wondered what his -brother was up to. After some girl probably . . . -he had heard rumors.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Martha reported the yard bare, so he followed -the hoof tracks up the lane some way—nothing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho was up at dawn, ready to go into town, -but Teresa, whose recuperative powers were little -short of marvelous, was up before him and went -in herself. She found nothing on the road and got -small consolation from the magistrates.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>People who mixed their drinks and their company -when in possession of large sums of ready money -should not complain if they lost it. She ought to -be thankful she had not been relieved of the lot. -They would make inquiries, of course, but held out -no hope. There was an officer with a string of recruits -in town, an Irish privateer and two foreign -ships in the port, to say nothing of the Guernsey -smugglers—the place was seething with covetous -and desperate characters. They wagged their wigs -and doubted if she would ever see her money again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She never did.</p> - -<div><h1>CHAPTER XIII</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>Some three weeks after Teresa’s loss Eli found -his brother in the yard fitting a fork-head to -a new haft.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Saw William John Prowse up to Church-town,” -said he. “He told me to tell you that you must -take the two horses over to once because he’s got -to go away.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho frowned. Under his breath he consigned -William John Prowse to eternal discomfort. Then -his face cleared.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ve been buying a horse or two for Pyramus,” -he remarked casually. “He’ll be down along next -week.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli gave him a curious glance. Ortho looked up -and their eyes met.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What’s the matter?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It was you stole that hundred pounds from -mother, I suppose.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho started and then stared. “Me! My -Lord, what next! Me steal that . . . well, I be -damned! Think I’d turn toby and rob my own -family, do you? Pick my right pocket to fill my -left? God’s wrath, you’re a sweet brother!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I do think so, anyhow,” said Eli doggedly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How? Why?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ’Cos King Herne can do his own buying and -because on the night mother was robbed you were -out.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho laughed again. “Smart as a gauger, aren’t -you? Well, now I’ll tell you. William John let -me have the horses on trust, and as for being out, -I’m out most every night. I’d been to Churchtown. -I’ve got a sweetheart there, if you must -know. So now, young clever!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli shrugged his shoulders and turned away.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Don’t you believe me?” Ortho called.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why not?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ’Cos ’tis well known William John Prowse -wouldn’t trust his father with a turnip, and that -Polly mare hadn’t brought you two miles from -Gwithian. She’d come three times that distance and -hard. She was as wet as an eel; I felt her.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho bit his lip. “So ho, steady!” he called -softly. “Come round here a minute.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He led the way round the corner of the barn -and Eli followed. Ortho leaned against the wall, -all smiles again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“See here, old son,” said he in a whisper, “you’re -right. I did it. But I did it for you, for your -sake, mind that.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Me!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho nodded. “Surely. Look you, in less than -two years Tregors and this here place fall to me, -don’t they?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes,” said Eli.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho tapped him on the chest. “Well, the minute -I get possession I’m going to give you Tregors, -lock, stock and barrel. That’s the way father meant -it, I take it—only he didn’t have time to put it in -writing. But now Tregors is in the bag, and how -are we going to get it out if mother will play chuck-guinea -like she does?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So that’s why you stole the money?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s why—and, harkee, don’t shout ‘stole’ so -loud. It ain’t stealing to take your own, is it?” -Ortho whistled. “My Lord, I sweated, Eli! I -thought some one would have it before I did. The -whole of Penzance knew she’d been about town all -day with a bag of money, squaring her debts and -lashing it about. To finish up she was in a room -at the ‘Star’ with a dozen of bucks, all of ’em -three sheets in the wind and roaring. I seen them -through a chink in the shutters and I tell you I -sweated blood. But she’s cunning. When she sat -down she sat on the wallet and stopped there. It -would have taken a block and tackle to pull her -off. I went into the ‘Star’ passage all muffled up -about the face like as if I had jaw-ache. The pot -boy came along with a round of drinks for the crowd -inside. ‘Here, drop those a minute and fetch me -a dash of brandy for God Almighty’s sake,’ says -I, mumbling and talking like an up-countryman. -‘I’m torn to pieces with this tooth. Here’s a silver -shilling and you can keep the change if you’re quick. -Oh, whew! Ouch!’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I tossed him the shilling—the last I’d got—and -he dropped the pots there and then and dived after -the brandy. I gave the pots a good dusting with -a powder Pyramus uses on rogue horses to keep -’em quiet while he’s selling ’em. Then the boy came -back. I drank the brandy and went outside again -and kept watch through the shutters. It worked -pretty quick; what with the mixed drinks they’d had -and the powder, the whole crew was stretched snoring -in a quarter hour. But not she. She’s as strong -as a yoke of bulls. She yawned a bit, but when the -others went down she got up and went after her -horse, taking the wallet along. I watched her mount -from behind the rain barrel in the yard and a pretty -job she made of it. The ostler had to heave her -up, and the first time she went clean over, up one -side and down t’other. Second time she saved herself -by clawing the ostler’s hair and near clawed -his scalp off; he screeched like a slit pig.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I watched that ostler as well, watched in case -he might chance his fingers in the wallet, but he -didn’t. She was still half awake and would have -brained him if he’d tried it on. A couple of men—stranded -seamen, I think—came out of an alley by -the Abbey and dogged her as far as Lariggan, closing -up all the time, but when they saw me behind -they gave over and hid in under the river bank. -She kept awake through Newlyn, nodding double. -I knew she couldn’t last much longer—the wonder -was she had lasted so long. On top of Paul Hill -I closed up as near as I dared and then went round -her, across country as hard as I could flog, by -Chyoone and Rosvale.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A dirty ride, boy; black as pitch and crossed -with banks and soft bottoms. Polly fell down and -threw me over her head twice . . . thought my -neck was broke. We came out on the road again -at Trevelloe. I tied Polly to a tree and walked back -to meet ’em. They came along at a walk, the old -horse bringing his cargo home like he’s done scores -of times.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I called his name softly and stepped out of the -bushes. He stopped, quiet as a lamb. Mother -never moved; she was dead gone, but glued to the -saddle. She’s a wonder. I got the wallet open, -put my hand in and had just grabbed hold of a -bag when Prince whinnied; he’d winded his mate, -Polly, down the road. You know how it is when -a horse whinnies; he shakes all through. Hey, but -it gave me a start! It was a still night and the old -brute sounded like a squad of trumpets shouting -‘Ha!’ like they do in the Bible. ‘Ha, ha, ha, he, he, -he!’</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I jumped back my own length and mother lolled -over towards me and said soft-like, ‘Pass the can -around.’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s part of a song she sings,” said Eli, “a -drinking song.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho nodded. “I know, but it made me jump -when she said it; she said it so soft-like. I thought -the horse had shaken her awake, and I ran for dear -life. Before I’d gone fifty yards I knew I was -running for nothing, but I couldn’t go back. It was -the first time I’d sto . . . I’d done anything like -that and I was scared of Prince whinnying again. -I ran down the road with the old horse coming -along clop-clop behind me, jumped on Polly and galloped -home without looking back. I wasn’t long -in before her as it was.” He drew a deep breath. -“But I kept the bag and I’ve got it buried where she -won’t find it.” He smiled at his own cleverness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What are you going to do with the money?” -Eli asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Buy horses cheap and sell ’em dear. I learnt -a trick or two when I was away with Pyramus -and I’m going to use ’em. There’s nothing like it. -I’ve seen him buy a nag for a pound and sell it -for ten next week. I’m going to make Pyramus -take my horses along with his. They’ll be bought -as his, so that people won’t wonder where I got -the money, and they’ll go up-country and be sold -with his—see? I’ve got it all thought out.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But will Pyramus do it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho clicked his even white teeth. “Aye, I -reckon he will . . . if he wants to winter here -again. How many two-pound horses can I buy for -a hundred pounds?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Fifty.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And fifty sold at ten pounds each, how much is -that?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Five hundred pounds.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How long will it take me to pay off the mortgage -at that rate?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Two years . . . at that rate. But there’s the -interest too, and . . .”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho smote him on the back. “Oh, cheerily, old -long-face, all’s well! The rent’ll pay the interest, -as thou thyself sayest, and I’ll fetch in the money -somehow. We’ll harvest a mighty crop next season -and the horses’ll pay bags full. In two years’ -time I’ll put my boot under that fat cheese-weevil -Carveth and you shall ride into Tregors like a king. -If only I could have got hold of that second hundred! -You don’t know where mother hides her -money, do you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No more do I . . . but I will. I’ll sit over her -like a puss at a mouse hole. I’ll have some more -of it yet.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Leave it alone,” said Eli; “she’s sure to find -out and then there’ll be the devil to pay. Besides, -whatever you say about it being our money it don’t -seem right. Leave it be.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho threw an arm about his neck and laughed -at him.</p> - -<hr class='tbk'/> - -<p class='pindent'>Pyramus Herne arrived on New Year’s Eve and -was not best pleased when Ortho announced his -project. He had no wish to be bothered with extra -horses that brought no direct profit to himself, but -he speedily recognized that he had a new host to -deal with, that young Penhale had cut his wisdom -teeth and that if he wanted the run of the Upper -Keigwin Valley he’d have to pay for it. So he -smiled his flashing smile and consented, on the understanding -that he accepted no responsibility for -any mishap and that Ortho found his own custom. -The boy agreed to this and set about buying.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He picked up a horse here and there, but mainly -he bought broken-down pack mules from the mines -round St. Just. He bought wisely. His purchases -were a ragged lot, yet never so ragged but that -they could be patched up. When not out looking -for mules he spent practically all his time in the -gypsy camp, firing, blistering, trimming misshapen -hoofs, shotting roarers, filing and bishoping teeth. -The farm hardly saw him; Eli and Bohenna put the -seed in.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Pyramus left with February, driving the biggest -herd he had ever taken north. This, of course, included -Ortho’s lot, but the boy had not got fifty -beasts for his hundred pounds—he had got thirty-three -only—but he was still certain of making his -four hundred per cent, he told Eli; mules were in -demand, being hardy, long-lived and frugal, and his -string were in fine fettle. With a few finishing -touches, their blemishes stained out, a touch of the -clippers here and there, a pinch of ginger to give -them life, some grooming and a sleek over with an -oil rag, there would be no holding the public back -from them. He would be home for harvest, his -pockets dribbling gold.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He went one morning before dawn without telling -Teresa he was going, jingled out of the yard, dressed -in his best, astride one of Pyramus’ showiest colts. -His tirade against gypsy life and his eulogy of the -delights of home, delivered to Eli on his return from -his first trip with Pyramus, had been perfectly honest. -He had had a rough experience and was played -out.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But he was tired no longer. He rode to join -Pyramus, singing the Helston Flurry Song:</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“Where are those Span-i-ards</p> -<p class='line0'>That made so brave a boast—O?</p> -<p class='line0'>They shall eat the gray goose feather</p> -<p class='line0'>And we will eat the roast—O.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli, leaning over the gate, listened to the gay -voice dwindling away up the valley, and then turned -with a sigh.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dawn was breaking, the mists were rolling up, -the hills loomed gigantic in the half-light, studded -with granite escarpments, patchworked with clumps -of gorse, thorn and bracken—his battlefield.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho had gone again, gone singing to try his -fortune in the great world among foreign multitudes. -For him the dour grapple with the wilderness—and -he was glad of it. He disliked foreigners, -disliked taking chances. Here was something -definite, something to lock his teeth in, something -to be subdued by sheer dogged tenacity. He broke -the news that Ortho had gone gypsying again that -evening at supper.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Teresa exploded like a charge of gun-powder. -She announced her intention of starting after her -son at once, dragging him home and having Pyramus -arrested for kidnapping. Then she ramped up -and down the kitchen, cursing everybody present -for not informing her of Ortho’s intentions. When -they protested that they had been as ignorant as -herself, she damned them for answering her back.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli, who came in for most of her abuse, slipped -out and over the hill to Roswarva, had a long -farming talk with Penaluna and borrowed a pamphlet -on the prevention of wheat diseases.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The leggy girl Mary sat in a corner sewing by -the light of a pilchard chill and saying never a word. -Just before Eli left she brought him a mug of cider, -but beyond drinking the stuff he hardly noticed the -act and even forgot to thank her. He found Teresa -sitting up for him. She had her notched sticks and -the two remaining money bags on the table in front -of her. She looked worried.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Here,” she growled as her younger son entered. -“Count this.” Eli counted. There was a round -hundred pounds in the one bag and thirty-one -pounds, ten shillings and fourpence in the other. He -told her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There was fifty,” said she. “How much have -I spent then?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Eighteen pounds, ten shillings and eightpence.” -Eli made a demonstration on his fingers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Teresa’s black eyebrows first rose and then -crumpled together ominously.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Eighteen!” she echoed, and began to tick off -items on her own fingers, mumbling sotto voce. She -paused at the ninth finger, racked her brains for forgotten -expenditures and began the count over again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli sat down before the hearth and pulled his -boots off. He could feel his mother’s suspicious -eyes on him. Twice she cleared her throat as if -to speak, but thought better of it. He went to -bed, leaving her still bent over the table twiddling -her notched stick. Her eyes followed him up the -stairs, perplexed, angry, with a hot gleam in them -like a spark in coal.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>So Ortho had found her hiding place after all -and had robbed her so cleverly that she was not -perfectly sure she had been robbed. Eli tumbled -into bed wishing his brother were not quite so clever. -He fell asleep and had a dream in which he saw -Ortho hanging in chains which creaked as they -swung in the night winds.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Scared by the loss of her money, Teresa had -another attack of extravagant economy during which -the Tregors lease fell in. She promptly put up -the rent; the old tenant refused to carry on and a -new one had to be found. An unknown hind from -Budock Water, near Falmouth, accepted the terms.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Teresa congratulated herself on a bright stroke of -business and all went on as before.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli and Bohenna worked out early and late; the -weather could not have been bettered and the crops -promised wonders. Eli, surveying the propitious -fields, was relieved to think Ortho would be back -for harvest, else he did not know how they would -get it home.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>No word had come from the wanderer. None -was expected, but he was sure to be back for August; -he had sworn to be. Ortho was back on the fourth -of July.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli came in from work and, to his surprise, found -him sitting in the kitchen relating the story of his -adventures. He had a musical voice, a Gallic trick -of gesticulation and no compunction whatever about -laughing at his own jokes. His recital was most -vivacious.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Even Teresa guffawed—in spite of herself. She -had intended to haul Master Ortho over an exceedingly -hot bed of coals when he returned, but -for the moment she could not bring herself to it. -He had started talking before she could, and his -talk was extremely diverting; she did not want to -interrupt it. Moreover, he looked handsomer than -ever—tall, graceful, darkly sparkling. She was -proud of him, her mother sense stirred. He was -very like herself.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>From hints dropped here and there she guessed -he had met with not a few gallant episodes on his -travels and determined to sit up after the others -had gone to bed and get details out of him. They -would make spicy hearing. Such a boy must be -irresistible. The more women he had ruined the -better she would be pleased, the greater the tribute -to her offspring. She was a predatory animal herself -and this was her own cub. As for the wigging, -that could wait until they fell out about something -else and she was worked up; fly at him in cold blood -she could not, not for the moment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho jumped out of his chair when Eli entered -and embraced him with great warmth, commented -on his growth, thumped the boy’s deep chest, -pinched his biceps and called to Bohenna to behold -the coming champion.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My Lord, but here’s a chicken that’ll claw the -breast feathers out o’ thee before long, old fighting -cock—thee or any other in Devon or Cornwall—eh, -then?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Bohenna grinned and wagged his grizzled poll.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Stap me, little brother, I’d best keep a civil -tongue before thee, seem me. Well, as I was saying—”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He sat down and continued his narrative.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli leaned against the settle, listening and looking -at Ortho. He was evidently in the highest spirits, -but he had not the appearance of a man with five -hundred pounds in his possession. He wore the -same suit of clothes in which he had departed and -it was in an advanced state of dilapidation; the braid -edging hung in strings, one elbow was barbarously -patched with a square of sail-cloth and the other -was out altogether. His high wool stockings were -a mere network and his boots lamentable. However -that was no criterion; gypsying was a rough -life and it would be foolish to spoil good clothes -on it. Ortho himself looked worn and thin; he had -a nasty, livid cut running the length of his right -cheek bone and the gesticulating palms were raw -with open blisters, but his gay laugh rang through -the kitchen, melodious, inspiring. He bore the air -of success; all was well, doubtless.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli fell to making calculations. Ortho had five -hundred pounds, Teresa still had a hundred; that -made six. Ortho would require a hundred as capital -for next year, and then, if he could repeat his success, -they would be out of the trap. He felt a rush -of affection for his brother, ragged and worn from -his gallant battle with the world—and all for his -sake. Tregors mattered comparatively little to -Ortho, since he was giving it up and was fully provided -for with Bosula. Ortho’s generosity overwhelmed -him. There was nobody like Ortho.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The gentleman in question finished an anecdote -with a clap of laughter, sprang to his feet, pinned -his temporarily doting mother in her chair and -kissed her, twitched Martha’s bonnet strings loose, -punched Bohenna playfully in the chest, caught Eli -by the arm and swung him into the yard.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come across to the stable, my old dear; I’ve -got something to show you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Horse?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Lord, no! I’ve got no horse. Walked from -Padstow.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You!—walked!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, heel and toe . . . two days. God, my feet -are sore!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How did you come to get to Padstow?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Collier brig from Cardiff. Had to work my -passage at that; my hands are like raw meat from -hauling on those damned braces—look! Slept in a -cow-shed at Illogan last night and milked the cows -for breakfast. I’ll warrant the farmer wondered -why they were dry this morning—ha, ha! Never -mind, that’s all over. What do you think of this?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He reached inside the stable door and brought -out a new fowling piece.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Bought this for you in Gloucester,” said he; -“thought of you the minute I saw it. It’s pounds -lighter than father’s old blunderbuss, and look here -. . . this catch holds the priming and keeps it dry; -pull the trigger, down comes the hammer, knocks -the catch up and bang! See? Clever, ain’t it? -Take hold.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli took hold of the gun like a man in a dream. -Beautiful weapon though it was, he did not even -look at it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But why . . . why did you work your passage?” -he asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Because they wouldn’t carry me for nothing, -wood-head.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Were you trying to save money?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Eh?—er—ye-es.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Have you done as well as you expected, Ortho?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“N-o, not quite. I’ve had the most damnable -luck, old boy.” He took Eli’s arm. “You never -heard of such bad luck in your life—and none of -it my fault. I sold a few mules at first at good -prices, but the money went—a man must eat as -he goes, you know—and then there was that gun; it -cost a pretty penny. Then trouble began. I lost -three beasts at Tewkesbury. They got scared in -the night. One broke a shoulder and two went over -a quarry. But at Hereford . . . Oh, my God!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What happened?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Glanders. They went like flies. Pyramus saw -what it was right off, and we ran for it, south, selling -horses to the first bid; that is, we tried to, but -they were too sick and word went faster than we. -The crowd got ugly, swore we’d infected the country -and they’d hang us; they would have, too, if -we’d waited. They very nearly had me, boy, very -nearly.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Did they mark your face like that?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They did, with a lump of slate. And that isn’t -all. I’ve got half a dozen more like it scattered -about.” He laughed. “But no matter; they didn’t -get me and I’m safe home again, thank God!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And the horses?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They killed every one of ’em to stop the infection.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then you haven’t got any money?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho shook his head. “Not a penny.”</p> - -<div><h1>CHAPTER XIV</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>Misfortune did not daunt Ortho for -long; the promising state of the home fields -put fresh heart in him. He plunged at the -work chanting a pæan in praise of agriculture, tore -through obstacles and swept up his tasks with a -speed and thoroughness which left Eli and Bohenna -standing amazed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Penhale brothers harvested a record crop -that season—but so did everybody else. The market -was glutted and prices negligible. Except that -their own staple needs were provided for, they were -no better off than previously. Eli did not greatly -care—he had done what he had set out to do, bring -a good crop home—but Ortho fell into a state of -profound gloom; it was money that he wanted.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It seemed to make little difference in agriculture -whether you harvested a bumper yield or none at -all. He had no capital to start in the second-hand -horse trade again—even did he wish to—and he had -no knowledge of any other business. He was on -the desperate point of enlisting in the army on the -chance of being sent abroad and gathering in a -little loot, when opportunity rapped loudly on his -door.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He had run down towards Tol-Pedn-Penwith -with Jacky’s George one afternoon in late September. -It was a fine afternoon, with a smooth sea, -and all the coves between Merther Point and Carn -Scathe were full of whitebait. They crowded close -inshore in dense shoals, hiding from the mackerel. -When the mackerel charged them they stampeded -in panic, frittering the surface like wind-flaws. The -gig’s crew attacked the attackers and did so well -that they did not notice the passage of time.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Jacky’s George came to his senses as the sun -slipped under, and clapped on all sail for home. -He appeared in a hurry. By the time they were -abreast of the Camper, the wind, which had been -backing all the afternoon, was a dead-muzzler. -Jacky’s George did what he was seldom known to -do; he blasphemed, ported his helm and ran on a -long leg out to sea. By ten o’clock they had leveled -Boscawen Point, but the wind fell away altogether -and they were becalmed three miles out in the Channel. -Jacky’s George blasphemed again and ordered -oars out. The gig was heavy and the tide against -them. It took Ortho and three young Baragwanaths -an hour and a half to open Monks Cove.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho could not see the reason of it, of wrenching -one’s arms out, when in an hour or two the -tide would carry them in. However, he knew better -than to question Jacky’s George’s orders. Even -when Monks Cove was reached the little man did -not go in, but pointed across for Black Carn. As -they paddled under the lee of the cape there came -a peculiar whistle from the gloom ahead, to which -the bow-oar responded, and Ortho made out a boat -riding to a kedge. They pulled alongside and made -fast. It was the second Baragwanath gig, with the -eldest son, Anson, and the remainder of the brothers -aboard.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Who’s that you got wid ’e?” came the hushed -voice of Anson.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ortho Penhale,” his father replied. “Hadn’t -time to put en ashore—becalmed way out. Has a -showed up yet?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Naw, a’s late.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ess. Wind’s felled away. All quiet in Cove?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ess, sure. Every road’s watched and Ma’s got -a furze stacked up to touch off if she gets warning.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“All right . . . well, keep your eye peeled for -his signal.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Light suddenly broke on Ortho. There was a -run on and he was in it—thrilling! He leaned towards -Jacky’s George and whispered, “Who’s coming? -Roscoff boat?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Jacky’s George uttered two words which sent an -electric quiver through him:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“King Nick.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>King Nick. Captain Nicholas Buzza, prince of -Free Traders, the man who had made more runs -than all the rest put together, who owned a fleet -of armed smugglers and cheated the Revenue of -thousands a year. Who had fooled the riding officers -times out of number and beaten off the Militia. -Who had put to sea after a big privateer sent to -suppress him, fought a running fight from Godrevy -to Trevose and sent her diving down the deep sea. -The mercurial, dare-devil King Nick who was said -to be unable to sleep comfortably unless there was -a price on his head; who had raided Penzance by -the light of the moon and recaptured a lost cargo; -who had been surprised by the gaugers off Cawsand, -chopped to bits with cutlasses, left for dead—and -then swam ashore; who was reported to walk -through Peter Port with all the Guernsey merchants -bowing low before him, was called “Duc de Roscoff” -in Brittany, and commanded more deference in -Schiedam than its own Burgomaster. King Nick, -the romantic idol of every West Country boy, coming -to Monks Cove that very night, even then moving -towards them through the dark. Ortho felt -as if he were about to enter the presence of Almighty -God.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is it a big run?” he whispered to Jacky’s George, -trembling with excitement.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Naw, main run was at Porthleven last night. -This is but the leavings. A few trifles for the Kiddlywink -to oblige me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is King Nick a friend of yours, then?” said -Ortho, wide-eyed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Lord save you, yes! We was privateering together -years ago.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho regarded the fisherman with added veneration.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If a don’t come soon a’ll miss tide,” Anson -hissed from the other boat.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He’ll come, tide or no tide,” snapped his father. -“Hold tongue, will ’e? Dost want whole world -to hear?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Anson subsided.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was a faint mist clouding the sea, but -overhead rode a splendor of stars, an illimitable -glitter of silver dust. Nothing was to be heard but -the occasional scrape of sea-boots as one cramped -boy or other shifted position, the wail of a disturbed -sea bird from the looming rookeries above them, -the everlasting beat of surf on the Twelve Apostles -a mile away to the southwest and the splash and -sigh of some tired ninth wave heaving itself over -the ledges below Black Carn.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>An hour went by. Ashore a cock crowed, and a -fisherman’s donkey, tethered high up the cliff-side, -roared asthmatically in reply. The boats swung -round as the tide slackened and made. The night -freshened. Ripples lapped the bows. The land -wind was blowing. Ortho lay face-down on the -stroke thwart and yawned. Adventure—if adventure -there was to be—was a long time coming. He -was getting cold. The rhythmic lift and droop of -the gig, the lisp and chuckle of the water voices -had a hypnotic effect on him. He pillowed his cheek -on his forearms and drowsed, dreamt he was swaying -in gloomy space, disembodied, unsubstantial, a -wraith dipping and soaring over a bottomless void. -Clouds rolled by him big as continents. He saw -the sun and moon below him no bigger than pins’ -heads and world upon glittering world strewn across -the dark like grains of sand. He could not have -long lain thus, could not have fallen fully asleep, -for Anson’s first low call set him wide awake.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sail ho!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Both boats’ crews sat up as one man.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where away?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sou’-east.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho’s eyes bored into the hollow murk seawards, -but could distinguish nothing for the moment. -Then, as he stared, it seemed to him that -the dark smudge that was the corner of the -Carn was expanding westwards. It stretched and -stretched until, finally, a piece detached itself altogether -and he knew it was a big cutter creeping -close inshore under full sail. Never a wink of light -did the stranger show.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hast lantern ready?” hissed Jacky’s George.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Aye,” from Anson.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Cast off there, hoist killick and stand by.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Aye, aye!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The blur that was the cutter crept on, silent as -a shadow, almost indistinguishable against the further -dark, a black moth on black velvet. All eyes -watched her. Suddenly a green light glowed amidships, -stabbing the inky waters with an emerald -dagger, glowed steadily, blinked out, glowed again -and vanished. Ortho felt his heart bound into his -throat.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now,” snapped Jacky’s George. “Show lantern -. . . four times, remember.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Anson stood up and did as he was bid.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The green lantern replied, the cutter rounded -up in the wind and drifted towards them, tide-borne.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Out oars and pull,” said Jacky’s George.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They swept within forty yards of the cutter.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ’Vast pulling,” came a voice from her bows.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Back water, all!” Jacky’s George commanded.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is that George Baragwanath?” came the voice -again, a high-pitched, kindly voice, marvelously -clear.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Aye, aye!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What’s the word then, my dear?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hosannah!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What’s that there boat astern of ’e?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mine—my second boat.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, tell him to keep off a cable’s length till -I’ve seen to ’e,” the amiable voice continued. “If -he closes ’fore I tell en I’ll blow him outer the -water as God is my salvation. No offense meant, -but we can’t take chances, you understand. Come -ahead, you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The gig’s crew gave way and brought their craft -alongside the smuggler.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“One at a time,” said the voice somewhere in -the darkness above them, mild as a ringdove. -“George, my dear soul, step up alone, will ’e, -please?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Jacky’s George went over the rail and out of -sight.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho heard the voice greet him affectionately -and then attend to the helmsman.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Back fore-sail, Zebedee; she’ll jam ’tween wind -and tide. No call to anchor. We’ll have this little -deck load off in ten minutes, please God, amen! -There it is all before you, George—low Hollands -proof, brandy, sugar, and a snatch of snuff. Tally -it, will you, please. We’re late, I’m afraid. I was -addressing a few earnest seekers after grace at -Rosudgeon this afternoon and the word of the Lord -came upon me and I spake overlong, I fear, trembling -and sweating in my unworthiness—and then -the wind fell very slight. I had to sweep her along -till, by God’s infinite mercy, I picked up this shore -draught. Whistle up your second boat and we’ll -load ’em both sides to once. You haven’t been -washed in the blood of the Lamb as yet, have you, -George? Ah, that it might be vouchsafed this unworthy -vessel to purge you with hyssop! I must -have a quiet talk with you. Steady with them tubs, -Harry; you’ll drop ’em through the gig.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For the next quarter of an hour Ortho was busy -stowing casks lowered by the cutter’s crew, but all -the time the sweet voice went on. It seemed to be -trying to persuade Jacky’s George into something -he would not do. He could hear the pair tramping -the deck above him side by side—one, two, three, -four and roundabout, one, two, three, four and -roundabout—the voice purling like a melodious -brook; Jacky’s George’s gruff negatives, and the -brook purling on again unruffled. Nobody else on -the cutter uttered a sound; it might have been -manned by a company of mutes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Anson called from the port side that he was -loaded. Jacky’s George broke off his conversation -and crossed over.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Pull in then. Soon’s you’ve got ’em stowed -show a spark and I’ll follow.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Anson’s gig disappeared shorewards, wallowing -deep. Jacky’s George gripped a stay with his hook -and swung over the rail into his own boat.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I can’t do it, cap’n,” he called. “Good night -and thank ’e kindly all the same. Cast off!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They were away. It burst upon Ortho that he -had not seen his hero—that he never would. In a -minute the tall cutter would be fading away seawards -as mysteriously as she had come and the -great King Nick would be never anything to him -but a voice. He could have cried out with disappointment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Push off,” said Jacky’s George.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho leant on his oar and pushed and, as he -did so, somebody sprang from the cutter’s rail, -landed on the piled casks behind him as lightly as -a cat, steadied himself with a hand on his shoulder -and dropped into the stern-sheets beside the fisherman.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Coming ashore wid ’e, George,” said the voice, -“and by God’s grace I’ll persuade ’e yet.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>King Nick was in the boat!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mind what I bade ’e, Zebedee,” he hailed the -cutter. “Take she round to once and I’ll be off to-morrow -night by God’s providence and loving kindness.” -The cutter swung slowly on her heel, drifted -beam on to the lapping tide, felt her helm and was -gone, blotted out, swallowed up, might never have -been.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But King Nick was in the boat! Ortho could not -see him—he was merely a smudged silhouette—but -he was in the stern-sheets not a yard distant. Their -calves were actually rubbing! Could such things -be?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They paddled in and hung a couple of cables’ -length off shore waiting Anson’s signal. The smuggler -began his argument again, and this time Ortho -heard all; he couldn’t help it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Think of the money in it, George. You’ve got -a growing family. Think o’ your duty to them.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I reckon they won’t starve—why won’t the bay -men do ’e?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ’Cos there’s a new collector coming to Penzance -and a regiment o’ dragoons, and you know what they -rogues are—‘their mouth is full of cursing and bitterness, -their feet are swift to shed blood’—nothing -like they poor lambs the militia. Won’t be able to -move a pack horse between Mousehole and Marazion -wid they lawless scum about—God ha’ mercy -on ’em and pardon ’em!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Who told ’e new collector and sojers is coming?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The old collector, Mr. Hawkesby. Took him a -pin o’ crafty old Jamaica with my respects only last -Tuesday and he showed me the letter signed and -sealed. An honorable Christian gentleman is Mr. -Hawkesby; many a holy discourse have I had with -him. He wouldn’t deceive me. No, George, -‘Strangers are risen up against me and tyrants.’ . . . -‘Lo, the ungodly bend their bow.’ ”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Umph! Well, why don’t ’e run it straight on -north coast, handy to market?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>King Nick’s voice took on a slightly pained tone. -“George, George, my dear life, ponder, will ’e? -Consider where between St. Ives and Sennen <span class='it'>can</span> I -run a cargo. And how many days a week in winter -can I land at Sennen—eh? Not one. Not one in -a month hardly. ‘He gathereth the waters of the -sea together, as it was upon a heap.’ Psalm thirty-three. -And it’s in winter that the notable hard -drinking’s done, as thou well knowest. What else -is the poor dear souls to do in the long bitter evenings? -Think o’ they poor St. Just tinners down -in the damp and dark all day. ’Tis the duty of -any man professing Christian love and charity to -assist they poor souls to get a drop of warm liquor -cheap. What saith the Book? ‘Blessed is he that -considereth the poor and needy.’ Think on that, -George.” There were tears in the melodious brook.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Jacky’s George grunted. “Dunno as I’ve got any -turrible love for tinners. The last pair o’ they -mucky toads as comed here pretty nigh clawed my -house down. Why not Porgwarra or Penberth?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ’Cos there aren’t a man there I’d trust, George. -I wouldn’t put my trust en nobody but you—‘The -faithful are minished from among the sons o’ men.’ -You run a bit for yourself; why can’t ’e run a bit -more and make a fortune? What’s come over ’e, -my old and bold? ’Fraid, are ’e, all to once? What -for? You’ve got a snug landing and a straight -track over the moors, wid never a soul to see ’e -pass. Riders can’t rush ’e here in this little crack -o’ the rocks; they’d break their stiff necks. ‘Let -their way be dark and slippery and let the angel -of the Lord persecute them: and we shall wash our -footsteps in the blood of the ungodly.’ What makes -’e hold back, old shipmate?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Horses,” said Jacky’s George. “Lookee, Cap’n -Nick, the money’s good and I do respect it as much -as the next man. I aren’t ’fraid of riders nor anything -else—save tumors—and if it were only a matter -of landing, why, I’d land ’s much stuff as you’ve -a mind to. But carry goods to St. Just for ’e, I -won’t, for that means horses, and horses means -farmers. I’m bred to the sea myself and I can’t -abide farmers. I’ve tried it before and there’s always -trouble. It do take a week walking round -the earth collecting ’em, and then some do show -up and some don’t, and where are we then? Why, -where the cat was—in the tar-barrel. Paul farmers -won’t mix wid Gwithian, and Sancreed can’t stomach -neither. And, what is more, they do eat up all -your profits—five shillings here, ten shillings there—and -that ain’t the end of it. When you think -you’ve done paying a farmer, slit me, you’ve only -just begun. I won’t be plagued wid ’em, so that’s -the finish.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Listen to me a minute,” King Nick purled on, -quite undeterred. “I’ll tell ’e. . . .”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“T’eddn no manner of use, cap’n,” said Jacky’s -George, standing up. “There’s the light showing. -Way all! Bend to it!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The gig shot shorewards for the slip.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The manner in which the Baragwanath family disposed -of a run contained the elements of magic. It -was a conjuring trick, no less—“now you see it, now -you don’t.” At one moment the slip-head was -chockablock with bales and barrels; at the next it -was bare. They swooped purposefully out of nowhere, -fell upon the goods and—hey, presto!—spirited -themselves back into nowhere, leaving the -slip wiped clean.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Including one son and two daughters-in-law, the -tribe mustered fourteen in all, and in the handling -of illicit merchandise the ladies were as gifted as -the gentlemen. Ortho was laboriously trundling a -cask up the slip when he encountered one of the -Misses Baragwanath, who gave him a push and took -the matter out of his hands. By the time he had -recovered his balance she had gone and so had the -cask. It was too dark to see which way she went. -Not that he was interested; on the contrary, he -wanted to think. He had a plan forming in his -head, a money-making plan.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He strode up and down the bare strip by the -boat capstan getting the details clear. It did not -take him long, being simplicity itself. He hitched -his belt and marched up the little hamlet hot with -inspiration.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Subdued mysterious sounds came from the surrounding -darkness, whispering thuds, shovel scrapings, -sighs as of men heaving heavy weights. A -shed suddenly exploded with the clamour of startled -hens. In another a sow protested vocally against -the disturbance of her bed. There was a big bank -running beside the stream in front of “The Admiral -Anson.” As Ortho passed by the great mass of -earth and bowlders became articulate. A voice deep -within its core said softly, “Shift en a bit further -up, Zack; there’s three more to come.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho saw a thin chink of light between two of -the bowlders, grinned and strode into the kitchen -of the Kiddlywink. There was a chill burning on -the table and a kettle humming on the hearth. -Jacky’s George sat before the fire, stirring a mug -of grog which he held between his knees. Opposite -him sat a tall old man dressed in unrelieved black -from neck to toe. A wreath of snowy hair circled -his bald pate like a halo. A pair of tortoise-shell -spectacles jockeyed the extreme tip of his nose, he -regarded Jacky’s George over their rims with an -expression benign but pained.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Jacky’s George looked up at Ortho’s entrance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hallo, what is it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where’s King Nick? I want to see him.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The tortoise-shell spectacles turned slowly in his -direction.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There is but one King, my son, omnipotent and -all-merciful. One King—on High . . . but my -name is certainly Nicholas.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho staggered. This the master-smuggler, the -swashbuckling, devil-may-care hero of song and -story! This rook-coated, bespectacled, white-headed -old Canorum [Methodist] local preacher, King Nick! -His senses reeled. It could never be, and yet he -knew it was. It was the same voice, the voice -that had blandly informed Anson he would blow -him out of the water if he pulled another stroke. -He felt for the door post and leaned against it -goggling.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho licked his lips.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well? I eddn no fiery dragon to eat ’e, boy. -Say thy say.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho drew a long breath, hesitated and let it -out with a rush.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I can find the horses you’re wanting. I can -find thirty horses a night any time after Twelfth -Night, and land your goods in St. Just under four -hours.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>King Nick screwed round in his chair, turning the -other side of his face to the light, and Ortho saw, -with a shock of revulsion, that the ear had been -sheared off and his face furrowed across and across -with two terrible scars—relics of the Cawsand affair. -It was as though the old man was revealing -the other side of him, spiritual as well as physical.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come nearer, lad. How do ’e knaw I want -horses?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I heard you. I was pulling stroke in boat.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Son o’ yourn, George? He don’t favor ’e, seem -me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Naw. Young Squire Penhale from Bosula up-valley.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You knaw en?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Since he were weaned.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ah, ha! Ah, ha!” The smuggler’s blue eyes -rested on Ortho, benevolent yet probing. “And -where can you find thirty horses, my son? ’Tis a -brear passell.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Gypsy Herne rests on my land over winter; he -has plenty.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“An Egyptian! An idolater! A worshiper after -false gods! Put not thy trust in such, boy—though -I do hear many of the young ones is baptized and -coming to the way of Light. Hum! Ha! . . . -But how do ’e knaw he’ll do it!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ’Cos he wants the money bad. He lost three -parts of his stock in Wales this summer. I was -with en.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, wid en, were ’e? So you knawn en well. -And horse leaders?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There’s seven Romanies and three of us up to -farm.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You knaw the country, s’pose?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Day or night like my own yard.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>King Nick turned on Jacky’s George, a faint smile -curling the corners of his mouth. “What do ’e say -now, George? Can this young man find the horses, -think you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ess, s’pose.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do ’e trust en?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A nod.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then what more ’ave ’e got to say, my dear?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The fisherman scratched his beard, breathed heavily -through his nostrils and said, “All right.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>King Nick rose to his feet, rubbing his hands -together.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ‘Now let Jacob rejoice and Israel be glad.’ -That’s settled. Welcome back to the fold, George, -my old soul. ‘This is my brother that was dead -but is alive again.’ Soon’s you give me word the -Romany is agreeable I’ll slip ’e the cargoes, so shall -the poor tinner be comforted at a reasonable price -and the Lord be praised with cymbals—‘yea, with -trumpets also and shawms.’ Gather in all the young -men and maidens, George, that we may ask a blessing -on our labors! Fetch ’em in to once, for I can -feel the word of the Lord descending upon me!”</p> - -<hr class='tbk'/> - -<p class='pindent'>Dawn peering through the bottle-panes of Jacky’s -George’s Kiddlywink saw the entire Baragwanath -family packed shoulder to shoulder singing lustily, -while before them, on a chair, stood a benevolent -old gentleman in black beating time with one of -John Wesley’s hymnals, white hair wreathing his -head like a silver glory.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Chant, my dear beauties!” he cried. “Oh, be -cheerful! Be jubilant! Lift up your voices unto -the Lord! ‘Awake up, my glory, Awake lute and -harp!’ Now all together!”</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“When passing through the watery deep</p> -<p class='line0'>I ask in faith His promised aid;</p> -<p class='line0'>The waves an awful distance keep</p> -<p class='line0'>And shrink from my devoted head.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<div><h1>CHAPTER XV</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>Pyramus came down earlier than usual that -year. The tenth of December saw his smoke-grimed -wigwams erected in the little wood, -the cloaks and scarves of the Romany women making -bright blots of color among the somber trees, -bronze babies rolling among bronze leaves.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho was right; the gypsy chief had been hard -hit and was open to any scheme for recouping his -fortunes. After considerable haggling he consented -to a fee of six shillings per horse per run—leaders -thrown in—which was a shilling more than Ortho -had intended to give him and two shillings more -than he would have taken if pressed. The cavalry -had not arrived as yet, and Ortho did not think -it politic to inform Pyramus they were expected; -there were the makings in him of a good business -man.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The first run was dated for the night of January -the third, but the heavy ground swell was rolling -in and the lugger lay off until the evening of the -fifth. King Nick arrived on the morning of the -third, stepped quietly into the kitchen of the “Admiral -Anson” as the Baragwanath family were sitting -down to breakfast, having walked by night -from Germoe. The meal finished, he gave melodious -thanks to Heaven, sent for Ortho, asked what -arrangements had been made for the landing, condemned -them root and branch and substituted an entirely -fresh lot. That done, he rode off to St. Just -to survey the proposed pack route, taking Ortho -with him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He was back again by eight o’clock at night and -immediately held a prayer-meeting in the Kiddlywink, -preaching on “Lo, he thirsteth even as a hart -thirsteth after the water brooks”—a vindication of -the gin traffic—and passing on to describe the pains -of hell with such graphic detail that one Cove -woman fainted and another had hysterics.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The run came off without a hitch two nights later. -Ortho had his horses loaded up and away by nine -o’clock. At one-thirty a crowd of enthusiastic diggers -(all armed with clubs) were stripping his load -and secreting it in an old mine working on the outskirts -of St. Just. He was home in bed before -dawn. Fifty-six casks of mixed gin, claret and -brandy they carried that night, not to mention five -hundredweight of tea.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On January 17th he carried forty-three casks, a -bale of silk and a hundredweight of tea to Pendeen, -dumping some odds and ends outside Gwithian as -he passed by. And so it went on.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The consumption of cheap spirits among the -miners was enormous. John Wesley, to whose -credit can be placed almost the whole moral regeneration -of the Cornish tinner, describes them -as “those who feared not God nor regarded man,” -accuses them of wrecking ships and murdering the -survivors and of taking their pleasure in “hurling, -at which limbs are often broken, fighting, drinking, -and all other manner of wickedness.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In winter their pastimes were restricted to fighting -and drinking—principally drinking—in furtherance -of which Ortho did a roaring trade. Between -the beginning of January and the end of March he -ran an average of five landings a month without any -one so much as wagging a finger at him. The dragoons -arrived at Christmas, but instead of a regiment -two troops only appeared and they speedily -declared a policy of “live and let live.” Their commanding -officer, Captain Hambro, had not returned -to his native land after years of hard campaigning -to spend his nights galloping down blind byways -at the behest of a civilian riding officer.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He had some regard for his horses’ legs and -more for his own comfort. He preferred playing -whist with the local gentry, who had fair daughters -and who were the soul of hospitality. He temporized -good-humoredly with the collector, danced -quadrilles with the fair daughters at the “Ship and -Castle,” and toasted their bright eyes in excellent -port and claret, the knowledge that it had not -paid a penny of duty in nowise detracting from its -flavor. Occasionally—when he had no other appointment -and the weather was passable—he -mounted his stalwarts and made a spectacular drive—this -as a sop to the collector. But he never came -westwards; the going was too rough, and, besides, -St. Just was but small potatoes compared with big -mining districts to the east.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For every cask landed at Monks Cove, King Nick -and his merry men landed twenty either at Prussia -Cove, Porthleven, Hayle or Portreath—sometimes -at all four places simultaneously. Whenever Capt. -Hambro’s troopers climbed into their saddles and -took the road to Long Rock, a simple but effective -system of signals flashed ahead of them so that they -found very little.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was one nasty affair on Marazion Beach. -Owing to a misunderstanding the cavalry came upon -a swarm of tinners in process of making a landing. -The tinners (who had broached a cask and were -full of spirit in more senses than one) foolishly -opened hostilities. The result was two troopers -wounded, six miners killed—bearing out King Nick’s -warning that the soldiers might easily be fooled, but -they were by no means so easily frightened. The -trade absorbed this lesson and there were no more -regrettable incidents that season.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho was satisfied with his winter’s work beyond -all expectations. It was a common tenet among -Free Traders of those days that one cargo saved -would pay for two lost, and Ortho, so far from -losing a single cargo, had only lost five tubs in all—three -stove in transshipping and two when the -mule carrying them fell into a pit. Everybody was -satisfied. The district was flooded with cheap -liquor. All the Covers in turn assisted in the boat-work -and so picked up money in the off-season, when -they needed it most. Pyramus, with his animals in -constant employment, did so well that he delayed -his northern trip for a month.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The only person (with the exception of His -Majesty’s Collector of Customs) who was not entirely -pleased was Eli. In defrauding the Revenue -he had no scruples whatever, but it interfered with -his farming. This smuggling was all very fine and -remunerative, but it was a mere side line. Bosula -was his lifework, his being. If he and Bohenna had -to be up all night horse leading they could not be -awake all day. The bracken was creeping in again. -However, they were making money, heaps of it; -there was no denying that.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With the instinctive dislike of a seaman for a -landsman, and vice versa, neither Jacky’s George -nor Pyramus would trust each other. The amphibious -Ortho was the necessary link between them and, -as such, paid out more or less what he thought fit—as -has been the way with middlemen since the -birthday of the world. He paid Jacky’s George -one and six per cask for landing and Pyramus three -shillings for packing (they went two to a horse), -making a profit of ten shillings clear himself. Eli, -the only person in the valley who could read, write -or handle figures, kept the accounts and knew that -at the end of March they were three hundred and -forty pounds to the good. He asked Ortho where -the money was.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hid up the valley,” said his brother. “Put away -where the devil himself wouldn’t find it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What are you hiding it like that for?” Eli -asked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mother,” said Ortho. “That last rip-roar she -had must have nigh baled her bank dry and now -she’s looking for more. I think she’ve got a notion -who bubbled her last year and she’s aiming to -get a bit of her own back. She knows I’ve got -money and she’s spying on me all the time. I’d -tell you where it is only I’m afeard you’d let it out -without meaning to. I’m too sly for her—but you, -you’re like a pane of glass.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Wholesale smuggling finished with the advent of -spring. The shortening nights did not provide sufficient -cover for big enterprises; dragoons and preventive -men had not the same objections to being -out of their beds in summer as in winter, and, moreover, -the demand for liquor had fallen to a minimum.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This was an immense relief to Eli, who now gave -himself heart and soul to the farm, haling Bohenna -with him; but two disastrous seasons had impaired -Ortho’s vaunted enthusiasm for “the good old soil,” -and he was absent most of the week, working up -connections for next winter’s cargo-running—so he -told Eli—but it was noticeable that his business appointments -usually coincided with any sporting -events held in the Hundred, and at hurling matches, -bull-baitings, cock-fights and pony-races he became -almost as familiar a figure as his mother had been, -backing his fancy freely and with not infallible -judgment. However, he paid his debts scrupulously -and with good grace, and, though he drank but little -himself, was most generous in providing, gratis, refreshment -for others. He achieved strong local -popularity, a priceless asset to a man who lives by -flouting the law.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The money was not all misspent.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He developed in other ways, began to be particular -about his person in imitation of the better-class -squires, visited a Penzance tailor of fashion and -was henceforth to be seen on public occasions in a -wide-skirted suit of black broadcloth frogged with -silver lace, high stockings to match and silver-buckled -shoes, very handsome altogether.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He had his mother’s blue-black hair, curling, bull-like, -all over his head, sparkling eyes and strong -white teeth. When he was fifteen she had put small -gold rings in his ears—to improve his sight, so she -said. At twenty he was six feet tall, slim and -springy, moving among the boorish crowds like a -rapier among bludgeons. His laugh was ready and -he had a princely way with his money. Women -turned their eyes his way, sighing—and he was not -insensible.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Rumors of his brother’s amorous affairs drifted -home to Eli from time to time. He had cast off -the parish clerk’s daughter, Tamsin Eva, and was -after a farmer’s young widow in St. Levan. Now -he had quarreled with the widow and was to be -seen in Trewellard courting a mine captain’s daughter. -Again he had put the miner’s daughter by, -and St. Ives gossips were coupling his name with that -of the wife of a local preacher and making a great -hoity-toity about it—and so on. It was impossible -to keep track of Ortho’s activities in the game of -hearts.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He came home one morning limping from a slight -gunshot wound in the thigh, and on another occasion -brought his horse in nearly galloped to death, -but he made no mention of how either of these -things came about. Though his work on the farm -was negligible, he spent a busy summer one way -and another.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Pyramus was down by the eighth of November, -and on the night of the fourteenth the ball was -opened with a heavy run of goods, all of which -were safely delivered. From then on till Christmas -cargo after cargo was slipped through without mishap, -but on St. Stephen’s day the weather broke -up, the wind bustled round to the southeast and -blew great guns, sending the big seas piling into -Monks Cove in foaming hills. The Cove men drew -their boats well up, took down snares and antique -blunderbusses and staggered inland rabbiting.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli turned back to his farm-work with delight, -but prosaic hard labor had no further attraction -for Ortho. He put in a couple of days sawing up -windfalls, a couple more ferreting with Bohenna, -then he went up to Church-town and saw Tamsin -Eva again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was at a dance in the long room of the “Lamb -and Flag” tavern and she was looking her best, -dressed in blue flounced out at the hips, with a close-fitting -bodice. She was what is known in West -Cornwall as a “red Dane,” masses of bright auburn -hair she had and a soft white skin. Ortho, whose -last three little affairs had been pronounced brunettes, -turned to her with a refreshened eye, wondering -what had made him leave her. She was -dancing a square dance with her faithful swain, -Tom Trevaskis, when Ortho entered, circling and -curtseying happily to the music of four fiddles led -by Jiggy Dan.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The mine captain’s daughter glowed as rosy as -a pippin, too rosy; the preacher’s spouse was an -olive lady, almost swarthy. Tamsin Eva’s slender -neck might have been carved from milk-ivory and -she was tinted like a camellia. Ortho’s dark eyes -glittered. But it was her hair that fascinated him -most. The room was lit by dips lashed to decorated -barrel hoops suspended from the rafters, and as -Tamsin in her billowy blue dress swept and sidled -under these the candlelight played tricks with her -burnished copper head, flicked red and amber lights -over and into it, crowned her with living gold. The -black Penhale felt his heart leap; she was most -lovely! Why on earth had he ever dropped her? -Why?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Deep down he knew; it was because, for all her -physical attraction, she wearied him utterly, seemed -numbed in his presence, had not a word to say. -That Trewellard wench at least had a tongue in -her head and the widow had spirit; he could still -almost feel his cheek tingle where she had hit him. -But that queenly crown of hair! He had an over-mastering -desire to pull it down and bury his face -in the shining golden torrent. He would too, ecod! -Dull she might have been, but that was two years -ago. She’d grown since then, and so had he, and -learnt a thing or two; a score of women had been -at pains to teach him. He hadn’t gone far with -Tamsin previously—she’d been too damned soft—but -he would now. He’d stir her up. Apparently -shallow women were often deep as the sea, deep -enough to drown one. He’d take the risk of drowning; -he fed on risks. That the girl was formally -betrothed to Trevaskis did not deter him in the -slightest. There was no point in the game in which -he could not out-maneuver the slovenly yokel.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He waited till the heated boy went to get himself -a drink, and then shouldered through the press and -claimed Tamsin for the next dance, claiming her -smilingly, inevitably, as though she was his private -property and there had not been a moment’s break -between them. The girl’s eyes went blank with -dismay, she tried to decline. He didn’t seem to -hear, but took her hand. She hung back weakly. -There was no weakness in Ortho’s grip; he led her -out in spite of herself. She couldn’t resist him, she -never had been able to resist him. Fortunately for -her he had never demanded much. Poor Tamsin! -Two years had not matured her mentally. She had -no mind to mature; she was merely a pretty chattel, -the property of the strongest claimant. Ortho was -stronger than Trevaskis, so he got her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When the boy returned she was dancing with -the tall Free Trader; the golden head drooped, the -life had gone out of her movements, but she was -dancing with him. Trevaskis tried to get to her -at every pause, but always Ortho’s back interposed. -The farmer went outside and strode up and down -the yard, glaring from time to time through the -window; always Tamsin was dancing with Penhale. -Trevaskis ground his teeth. Two years ago he had -been jockeyed in the same way. Was this swart -gypsy’s whelp, whose amorous philanderings were -common talk, to have first call on his bright girl -whenever he deigned to want her? Trevaskis swore -he should not, but how to frustrate him he did not -know. Plainly Tamsin was bewitched, was incapable -of resistance; she had admitted as much, weeping. -Thrash Ortho to a standstill he could not; he -was not a brave man and he dared not risk a maul -with the smuggler. Had Penhale been a “foreigner” -he could have roused local feeling against -him, but Penhale was no stranger; he was the squire -of Bosula and, moreover, most popular, far more -popular than he was himself. He had a wild idea -of trying a shot over a bank in the dark—and abandoned -it, shuddering. Supposing he missed! What -would Penhale do to him? What wouldn’t he do -to him? Trevaskis hadn’t courage enough even for -that. He strode up and down, oblivious of the -rain gusts, trying to discover a chink in the interloper’s -armor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As for Ortho, he went on dancing with Tamsin, -and when it was over took her home; he buried -his face in that golden torrent. He was up at -Church-town the very next night and the next night -and every night till the gale blew out.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Trevaskis, abandoning a hopeless struggle, followed -in the footsteps of many unlucky lovers and -drowned his woes in drink. It was at the Kiddlywink -in Monks Cove that he did his drowning and -not at the “Lamb and Flag,” but as his farm lay -about halfway between the two there was nothing -remarkable in that.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>What did cause amusement among the Covers, -however, was the extraordinary small amount of -liquor it required to lay him under the bench and -the volume of his snores when he was there.</p> - -<div><h1>CHAPTER XVI</h1></div> - -<h3>1</h3> - -<p class='pindent'>The southeasterly gale blown out, Ortho’s -business went forward with a rush. In the -second week in January they landed a cargo -a night to make up for lost time, and met with -a minor accident—Jacky’s George breaking a leg -in saving a gig from being stove. This handicapped -them somewhat. Anson was a capable boatsman, -but haphazard in organization, and Ortho found -he had to oversee the landings as well as lead the -pack-train. Despite his efforts there were hitches -and bungles here and there; the cogs of the machinery -did not mate as smoothly as they had under -the cock-sparrow. Nevertheless they got the cargoes -through somehow and there was not much to -fear in the way of outside interruptions; the dragoons -seemed to have settled to almost domestic -felicity in Penzance and the revenue cutter had -holed her garboard strake taking a short cut round -the Manacles and was docked at Falmouth. Ortho -got so confident that he actually brought his horses -home in plain daylight.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then on the fourteenth of February, when all -seemed so secure, the roof fell in.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. William Carmichael was the person who -pulled the props away. Mr. William Carmichael, -despite his name, was an Irishman, seventeen years -of age, and, as a newly-joined cornet of dragoons, -drawing eight shillings a day, occupied a position -slightly less elevated than an earth-worm. However, -he was very far from this opinion. Mr. Carmichael, -being young and innocent, yearned to let -blood, and he wasn’t in the least particular whose. -Captain Hambro and his two somewhat elderly -lieutenants, on the other hand, were experienced -warriors, and consequently the most pacific of creatures. -Nothing but a direct order from a superior -would induce them to draw the sword except to -poke the fire. Mr. Carmichael’s martial spirit was -in a constant state of effervescence; he hungered -and thirsted for gore—but without avail. Hambro -positively refused to let him run out and chop anybody. -The captain was a kindly man; his cornet’s -agitation distressed him and he persuaded one of -the dimpled Miss Jagos to initiate his subordinate -in the gentler game of love (the boy would come -into some sort of Kerry baronetcy when his sire -finally bowed down to delirium tremens, and it was -worth her while). But Mr. Carmichael was built -of sterner stuff. He was proof against her woman’s -wiles. Line of attack! At ’em! The lieutenants, -Messrs. Pilkington and Jope, were also gentle souls, -Pilkington was a devotee of chess, Jope of sea-fishing. -Both sought to engage the fire-eater in their -particular pastimes. It was useless; he disdained -such trivialities. Death! Glory!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But Hambro, whose battle record was unimpeachable, -knew that in civil police work, such as he was -supposed to be doing, there is precious little transient -glory to be picked up and much adhesive mud. -He knew that with the whole population against -him he stood small chance of laying the smugglers -by the heels, and if he did the county families (who -were as deeply implicated as any) would never rest -until they had got him broken. He sat tight.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This did not suit the martial Carmichael at all. -He fumed and fretted, did sword exercise in the -privacy of his bedroom till his arm ached, and then -gushed his heart out in letters to his mother, which -had the sole effect of eliciting bottles of soothing -syrup by return, the poor lady thinking his blood -must be out of order.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But his time was to come.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On the eighth of February Pilkington was called -away to Axminster to the bedside of his mother -(at least that is what he called her) and Carmichael -was given his troop to annoy. On the morning of -the fourteenth Hambro left on three days’ leave to -shoot partridges at Tehidy, Jope and Carmichael -only remaining. Jope blundered in at five o’clock -on the same afternoon sneezing fit to split himself. -He had been off Low Lee after pollack and all he -had succeeded in catching was a cold. He growled -about the weather, which his boatman said was -working up for a blow, drank a pint of hot rum -bumbo and sneezed himself up to bed, giving strict -orders that he was not to be roused on any account.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Carmichael was left all alone.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>To him, at seven of the clock, came Mr. Richard -Curral, riding officer, a conscientious but blighted -man.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He asked for Hambro, Pilkington and Jope in -turn, and groaned resignedly when he heard they -were unavailable.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Anything I can do for you?” Carmichael inquired.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Curral considered, tapping his rabbit teeth with -his whip handle. Mr. Carmichael was terribly -young, the merest babe.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“N-o. I don’t think so; thank you, sir. No, -never mind. Pity they’re away, though . . . seems -a chance,” he murmured, talking to himself. “Lot -of stuff been run that way of late . . . ought to -be stopped by rights . . . pity!” he sighed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What’s a pity? What are you talking about?” -said Mr. Carmichael, his ears pricking. “Take that -whip out of your mouth!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Curral withdrew the whip; he was used to -being hectored by military officers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Er—oh! . . . er, the Monks Cove men are going -to make a run to-night.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Carmichael sat upright. “Are they, b’God! -How d’you know?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“An informer has just come in. Gives no name, -of course, but says he’s from Gwithian parish; looks -like a farmer. Wants no reward.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then what’s his motive?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Curral shrugged his shoulders. “Some petty -jealousy, I presume; it usually is among these people. -I’ve known a man give his brother away because -he got bested over some crab-pots. This -fellow says he overheard them making their plans -in the inn there—lay under the table pretending to -be drunk. Says that tall Penhale is the ringleader; -I’ve suspected as much for some time. Of course -it may only be a false scent after all, but the informer -seems genuine. What are you doing, sir?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Carmichael had danced across the room, -opened the door and was howling for his servant. -His chance had come. Gore!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Doing! . . . Why, going to turn a troop out -and skewer the lot of ’em of course. What d’you -think?” shouted that gentleman, returning. “I’d -turn out the squadron, only half the nags are streaming -with strangles. Toss me that map there. Now -where is this Monks Cove?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Curral’s eyes opened wide. He was not used -to this keenness on the part of the military. One -horse coughing slightly would have been sufficient -excuse for Hambro to refuse to move—leave alone -half a squadron sick with strangles. It promised -to be a dirty night too. He had expected to meet -with a diplomatic but nevertheless definite refusal. -It was merely his three-cornered conscience that had -driven him round to the billet at all—yet here was -an officer so impatient to be off that he was attempting -the impossible feat of pulling on his boots and -buckling on his sword at the same time. Curral’s -eyes opened wider and wider.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ahem!—er—do you mean . . . er . . . are -you in earnest, sir?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Earnest!” The cornet snorted, his face radiant. -“Damn my blood but I am in very proper earnest, -Mr. What’syourname—as these dastardly scoundrels -shall discover ere we’re many hours older. -Earnest, b’gob!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But Mr. Jope, sir . . . hadn’t you better consult -Mr. Jope? . . . He . . .”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mr. Jope be dam . . . Mr. Jope has given orders -that he’s not to be disturbed on any account, on <span class='it'>any</span> -account, sir. <span class='it'>I</span> am in command here at the moment, -and if you will have the civility to show me where -this plaguy Monks Cove hides itself instead of -standing there sucking your whip you will greatly -assist me in forming my plan of action.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Curral bent over the map and pointed with his -finger.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Here you are, sir, the merest gully.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then I shall charge down the gully,” said Carmichael -with that quick grasp of a situation displayed -by all great commanders. The riding officer -coughed: “Then you’ll have to charge at a walk, -sir, and in single file; there’s only a rough pack-track. -Further, the track is picketed at the head; as soon -as you pass a gun will be fired and when you reach -the cove there won’t be a cat stirring.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Carmichael, like all great commanders, had his -alternative. “Then I shall charge ’em from the -flank. Can I get up speed down this slope?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Curral nodded. “Yes, sir. You can ride from -top to bottom in a moment of time.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How d’you mean?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is practically a precipice, sir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Humph!—and this flank?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The same, sir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Carmichael scratched his ear and for the first time -took thought. “Lookee,” he said presently. “If I -stop the pack track here and there are precipices -on either side how can they get their horses out? -I’ve got ’em bottled.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Curral shook his head. “I said <span class='it'>practically</span> precipices, -sir. Precipices to go <span class='it'>down</span>, but not to come -<span class='it'>up</span>. As you yourself have probably observed, sir, -a horse can scramble up anything, but he is a fool -going down. A horse falling uphill doesn’t fall far, -but a horse falling down a slope like that rolls to -the bottom. A horse . . .”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Man,” snapped the cornet, “don’t talk to me -about horses. My father keeps twenty. I know.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Curral coughed. “I beg your pardon, sir. The -informer tells me there are a dozen places on either -side by which these fellows can get their beasts to -the level. Remember it is their own valley; they’re -at home there, while we are strangers and in the -dark.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I wish you could get out of this habit of -propounding the obvious,” said Carmichael. He -dabbed his finger down on the map. “Look—supposing -we wait for them out here across their line -of march?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They’d scatter all over the moor, sir. We’d -be lucky if we caught a couple on a thick night like -this.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Carmichael plumped down on a chair and savagely -rubbed his curls.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, Mr. Riding Officer, I presume that in the -face of these insurmountable difficulties you propose -to sit down and do nothing—as usual. Let these -damned ruffians run their gin, flout the law, do exactly -as they like. Now let me tell you I’m of a -different kidney, I . . .”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You will pardon me, sir,” said Curral quietly, -“but I haven’t as yet been given the opportunity -of proposing anything.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What’s your plan then?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How many men can you mount, sir?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Forty with luck. I’ll have to beat the taverns -for ’em.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Very good, sir. Send a small detachment to -stop the head of the track; not to be there before -ten o’clock. The rest, under yourself, with me for -guide, will ride to the top of the cliff which overhangs -the village from the east and there leave the -horses. The informer tells me there is a sheep-track -leading down from there and they picket the -top of it—an old man with a gun to fire if he hears -anything. That picket will have to be silenced.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Who’s going to do that?” the cornet inquired.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ve got a man of my own I think can do it. -He was a great poacher before he got religion.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And then?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Then we’ll creep, single file, down the sheep-track, -muster behind the pilchard sheds and rush -the landing—the goods should be ashore by then. -I trust that meets with your approval, sir?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The cornet nodded, sobered. “It does—you -seem to be something of a tactician, Mr. . . . er -. . . Curral.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I served foreign with Lord Mark Kerr’s Regiment -of Horse Guards, sir,” said the riding officer, -picking up his whip.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Carmichael’s jaw dropped. “Horse Guards! -. . . Abroad! . . . One of <span class='it'>us</span>! Dash my guts, -man, why didn’t you say so before?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You didn’t ask me, sir,” said Curral and sucked -his whip.</p> - -<h3>2</h3> - -<p class='pindent'>Uncle Billy Clemo sat behind a rock at the top -of the sheep-path and wished to Heaven the signal -would go up. A lantern run three times to the truck -of the flag-pole was the signal that the horses were -away and the pickets could come in. Then he would -be rewarded with two shillings and a drop of hot -toddy at the Kiddlywink—and so to bed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He concentrated his thoughts on the hot toddy, -imagined it tickling bewitchingly against his palate, -wafting delicious fumes up his nostrils, gripping him -by the throat, trickling, drop by drop, through his -chilled system, warm and comforting, trickling down -to his very toes. He would be happy then. He -had been on duty since seven-thirty; it was now after -ten and perishing cold. The wind had gone round -suddenly to the northeast and was gaining violence -every minute. Before dawn it would be blowing -a full gale. Uncle Billy was profoundly thankful -he was not a horse leader. While Penhale and Company -were buffeting their way over the moors he -would be in bed, praise God, full of toddy. In the -meanwhile it was bitter cold. He shifted his position -somewhat so as to get more under the lee of -the rock and peered downwards to see how they -were getting on. He could not see much. The -valley was a pit of darkness. A few points of light -marked the position of the hamlet, window lights -only. The fisher-folk knew their own place as rats -know their holes and made no unnecessary show of -lanterns. A stranger would have imagined the hamlet -slept; in reality it was humming like a hive.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A dim half-moon of foam marked the in-curve -of the Cove; seaward was blank darkness again. -Uncle Billy, knowing what to look for and where -to look, made out a slightly darker blur against the -outer murk—the lugger riding to moorings, main -and mizzen set. She was plunging a goodish bit, -even down there under shelter of the cliffs. Uncle -Billy reckoned the boat’s crews must be earning their -money pulling in against wind and ebb, and once -more gave thanks he was not as other men.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The wind came whimpering over the high land, -bending the gorse plumes before it, rattling the dead -brambles, rustling the grass. Something stirred -among the brambles, something living. He picked -up his old Brown Bess. A whiff of scent crossed -his nostrils, pungent, clinging. He put the Bess -down again. Fox. He was bitter cold, especially -as to the feet. He was a widower and his daughter-in-law -kept him short in the matter of socks. He -stood up—which was against orders—and stamped -the turf till he got some warmth back in his toes, -sat down again and thought about the hot toddy. -The lugger was still there, lunging at her moorings. -They were a plaguy time landing a few kegs! -Jacky’s George would have finished long before—these -boys! Whew! it was cold up there!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The gale’s voice was rising to a steady scream; -it broke against Uncle Billy’s rock as though it had -been a wave. Shreds of dead bracken and grass -whirled overhead. The outer darkness, which was -the sea, showed momentary winks of gray—breakers. -When the wind lulled for a second, a deep -melancholy bay, like that of some huge beast growling -for meat, came rolling in from the southwest—the -surf on the Twelve Apostles.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There were stirrings and snappings in the brambles. -That plaguy fox again, thought Uncle Billy—or -else rabbits. His fingers were numb now. He -put the Bess down beside him, blew on his hands, -thrust them well down in his pockets and snuggled -back against the rock. The lugger would slip moorings -soon whether she had unloaded or not, and -then toddy, scalding his throat, trickling down to -his . . .</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Something heavy dropped on him from the top -of the rock, knocking him sideways, away from the -gun, pinning him to the ground; hands, big and -strong as brass, took him round the throat, drove -cruel thumbs into his jugular, strangling him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Got him, Joe,” said a voice. “Bring rope and -gag quick!” He got no hot toddy that night.</p> - -<h3>3</h3> - -<p class='pindent'>“That the lot?” the lugger captain bellowed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Aye,” answered his mate.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Cast off that shore boat then and let go forward -soon’s she’m clear.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Aye, aye. Pull clear, you; look lively!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The <span class='it'>Gamecock’s</span> crew jerked their oars into the -pins and dragged the gig out of harm’s way.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The moorings buoy splashed overboard, the lugger, -her mainsail backed, came round before the -wind and was gone.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Give way,” said Anson; “the wind’s getting up -a fright.” He turned to Ortho. “You’ll have a -trip to-night . . . rather you nor me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho spat clear of the gunwale. “Have to go, -I reckon; the stuff’s wanted, blast it! Has that -boat ahead unloaded yet?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She haven’t signaled,” the bowman answered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No matter, pull in,” said Anson. “We haven’t -no more than the leavings here; we can land this -li’l’ lot ourselves. Give way, all.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Four blades bit the water with a will, but the -rowers had to bend their backs to wrench the gig in -against the wind and tide. It was a quarter of an -hour before they grounded her nose on the base of -the slip.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Drag her up a bit, boys,” said Anson. “Hell!—what’s -that?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>From among the dark huddle of houses came a -woman’s scream, two—three—and then pandemonium, -shouts, oaths, crashes, horses stamping, the -noise of people rushing and struggling, and, above -all, a boy’s voice hysterically shouting, “Fire! -Curse you! Fire!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Christ!” said Ortho. “The Riders! Hey, push -her off! For God’s sake, push!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The two bowmen, standing in the water, put their -backs to the boat and hove; Ortho and Anson in -the stern used their oars pole-wise.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“All together, he-ave!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Slowly the gig began to make stern-way.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Heave!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The gig made another foot. Feet clattered on -the slip-head and a voice cried, “Here’s a boat escaping! -Halt or I fire!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hea-ve!” Ortho yelled. The gig made another -foot and was afloat. There was a spurt of fire -from the slip and a bullet went droning overhead. -The bowman turned and dodged for safety among -the rocks.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Back water, back!” Anson exhorted.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There were more shouts from the shore, the boy’s -voice crowing shrill as a cockerel, a quick succession -of flashes and more bullets went wailing by. The -pair in the boat dragged at their oars, teeth locked, -terrified.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Wind and tide swept them up, darkness engulfed -them. In a couple of minutes the shots ceased and -they knew they were invisible. They lay on their -oars, panting.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What now?” said Ortho. “Go after the lugger? -We can’t go back.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Lugger’s miles away, going like a stag,” said -Anson. “Best chance it across the bay to Porthleven.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Porthleven?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where else? Wind’s dead nor’east. Lucky if -we make that. Throw this stuff out; she’s riding -deep as a log.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They lightened the gig of its entire load and -stepped the mast. Anson was at the halliards hoisting -the close-reefed mainsail. Ortho kept at the -tiller until there was a spit of riven air across his -cheek and down came the sail on the run.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He called out, “What’s the matter?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was no answer for a minute, and then Anson -said calmly from under the sail, “Shot, I -b’lieve.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What is—halliards?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Me, b’lieve.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You! Shot! What d’you mean? Where?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“In chest. Stray shot, I reckon; they can’t hit -nawthing when they aim. Thee’ll have to take her -thyself now. . . . O-ooh. . . .” He made a sudden, -surprised exclamation as if the pain had only -just dawned on him and began to cough.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hoist sail . . . thou . . . fool. . . A-ah!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho sprang forward and hoisted the sail; the -gig leapt seawards. The coughing began again -mingled with groans. They stabbed Ortho to the -heart. Instead of running away they should be -putting back; it was a doctor they wanted. He -would put back at once and get Anson attended to. -That he himself would be arrested as the ringleader, -tried and either hung or transported did not -occur to him. Half his happy boyhood had been -spent with Anson; the one thing was to ease his -agony.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Going to put back,” he yelled to the prostrate -man under the bow thwart. “Put back!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You can’t,” came the reply . . . and more -coughing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Of course he couldn’t. If he had thought for -a moment he would have known it. Wind and tide -would not let him put back. There was nothing -for it but the twelve-mile thrash across the open -bay to Porthleven; he prayed there might be a doctor -there.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He luffed, sheeted home, rounded the great mass -of Black Carn, braced as sharp as he dared and met -a thunder clap of wind and sea. It might have -been waiting for him round the corner, so surely -did it pounce. It launched itself at him roaring, -a ridge of crumbling white high overhead, a hill of -water toppling over.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The loom and bellow of it stunned his senses, -but habit is a strong master. His mind went blank, -but his hand acted, automatically jamming the helm -hard over. The gig had good way on; she spun -as a horse spins on its hocks and met the monster -just in time. Stood on her stern; rose, seesawed -on the crest, three quarters of her keel bare, white -tatters flying over her; walloped down into the -trough as though on a direct dive to the bottom, -recovered and rose to meet the next. The wild soar -of the bows sent Anson slithering aft. Ortho heard -him coughing under the stroke thwart.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She’ll never do it,” he managed to articulate. -“Veer an’ let . . . let . . . her drive.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where for?” Ortho shouted. “Where for? -D’you hear me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Scilly,” came the answer, broken by dreadful -liquid chokings.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The waves broke with less violence for a minute -or two and Ortho managed to get the <span class='it'>Gamecock</span> -away before the wind, though she took a couple of -heavy dollops going about.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Scilly! A handful of rocks thirty miles away -in the open Atlantic, pitch dark, no stars, no compass, -the Runnelstone to pass, then the Wolf! At -the pace they were going they would be on the -Islands long before dawn and then it would be a -case of exactly hitting either Crow Sound or St. -Mary’s Sound or being smashed to splinters. Still -it was the only chance. He would hug the coast as -near as he dared till past the Runnelstone—if he -ever passed the Runnelstone—and then steer by the -wind; it was all there was to steer by.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was dead northeast at present, but if it shifted -where would he be then? It did not bear thinking -on and he put it from his mind. He must get past -the Runnelstone first; after that . . .</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He screwed up every nerve as tight as it would -go, forced his senses to their acutest, set his teeth—swore -to drive the boat to Scilly—but he had no -hope of getting there, no hope at all.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The <span class='it'>Gamecock</span>, under her rag of canvas, ran like -a hunted thing. It was as though all the crazy elements -were pouring southwest, out to the open sea, -and she went with them, a chip swept headlong in -a torrent of clamorous wind and waters. On his -right Ortho could just discern the loom of the coast. -Breaker-tops broke, hissing, astern, abeam, ahead. -Spindrift blew in flat clouds, stinging like hail. -Flurries of snow fell from time to time.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He was wet through, had lost all feeling in his -feet, while his hands on the sheet and tiller were -so numbed he doubted if he could loosen them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On and on they drove into the blind turmoil. -Anson lay in the water at the bottom, groaning and -choking at every pitch.</p> - -<div><h1>CHAPTER XVII</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>The Monks Cove raid was not an unmixed -success. The bag was very slight and the -ringleader got clear away. Mr. Carmichael’s -impetuosity was responsible for this. The -riding officer was annoyed with him; he wished he -would go home to Ireland and get drowned in a -bog. Had any other officer been in charge of the -soldiers they would have made a fine coup; at the -same time, he reflected that had any one else commanded, -the soldiers would not have been there at -all. There were two sides to it. He consoled himself -with the thought that, although the material -results were small, the morale of the Monks Cove -Free Traders had suffered a severe jolt; at any rate, -he hoped so. At the outset things had promised -well. It was true that the cornet had only mustered -thirty-one sabers instead of forty (and two of these -managed to drop out between Penzance and Paul), -but they had reached the cliff-top not more than -fifty minutes behind schedule, to find the picket -trussed up like a boiled chicken and all clear.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Carmichael led the way down the sheep-path; he -insisted on it. “An officer’s place is at the head -of his men,” he chanted. The sentiment is laudable, -but he led altogether too fast. Seventeen and -carrying nothing but his sword, he gamboled down -the craggy path with the agility of a chamois. His -troopers, mainly elderly heroes, full of beer (they -had been dragged blaspheming out of taverns just -as they were settling down to a comfortable evening) -and burdened with accoutrements, followed -with all the caution due to their years and condition. -The result was that Carmichael arrived at the -base alone.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He crouched behind the corner of the pilchard -shed and listened. The place was alive. It was -inky dark; he could see nothing, but he could hear -well enough.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He-ave, a’. Up she goes! Stan’ still, my -beauty! Fast on that side, Jan? Lead on, you!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Bessie Kate, Bessie Kate, bring a hank o’ rope; -this pack’s slippin’.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Whoa, mare, blast ’e! Come along wid that -there lot, Zacky; want to be here all night, do ’e?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Next horse. Pass the word for more horses -. . . ahoy there . . . horses.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Grunts of men struggling with heavy objects, subdued -exhortations, complaints, oaths, laughter, -women’s chatter, hoof beats, the shrill ki-yi of a -trampled dog. The darkness ahead was boiling with -invisible people, smugglers all and engaged on their -unlawful occupations.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Carmichael’s hackles stood on end. He gripped -his sword.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is that all?” a voice called, louder, more authoritative -than the rest. “Get them horses away then.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The voice was referring to the boat-load, but the -cornet thought the whole run was through. In a -minute the last horse would be off and he would -lose the capture. Without looking to see how many -of his men had collected behind him he shouted -“Huzza!” and plunged into the thick of it. Death! -Glory!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He plunged head-first into Uncle Billy Clemo’s -daughter-in-law, butting her over backwards. She -clutched out to save herself, clutched him round the -neck and took him with her. She lay on the ground, -still grasping the cornet to her, and screamed her -loudest. Mr. Carmichael struggled frantically; -here was a pretty situation for a great military -genius at the onset of his first battle! The woman -had the hug of a she-bear, but his fury gave him -the strength of ten. He broke her grip and plunged -on, yelling to his men to fire. The only two who -were present obeyed, but as he had neglected to tell -them what to fire at they very prudently fired into -the air.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The cornet plunged on, plunged into somebody, -shouted to the somebody to stop or be hewn limb -from limb. The somebody fled pursued by Carmichael, -turned at bay opposite a lighted window -and he saw it was a woman. Another woman! -Death and damnation! Were there nothing but -damnation women in this damnation maze?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He spun about and galloped back, crashed into -something solid—a man at last!—launched out at -him. His sword met steel, a sturdy wrist-snapping -counter, and flipped out of his hand.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“S’render!” boomed the voice of his own servant. -“Stand or I’ll carve your heart out, you . . . Oh, -begging your pardon, sir, I’m sure.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Carmichael cursed him, picked up his sword again -and rushed on. By the sound of their feet and -breathing he knew there were people, scores of -them, scurrying hither and thither about him in the -blank darkness, but though he challenged and -clutched and smote with the flat of his sword he -met with nothing—nothing but thin air. It was -like playing blindman’s buff with ghosts. He heard -two or three ragged volleys in the direction of the -sea and galloped towards it, galloped into a cul-de-sac -between two cottages, nearly splitting his head -against a wall. He was three minutes fumbling his -way out of that, blubbering with rage, but this time -he came out on the sea-front.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Gun-flashes on the slip-head showed him where -his men were (firing at a boat or something), and -he ran towards them cheering, tripped across a spar -and fell headlong over the cliff. It was only a miniature -cliff, a bank of earth merely, not fifteen feet -high, with mixed sand and bowlders beneath.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The cornet landed wallop on the sand and lay -there for some minutes thinking he was dead and -wondering what style of monument (if any) his -parents would erect to his memory:—</p> - -<div class='blockquote'> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Hic jacet William Shine Carmichael, cornet -of His Majesty’s Dragoons, killed while -gallantly leading an attack on smugglers. Militavi -non sine gloria. Aged 17.</span>”</p> - -</div> - -<p class='pindent'>Aged only seventeen; how sad! He shed a tear -to think how young he was when he died and then -slowly came to the conclusion that perhaps he wasn’t -quite dead—only stunned—only half-stunned—hardly -stunned at all.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A stray shot went wailing eerily out to sea. His -men were in action; he must go to them. He tried -to get up, but found his left leg was jammed between -two bowlders, and, tug as he might, he could not -dislodge it. He shouted for help. Nobody took -any notice. Again and again he shouted. No response. -He laid his curly head down on the wet -sand and with his tears wetted it still further. -When at length (a couple of hours later) he was -liberated it was by two of the smuggler ladies. -They were most sympathetic, bandaged his sprained -ankle, gave him a hot drink to revive his circulation -and vowed it was a shame to send pretty boys of -his age out so late.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Poor Mr. Carmichael!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli and Bohenna were the first to load, and consequently -led the pack-train which was strung out -for a quarter of a mile up the valley waiting for -Ortho. When they heard the shots go off in the -Cove they remembered King Nick’s standing orders -and scattered helter-skelter up the western slope. -There were only three side-tracks and thirty-two -horses to be got up. This caused jamming and -delay.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sergeant at the track-head heard the volleys -as well, and, not having the least regard for Mr. -Carmichael’s commandments, pushed on to see the -fun. Fortunately for the leaders the chaotic state -of the track prevented him from pushing fast. As -it was he very nearly blundered into the tail end of -the train. A mule had jibbed and stuck in the -bushes, refusing to move either way. Eli and two -young Hernes tugged, pushed and whacked at it. -Suddenly, close beside, they heard the wild slither -of iron on stone, a splash and the voice of a man -calling on Heaven to condemn various portions of -his anatomy. It was the sergeant; his horse had -slipped up, depositing him in a puddle. He remounted -and floundered on with his squad, little -knowing that in the bushes that actually brushed -his knee was standing a loaded mule with three tense -boys clinging to its ears, nose and tail to keep it -quiet. It was a close call.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli took charge of the pack train. He was terribly -anxious about Ortho, but hanging about and letting -the train be taken would only make bad worse, -and Ortho had an uncanny knack of slipping out -of trouble. He felt sure that if anybody was arrested -it would not be his brother.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>King Nick had thought of everything. In case -of a raid by mounted men who could pursue it would -be folly to go on to St. Just. They were to hide -their goods at some preordained spot, hasten home -and lie doggo.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The preordained spot was the “Fou-gou,” an -ancient British dwelling hidden in a tangle of -bracken a mile to the northwest, a subterranean -passage roofed with massive slabs of granite, lined -with moss and dripping with damp, the haunt of -badgers, foxes and bats. By midnight Eli had his -cargo stowed away in that dark receptacle thoughtfully -provided by the rude architects of the Stone -Age, and by one o’clock he was at home in bed -prepared to prove he had never left it. But he -did not sleep, tired as he was. Two horses had -not materialized, and where was Ortho? If he had -escaped he should have been home by now . . . -long ago. The gale made a terrific noise, moaning -and buffeting round the house; it must be awful at -sea.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Where <span class='it'>was</span> Ortho?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli might just as well have taken his goods -through to St. Just for all the Dragoons cared. -Had the French landed that night they would have -made no protest. They would have drunk their -very good healths.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When the sergeant and his detachment, the snow -at their backs, finally stumbled into Monks Cove -it was very far from a scene of battle and carnage -that met their gaze. “Homely” would better describe -it. The cottages were lit up and in them -lounged the troopers, attended by the genial fisher-folk -in artistic <span class='it'>déshabillé</span>, in the clothes in which -they, at that moment, had arisen from bed (so they -declared). The warriors toasted their spurs at -the hearths and drank to everybody’s everlasting -prosperity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sergeant made inquiries. What luck?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>None to speak of. Four fifths of the train was -up the valley when they broke in, and got away -easily. That little whelp Carmichael had queered -the show, charging and yapping. Where was he -now? Oh, lying bleating under the cliff somewhere. -Pshaw! Let him lie a bit and learn wisdom, plaguy -little louse! Have a drink, God bless us.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They caught nothing then?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Why, yes, certainly they had. Four prisoners -and two horses. Two of the prisoners had since -escaped, but no matter, the horses hadn’t, and they -carried the right old stuff—gin and brandy. That -was what they were drinking now. Mixed, it was -a lotion fit to purge the gullet of the Great Mogul. -Have a drink, Lord love you!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sergeant was agreeable.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was not before dawn that these stalwarts would -consent to be mustered. They clattered back to -Penzance in high fettle, joking and singing. Some -of the younger heads (recruits only) were beginning -to ache, but the general verdict was that it had been -a very pleasant outing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Carmichael rode at their head. His fettle -was not high. His ankle was most painful and so -were his thoughts. Fancy being rescued by a pair -of damnation girls! Moreover, two or three horses -were going lame; what would Jope say to him when -he returned—and Hambro? Brrh! Soldiering -wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Curral rode at the tail of the column. He -too was a dejected man. That silly little fool of -a Carmichael had bungled the haul of the year, but -he didn’t expect the Collector would believe it; he -was sure to get the blame. He and his poacher had -captured two horses to have them taken from them -by the troopers, the tubs broached and the horses -let go. Dragoons!—they had known what discipline -was in the Horse Guards! It was too late to go -to Bosula or the gypsy camp now; all tracks would -have been covered up, no evidence. The prisoners -had by this time dwindled to a solitary youth whom -Curral suspected of being a half-wit and who would -most assuredly be acquitted by a Cornish jury. He -sighed and sucked the head of his whip. It was -a hard life.</p> - -<hr class='tbk'/> - -<p class='pindent'>Phineas Eva, parish clerk of St. Gwithian, came -to call on Teresa one afternoon shortly after the -catastrophe. He was dressed in his best, which -was not very good, but signified that it was a visit -of importance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He twittered some platitudes about the weather, -local and foreign affairs—the American colonists -were on the point of armed rebellion, he was creditably -informed—tut, tut! But meeting with no -encouragement from his hostess he dwindled into -silence and sat perched on the edge of the settle, -blinking his pale eyes and twitching his hat in his -rheumatic claws. Teresa seemed unaware of his -presence. She crouched motionless in her chair, chin -propped on knuckles, a somber, brooding figure.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Phineas noted that her cheeks and eyelids were -swollen, her raven hair hanging in untidy coils, and -feared she had been roistering again. If so she -would be in an evil mood. She was a big, strong -woman, he a small, weak man. He trembled for -his skin. Still he must out with it somehow, come -what might. There was his wife to face at the -other end, and he was no less terrified of his wife. -He must out with it. Of the two it is better to -propitiate the devil you live with than the devil -you don’t. He hummed and hawed, squirmed on -his perch, and then with a gulp and a splutter came -out with it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His daughter Tamsin was in trouble, and Ortho -was the cause. He had to repeat himself twice -before Teresa would take any notice, and then all -she did was to nod her head.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Phineas took courage; she had neither sworn -nor pounced at him. He spoke his piece. Of -course Ortho would do the right thing by Tamsin; -she was a good girl, a very good girl, docile and -domestic, would make him an excellent wife. Ortho -was under a cloud at present, but that would blow -over—King Nick had powerful influence and stood -by his own. Parson Coverdale of St. Just was always -friendly to the Free Traders; he would marry them -without question. He understood Ortho was in hiding -among the St. Just tinners; it would be most -convenient. He . . . Teresa shook her head -slowly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Not at St. Just? Then he had been blown over -to Scilly after all. Oh, well, as soon as he could -get back Parson Coverdale would . . . Again -Teresa shook her head.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Not at Scilly! Then where was he? Up country?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Teresa rose out of her chair and looked Phineas -full in the face, stood over him, hair hanging loose, -puffy, obese yet withal majestic, tragic beyond -words. Something in her swollen eyes made him -quail, but not for his own skin, not for himself.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A Fowey Newfoundlander put into Newlyn -Pools morning,” she said, and her voice had a -husky burr. “Ten leagues sou’west of the Bishop -they found the <span class='it'>Gamecock</span> of Monks Cove—bottom -up.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Phineas gripped the edge of the settle and sagged -forward. “Then . . .!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes,” said Teresa. “Drowned. Go home and -tell <span class='it'>that</span> to your daughter. An’ tell her she’ve got -next to her heart the only li’l’ livin’ spark of my -lovely boy that’s left in this world. She’m luckier -nor I.”</p> - -<div><h1>CHAPTER XVIII</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>But Ortho was not drowned. Dawn found -the <span class='it'>Gamecock</span> still afloat, still scudding like a -mad thing in the run of the seas. There was -no definite dawn, no visible up-rising of the sun; -black night slowly changed into leaden day, that -was all.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho looked around him. There was nothing -to be seen but a toss of waters, breakers rushing -foam-lipped before, beside him, roaring in his wake. -The boat might have been a hind racing among a -pack of wild hounds intent on overwhelming her -and dragging her under. There was nothing in -sight. He had missed the Scillies altogether, as he -had long suspected.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After passing the Runnelstone he had kept his -eyes skinned for the coal-fire beacon on St. Agnes -(the sole light on the Islands), but not a flicker of -it had he seen. He must have passed the wrong -side of the Wolf and have missed the mark by miles -and miles. As far as he could get his direction by -dawn, the wind had gone back and he was running -due south now. South—whither? He did not -know and cared little.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Anson was dead, sitting up, wedged in the angle -of the bows. He had died about an hour before -dawn, Ortho thought, after a dreadful paroxysm -of choking. Ortho had cried out to him, but got -no answer beyond a long-drawn sigh, a sigh of relief, -the sigh of a man whose troubles are over. -Anson was dead, leaving a widow and three young -children. His old friend was dead, had died in -agony, shot through the lungs, and left to choke -his life out in an open boat in mid-winter. Hatred -surged through Ortho, hatred for the Preventive. -If he ever got ashore again he’d search out the -man that fired that shot and serve him likewise, -and while he was choking he’d sit beside him and -tell him about Anson in the open boat. As a matter -of fact, the man who fired the shot was a recruit -who let off his piece through sheer nerves and congratulated -himself on having hit nobody—but Ortho -did not know that.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>All they had been trying to do was to make a -little money—and then to come shooting and murdering -people . . . ! Smuggling was against the -law, granted—but there should have been some sort -of warning. For two winters they had been running -cargoes and not a soul seemed to care a fig; then, -all of a sudden, crash! The crash had come so -suddenly that Ortho wondered for a fuddled moment -if it had come, if this were not some ghastly -nightmare and presently he would wake up and -find himself in bed at Bosula and all well. A cold -dollop of spray hit him in the middle of the back, -drenching him, and there was Anson sitting up in -the bows, the whole front of his smock deluged in -blood; blood mingled with sea water washed about -on the bottom of the boat. It was no dream. He -didn’t care where he was going or what happened. -He was soaked to the skin, famished, numb, body -and soul, and utterly without hope—but mechanically -he kept the boat scudding.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The clouds were down very low and heavy bellied. -One or two snow squalls swept over. Towards noon -a few pale shafts of sunshine penetrated the cloud-wrack, -casting patches of silver on the dreary -waters. They brought no warmth, but the very -sight of them put a little heart into the castaway. -He fumbled in the locker under his seat and found -a few scraps of stinking fish, intended for bait. -These he ate, bones and all, and afterwards baled -the boat out, hauled his sheet a trifle and put his -helm to starboard with a hazy idea of hitting off -the French coast somewhere about Brest, but the -gig promptly shipped a sea, so he had to let her -away and bale again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Anson was getting on his nerves. The dead -man’s jaw lolled in an idiotic grin and his eyes were -turned up so that they were fixed directly on Ortho. -Every time he looked up there were the eyes on -him. It was more than he could stand. He left -the tiller with the intention of turning Anson over -on his face, but the gig showed a tendency to jibe -and he had to spring back again. When he looked -up the grin seemed more pronounced than ever.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Grizzling because you’re out of it and I ain’t, -eh?” he shouted, and was immediately ashamed of -himself. He tried not to look at Anson, but there -was a horrid magnetism about those eyes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I shall go light-headed soon,” he said to himself, -and rummaged afresh in the locker, found a -couple of decayed sand-eels and ate them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The afternoon wore on. It would be sunset soon -and then night again. He wondered where next -morning would see him, if it would see him at all. -He thought not.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Can’t go on forever,” he muttered; “must sleep -soon—then I’ll be drowned or froze.” He didn’t -care. His sodden clothes would take him straight -down and he was too tired to fight. It would be -all over in a minute, finished and done with. At -home, at the Owls’ House now, Wany would be -bringing the cows in. Bohenna would be coming -down the hill from work, driving the plow oxen -before him. There would be a grand fire on the -hearth and the black pot bubbling. He could see -Martha fussing about like an old hen, getting supper -ready, bent double with rheumatism—and Eli, -Eli . . . He wondered if the owls would hoot -for him as they had for his father.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He didn’t know why he’d kept the boat going; -it was only prolonging the misery. Might as well -let her broach and have done with it. Over with -her—now! But his hand remained steadfast and -the boat raced on.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The west was barred with a yellow strip—sunset. -Presently it would be night, and under cover of -night Fate was waiting for him crouched like a -footpad.</p> - -<hr class='tbk'/> - -<p class='pindent'>He did not see the vessel’s approach till she was -upon him. She must have been in sight for some -time, but he had been keeping his eyes ahead and -did not look round till she hailed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was right on him, coming up hand over fist. -Ortho was so surprised he nearly jumped out of -his clothes. He stood up in the stern sheets, goggling -at her foolishly. Was it a mirage? Had he -gone light-headed already? He heard the creak -of her yards and blocks as she yawed to starboard, -the hiss of her cut-water shearing into a sea, and -then a guttural voice shouting unintelligibly. She -was real enough and she was yawing to pick him -up! A flood of joy went through him; he was -going to live after all! Not for nothing had he -kept the <span class='it'>Gamecock</span> running. She was on top of -him. The short bowsprit and gilded beak stabbed -past; then came shouts, the roar of sundered water, -a rope hurtling out of reach; a thump and over -went the <span class='it'>Gamecock</span>, run down. Ortho gripped the -gunnel, vaulted onto the boat side as it rolled under, -and jumped.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The vessel was wallowing deep in a trough at -the time. He caught the fore-mast chains with both -hands and hung trailing up to the knees in bubbling -brine. Something bumped his knee. It was Anson; -his leer seemed more pronounced than ever; then -he went out of sight. Men in the channels gripped -Ortho’s wrists and hoisted him clear. He lay where -they threw him, panting and shivering, water dribbling -from his clothes to the deck.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Aft on the poop a couple of men, officers evidently, -were staring at the <span class='it'>Gamecock</span> drifting astern, -bottom up. They did not consider her worth the -trouble of going after. A negro gave Ortho a kick -with his bare foot, handed him a bowl of hot gruel -and a crust of bread. Ortho gulped these and then -dragged himself to his feet, leaned against the main-jeers -and took stock of his surroundings.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was quite a small vessel, rigged in a bastard -fashion he had never seen before, square on the main -mast, exaggerated lugs on the fore and mizzen. -She had low sharp entry, but was built up aft with -quarter-deck and poop; she was armed like a frigate -and swarming with men.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho could not think where she housed them all—and -such men, brown, yellow, white and black, -with and without beards. Some wore pointed red -caps, some wisps of dirty linen wound about their -scalps, and others were bare-headed and shorn to -the skin but for a lock of oily hair. They wore -loose garments of many colors, chocolate, saffron, -salmon and blue, but the majority were of a soiled -white. They drew these close about their lean -bodies and squatted, bare toes protruding, under the -break of the quarter-deck, in the lee of scuttle butts, -boats, masts—anywhere out of the wind. They -paid no attention to him whatever, but chatted and -spat and laughed, their teeth gleaming white in their -dark faces, for all the world like a tribe of squatting -baboons. One of them produced a crude two-stringed -guitar and sang a melancholy dirge to the -accompaniment of creaking blocks and hissing bow-wave. -The sunset was but a chink of yellow light -between leaden cloud and leaden sea.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was a flash away in the dusk to port followed -by the slam of a gun.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A gigantic old man came to the quarter-deck rail -and bellowed across the decks. Ortho thought he -looked like the pictures of Biblical patriarchs—Moses, -for instance—with his long white beard and -mantle blowing in the wind.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At his first roar every black and brown ape on -deck pulled his hood up and went down on his -forehead, jabbering incoherently. They seemed to -be making some sort of prayer towards the east. -The old man’s declamation finished off in a long-drawn -wail; he returned whence he had come, and -the apes sat up again. The guitar player picked -up his instrument and sang on.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A boy, twirling a naming piece of tow, ran up -the ladders and lit the two poop lanterns.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Away to port other points of light twinkled, appearing -and disappearing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The negro who had given him the broth touched -him on the shoulder, signed to him to follow, and -led the way below. It was dark on the main deck—all -the light there was came from a single lantern -swinging from a beam—but Ortho could see that it -was also packed with men. They lay on mats beside -the hatch coamings, between the lashed carriage-guns, -everywhere; it was difficult to walk without -treading on them. Some of them appeared to be -wounded.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The negro unhooked the lantern, let fall a rope -ladder into the hold and pushed Ortho towards -it. He descended a few feet and found himself -standing on the cargo, bales of mixed merchandise -apparently. In the darkness around him he could -hear voices conversing, calling out. The negro -dropped after him and he saw that the hold was -full of people—Europeans from what he could see—lying -on top of the cargo. They shouted to him, -but he was too dazed to answer. His guide propelled -him towards the after bulkhead and suddenly -tripped him. He fell on his back on a bale and -lay still while the negro shackled his feet together, -picked up the lantern and was gone.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Englishman?” said a voice beside him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Aye.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where did you drop from?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Picked up—I was blown off-shore.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Alone?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, all but my mate, and he’s dead. What craft -is this?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The <span class='it'>Ghezala</span>, xebec of Sallee.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where are we bound for?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sallee, on the coasts of Barbary, of course; to -be sold as a slave among the heathen infidels. -Where did you think you was bound for? Fortunate -Isles with rings on your fingers to splice a -golden queen—eh?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Barbary—infidels—slave,” Ortho repeated stupidly. -No wonder Anson had leered as he went -down!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He turned, sighing, over on his face. “Slaves—infidels—Barb -. . .” and was asleep.</p> - -<div><h1>CHAPTER XIX</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>He woke up eighteen hours later, at about -noon—or so his neighbor told him; it was -impossible to distinguish night from day -down there. The hold was shallow and three parts -full; this brought them within a few feet of the -deck beams and made the atmosphere so thick it -was difficult to breathe, congested as they were. -Added to which, the rats and cockroaches were very -active and the stale bilge water, washing to and fro -under the floor, reeked abominably.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The other prisoners were not talkative. Now -and again one would shout across to a friend and -a short conversation would ensue, but most of the -time they kept silence, as though steeped in melancholy. -The majority sounded like foreigners.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho sat up, tried to stretch his legs, and found -they were shackled to a chain running fore and aft -over the cargo.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His left-hand neighbor spoke: “Woke up, have -you? Well, how d’you fancy it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho grunted.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, well, mayn’t be so bad. You’m a likely -lad; you’ll fetch a good price, mayhap, and get a -good master. ’Tain’t the strong mule catches the -whip; ’tis the old uns—y’understan’? To-morrow’s -the best day for hard work over there and the -climate’s prime; better nor England by a long hawse, -and that’s the Gospel truth, y’understan’?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How do you know?” Ortho inquired.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The man snorted. “Know? Ain’t I been there -nine year?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“In Sallee?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No—Algiers . . . but it’s the same, see what -I mean? Nine years a slave with old Abd-el-Hamri -in Sidi-Okbar Street. Only exchanged last summer, -and now, dang my tripes, if I ain’t took again!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where did they catch you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Off Prawle Point on Tuesday in the <span class='it'>Harvest</span>, -yawl of Brixham—I’m a Brixham man, y’understan’? -Puddicombe by name. I did swere and -vow once I was ashore I would never set foot afloat -no more. Then my sister Johanna’s George took -sick with a flux and I went in his place just for a -day—and now here we are again—hey, hey!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Who are all these foreigners?” asked Ortho.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hollanders, took off a Dutch East Indiaman. -This be her freight we’m lyin’ on now, see what -I mean? They got it split up between the three -on ’em. There’s three on ’em, y’understan’; <span class='it'>was</span> -four, but the Hollander sank one before she was -carried, so they say, and tore up t’other two cruel. -The old <span class='it'>reis</span>—admiral that is—he’s lost his mainmast. -You can hear he banging away at night to -keep his consorts close; scared, y’understan’? Howsombeit -they done well enough. Only been out two -months and they’ve got the cream of an Indies -freight, not to speak of three or four coasters and a -couple of hundred poor sailors that should fetch -from thirty to fifty ducats apiece in the <span class='it'>soko</span>. And -then there’s the ransoms too, see what I mean?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ransoms?” Ortho echoed. Was that a way -home? Was it possible to be ransomed? He had -money.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Aye, ransoms,” said Puddicombe. “You can -thank your God on bended knees, young man, you -ain’t nothin’ but a poor fisher lad with no money -at your back, see what I mean?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, I don’t—why?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why—’cos the more they tortured you the more -you’d squeal and the more your family would pay -to get you out of it, y’understan’? There was a -dozen fat Mynheer merchants took on that Indiaman, -and if they poor souls knew what they’re going -through they’d take the first chance overboard—sharks -is a sweet death to what these heathen serve -you. I’ve seen some of it in Algiers city—see what -I mean? Understan’?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho did not answer; he had suddenly realized -that he had never told Eli where the money was -hidden—over seven hundred pounds—and how was -he ever going to tell him <span class='it'>now</span>? He lay back on -the bales and abandoned himself to unprofitable regrets.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mr. Puddicombe, getting no response to his chatter, -cracked his finger joints, his method of whiling -away the time. The afternoon wore on, wore out. -At sundown they were given a pittance of dry bread -and stale water. Later on a man came down, -knocked Ortho’s shackles off and signed him to follow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re to be questioned,” the ex-slave whispered. -“Be careful now, y’understan’?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Moors were at their evening meal, squatting, -tight-packed round big pots, dipping for morsels -with their bare hands, gobbling and gabbling. The -galley was between decks, a brick structure built -athwart-ship. As Ortho passed he caught a glimpse -of the interior. It was a blaze of light from the -fires before which a couple of negroes toiled, -stripped to the waist, stirring up steaming caldrons; -the sweat glistened like varnish on their muscular -bodies.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His guide led him to the upper deck. The night -breeze blew in his face, deliciously chill after the -foul air below. He filled his lungs with draughts -of it. On the port quarter tossed a galaxy of twinkling -lights—the admiral and the third ship. Below -in their rat-run holds were scores of people -in no better plight than himself, Ortho reflected, -in some cases worse, for many of the Dutchmen -were wounded. A merry world!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His guide ran up the quarter-deck ladder. The -officer of the watch, a dark silhouette lounging -against a swivel mounted on the poop, snapped out -a challenge in Arabic to which the guide replied. -He opened the door of the poop cabin and thrust -Ortho within.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was a small place, with the exception of a -couple of brass-bound chests, a table and a chair, -quite unfurnished, but it was luxurious after a -fashion and, compared with the squalor of the hold, -paradise.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mattresses were laid on the floor all round the -walls, and on these were heaped a profusion of -cushions, cushions of soft leather and of green and -crimson velvet. The walls were draped with hangings -worked with the same colors, and a lamp of -fretted brass-work, with six burners, hung by chains -from the ceiling. The gigantic Moor who had -called the crew to prayers sat on the cushions in a -corner, his feet drawn up under him, a pyramid of -snowy draperies. He was running a chain of beads -through his fingers, his lips moved in silence. More -than ever did he look like a Bible patriarch. On -the port side a tall Berber lay outstretched, his face -to the wall; a watch-keeper taking his rest. At the -table, his back to the ornamented rudder-casing, sat -a stout little man with a cropped head, scarlet face -and bright blue eyes. Ortho saw to his surprise -that he did not wear Moorish dress but the heavy -blue sea-coat of an English sailor, a canary muffler -and knee-breeches.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The little man’s unflinching bright eyes ran all -over him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Cornishman?” he inquired in perfect English.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Fisherman?” apprising the boy’s canvas smock, -apron and boots.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Blown off-shore—eh?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where from? Isles of Scilly?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, sir; Monks Cove.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where’s that?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sou’west corner of Mount’s Bay, sir, near Penzance.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Penzance, ah-ha! Penzance,” the captain repeated. -“Now what do I know of Penzance?” He -screwed his eyes up, rubbed the back of his head, -puzzling. “Penzance!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then he banged his fist on the table. “Damme, -of course!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He turned to Ortho again. “Got any property -in this Cove—houses, boats or belike?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, sir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Father? . . . Brothers? . . . Relations?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Only a widowed mother, sir, and a brother.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They got any property?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, sir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What does your brother do?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Works on a farm, sir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hum, yes, thought as much; couple of nets and -an old boat stopped up with tar—huh! Never -mind, you’re healthy; you’ll sell.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He said something in Arabic to the old Moor, -who wagged his flowing beard and went on with -his beads.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You can go!” said the captain, motioning to the -guide; then as Ortho neared the door he called out, -“Avast a minute!” Ortho turned about.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You say you come from near Penzance. Well, -did you run athwart a person by the name of Gish -by any chance? Captain Jeremiah Gish? He was a -Penzance man, I remember. Made a mint o’ money -shipping ‘black-birds’ to the Plate River and retired -home to Penzance, or so I’ve heard. Gish is the -name, Jerry Gish.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho gaped. Gish—Captain Jerry—he should -think he did know him. He had been one of -Teresa’s most ardent suitors at one time, and still -hung after her, admired her gift of vituperation; -had been in the Star Inn that night he had robbed -her of the hundred pounds. Captain Jerry! They -were always meeting at races and such-like; had -made several disastrous bets with him. Old Jerry -Gish! It sounded strange to hear that familiar -name here among all these wild infidels, gave him -an acute twinge of homesickness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well,” said the corsair captain, “never heard of -him, I suppose?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho recovered himself. “Indeed, sir, I know -him very well.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The captain sat up. “You do?” Then with a -snap: “How?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It flashed on Ortho that he must be careful. To -disclose the circumstances under which he had hob-nobbed -with Jerry Gish would be to give himself -away.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho licked his lips. “He used to come to Cove -a lot, sir. Was friendly like with the inn-keeper -there. Was very gentlemanly with his money of an -evening.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The captain sank back, his suspicions lulled. He -laughed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Free with the drink, mean you? Aye, I warrant -old Jerry would be that—ha, ha!” He sat smiling -at recollections, drumming his short fingers on the -table.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Some flying spray heads rattled on the stern windows. -The brass lamp swung back and forth, its -shadow swimming with it up and down the floor. -The watchkeeper muttered in his sleep. Outside the -wind moaned. The captain looked up. “Used to -be a shipmate of mine, Jerry—when we were boys. -Many a game we’ve played. Did y’ ever hear him -tell a story?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Often, sir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You did, did you—spins a good yarn, Jerry—none -better. Ever hear him tell of what we did to -that old nigger woman in Port o’ Spain? MacBride’s -my name, Ben MacBride. Ever hear -it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, I believe I did, sir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That’s a good yarn that, eh? My God, she -screeched, ha, ha!” Tears trickled out of his eyes -at the memory.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Told you a good few yarns, I expect?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, sir, many.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Remember ’em?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I think so, sir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you? Hum-hurr!” He looked at Ortho -again, seemed to be considering.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you?—ah, hem! Yes, very good. Well, -you must go now. Time to snug down. Ahmed!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The guide stood to attention, received some instructions -in Arabic and led Ortho away. At the -galley door he stopped, went inside, and came out -bearing a lump of meat and a small cake which he -thrust on Ortho, and made motions to show that it -was by the captain’s orders.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Three minutes later he was shackled down again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“How did you fare?” the Brixham man grunted -drowsily.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not so bad,” said Ortho.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He waited till the other had gone to sleep, and -then ate his cake and meat; he was ravenous and -didn’t want to share it.</p> - -<hr class='tbk'/> - -<p class='pindent'>Black day succeeded black night down in the hold, -changing places imperceptibly. Once every twenty-four -hours the prisoners were taken on deck for a -few minutes; in the morning and evening they were -fed. Nothing else served to break the stifling monotony. -It seemed to Ortho that he had been -chained up in blank gloom for untold years, gloom -peopled with disembodied voices that became loquacious -only in sleep. Courage gagged their waking -hours, but when they slept, and no longer -had control of themselves, they talked, muttered, -groaned and cried aloud for lost places and lost -loves. At night that hold was an inferno, a dark -cavern filled with damned souls wailing. Two Biscayners -did actually fight once, but they didn’t fight -for long, hadn’t spirit enough. It was over a few -crumbs of bread that they fell out. The man on -Ortho’s right, an old German seaman, never uttered -a word. One morning when they came round with -food he didn’t put his hand out for his portion and -they found that he was dead—a fact the rats had -discovered some hours before. The only person -who was not depressed was Mr. Puddicombe, late of -Brixham and Algiers. He had the advantage of -knowing what he was called upon to face, combined -with a strong strain of natural philosophy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>England, viewed from Algiers, had seemed a -green land of plenty, of perennial beer and skittles. -When he got home he found he had to work harder -than ever he had done in Africa and, after nine -years of sub-tropics, the northern winter had bitten -him to the bone. Provided he did not become a -Government slave (which he thought unlikely, being -too old) he was not sure but that all was for -the best. He was a good tailor and carpenter and -generally useful about the house, a valuable possession -in short. He would be well treated. He would -try to get a letter through to his old master, he -said, and see if an exchange could be worked. He -had been quite happy in Sidi Okbar Street. The -notary had treated him more as a friend than a -servant; they used to play “The King’s Game” (a -form of chess) together of an evening. He thought -Abd-el-Hamri, being a notary, a man of means, could -easily effect the exchange, and then, once comfortably -settled down to slavery in Algiers, nothing on -earth should tempt him to take any more silly -chances with freedom, he assured Ortho. He also -gave him a lot of advice concerning his future conduct.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ve taken a fancy to you, my lad,” he said one -evening, “an’ I’m givin’ you advice others would -pay ducats and golden pistoles to get, y’understan’?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho was duly grateful.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Are you a professed Catholic by any chance?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, Protestant.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, if you was a Catholic professed I should -tell you to hold by it for a bit and see if the Redemptionist -Fathers could help you, but if you be -a Protestant nobody won’t do nothin’ for you, so -you’d best turn <span class='it'>Renegado</span> and turn sharp—like I -done; see what I mean?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Renegado?</span>”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Turn Moslem. Sing out night and mornin’ that -there’s only one Allah and nobody like him. After -that they got to treat you kinder. If you’m a <span class='it'>Kafir</span>—Christian, -so to speak—they’re doin’ this here -Allah a favor by peltin’ stones at you. If you’re -a Mohammedan you’re one of Allah’s own and they -got to love you; see what I mean? Mind you, -there’s drawbacks. You ain’t supposed to touch -liquor, but that needn’t lie on your mind. God -knows when the corsairs came home full to the -hatches and business was brisk there was mighty few -of us <span class='it'>Renegados</span> in Algiers city went sober to bed, -y’understan’? Then there’s Ramadan. That means -you got to close-reef your belt from sunrise to sunset -for thirty mortal days. If they catch you as -much as sucking a lemon they’ll beat your innards -out. I don’t say it can’t be done, but don’t let ’em -catch you; see what I mean? Leaving aside his -views on liquor and this here Ramadan, I ain’t got -nothin’ against the Prophet.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“When you get as old and clever as me you’ll -find that religions is much like clo’es, wear what -the others is wearin’ and you can do what you like. -You take my advice, my son, and as soon as you -land holla out that there’s only one Allah and keep -on hollaing; understan’?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho understood and determined to do likewise; -essentially an opportunist, he would have cheerfully -subscribed to devil worship had it been fashionable.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One morning they were taken on deck and kept -there till noon. Puddicombe said the officers were -in the hold valuing the cargo; they were nearing -the journey’s end.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was clear weather, full of sunshine. Packs -of chubby cloud trailed across a sky of pale azure. -The three ships were in close company, line ahead, -the lame flagship leading, her lateens wing and wing. -The gingerbread work on her high stern was one -glitter of gilt and her quarters were carved with -stars and crescent moons interwoven with Arabic -scrolls. The ship astern was no less fancifully embellished. -All three were decked out as for holiday, -flying long coach-whip pennants from trucks and -lateen peaks, and each had a big green banner at a -jack-staff on the poop.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>No land was in sight, but there were signs of it. -A multitude of gulls swooped and cried among the -rippling pennants; a bundle of cut bamboos drifted -by and a broken basket.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>MacBride, a telescope under his arm, a fur cap -cocked on the back of his head, strutted the poop. -Presently he came down the upper deck and walked -along the line of prisoners, inspecting them closely. -He gave Ortho no sign of recognition, but later on -sent for him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Did Jerry Gish ever tell you the yarn of how -him and me shaved that old Jew junk dealer in -Derry and then got him pressed?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, sir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>MacBride related the story and Ortho laughed -with great heartiness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good yarn, ain’t it?” said the captain.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho vowed it was the best he had ever heard.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Of course you knowing old Jerry would appreciate -it—these others—!” The captain made the -gesture of one whose pearls of reminiscence have -been cast before swine.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho took his courage in both hands and told -a story of how Captain Gish had got hold of a -gypsy’s bear, dressed it up in a skirt, cloak and bonnet -and let it loose in the Quakers’ meeting house -in Penzance. As a matter of fact, it was not the -inimitable Jerry who had done it at all, but a party -of young squires; however, it served Ortho’s purpose -to credit the exploit to Captain Gish. Captain -Gish, as Ortho remembered him, was a dull old gentleman -with theories of his own on the lost tribes -of Israel which he was never tired of disclosing, -but the Jerry Gish that MacBride remembered and -delighted in was evidently a very different person—a -spark, a blood, a devil of a fellow. Jeremiah must -be maintained in the latter rôle at all costs. Ever -since his visit to the cabin Ortho had been thinking -of all boisterous jests he had ever heard and tailoring -them to fit Jerry against such a chance as this. -His repertoire was now extensive.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The captain laughed most heartily at the episode -of “good old Jerry” and the bear. Ortho knew -how to tell a story; he had caught the trick from -Pyramus. Encouraged, he was on the point of relating -another when there came a long-drawn cry -from aloft. The effect on the Arab crew was magical.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Moghreb!” they cried. “Moghreb!” and, dropping -whatever they had in hand, raced for the main -ratlines. Captain MacBride, however, was before -them. He kicked one chocolate mariner in the -stomach, planted his fist in the face of another, -whacked yet another over the knuckles with his telescope, -hoisted himself to the fife rail, and from that -eminence distributed scalding admonitions to all and -sundry. That done, he went hand over fist in a -dignified manner up to the topgallant yard.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The prisoners were sent below, but to the tween-decks -this time instead of the hold.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Land was in sight, the Brixham man informed -Ortho. They had hit the mark off very neatly, at -a town called Mehdia a few miles above Sallee, or -so he understood. If they could catch the tide -they should be in by evening. The admiral was -lacing bonnets on. The gun ports being closed, they -could not see how they were progressing, but the -Arabs were in a high state of elation; cheer after -cheer rang out from overhead as they picked up -familiar land-marks along the coast. Even the -wounded men dragged themselves to the upper deck. -The afternoon drew on. Puddicombe was of the -opinion that they would miss the tide and anchor -outside, in which case they were in for another -night’s pitching and rolling. Ortho devoutly trusted -not; what with the vermin and rats in that hold -he was nearly eaten alive. He was just beginning -to give up hope when there came a sudden bark of -orders from above, the scamper of bare feet, the -chant of men hauling on braces and the creak of -yards as they came over.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She’s come up,” said he of Brixham. “They’re -stowing the square sails and going in under lateens. -Whoop, there she goes! Over the bar!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Crash-oom!” went a gun. “Crash-oom!” went -a second, a third and a fourth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They’re firing at us!” said Ortho.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Puddicombe snorted. “Aye—powder! That’s -rejoicements, that is. You don’t know these Arabs; -when the cow calves they fire a gun; that’s their -way o’ laughing. Why, I’ve seen the corsairs come -home to Algiers with all the forts blazin’ like as -if there was a bombardment on. You wait, we’ll -open up in a minute. Ah, there you are!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Crash-oom!” bellowed the flagship ahead. -“Zang! Zang!” thundered their own bow-chasers. -“Crash-oom!” roared the ship astern, and the forts -on either hand replied with deafening volleys. -“Crack-wang! Crack-wang!” sang the little swivels. -“Pop-pop-pop!” snapped the muskets ashore. In -the lull came the noise of far cheering and the throb -of drums and then the stunning explosions of the -guns again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They’ve dowsed the mizzen,” said Puddicombe. -“Foresail next and let go. We’m most there, son; -see what I mean?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They were taken off at dusk in a ferry float. -The three ships were moored head and stern in a -small river with walled towns on either hand, a town -built upon red cliffs to the south, a town built upon -a flat shore to the north. To the east lay marshes -and low hills beyond, with the full moon rising over -them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The xebecs were surrounded by a mob of skiffs -full of natives, all yelling and laughing and occasionally -letting off a musket. One grossly overloaded -boat, suddenly feeling its burden too great to bear, -sank with all hands.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Its occupants did not mind in the least; they -splashed about, bubbling with laughter, baled the -craft out and climbed in again. The ferry deposited -its freight of captives on the spit to the north, -where they were joined by the prisoners from the -other ships, including some women taken on the -Dutch Indiaman. They were then marched over -the sand flats towards the town, and all the way the -native women alternately shrieked for joy or cursed -them. They lined the track up to the town, shapeless -bundles of white drapery, and hurled sand and -abuse. One old hag left her long nail marks down -Ortho’s cheek, another lifted her veil for a second -and sprayed him with spittle.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Kafir-b-Illah was rasool!</span>” they screamed at the -hated Christians. Then: “<span class='it'>Zahrit! Zahrit! Zahrit!</span>” -would go the shrill joy cries.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Small boys with shorn heads and pigtails gamboled -alongside, poking them with canes and egging -their curs on to bite them, and in front of the procession -a naked black wild man of the mountains went -leaping, shaking his long hair, whooping and banging -a goat-skin tambourine.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They passed under a big horseshoe arch and were -within the walls. Ortho got an impression of huddled -flat houses gleaming white under the moon; of -men and women in flowing white; donkeys, camels, -children, naked negroes and renegade seamen jostling -together in clamorous alleys; of muskets popping, -tom-toms thumping, pipes squeaking; of laughter, -singing and screams, while in his nostrils two -predominant scents struggled for mastery—dung -and orange blossom.</p> - -<div><h1>CHAPTER XX</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho and his fellow prisoners spent the -next thirty-nine hours in one of the town -mattamores, a dungeon eighteen feet deep, -its sole outlet a trap-door in the ceiling. It was -damp and dark as a vault, littered with filth and -crawling with every type of intimate pest. The omniscient -Puddicombe told Ortho that such was the -permanent lodging of Government slaves; they -toiled all day on public works and were herded home -at night to this sort of thing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>More than ever was Ortho determined to forswear -his religion at the first opportunity. He -asked if there were any chances of escape from -Morocco. Puddicombe replied that there were -none. Every man’s hand was against one; besides, -Sidi Mahomet I. had swept the last Portuguese -garrison (Mazagan) off the coast six years previously, -so where was one to run? He went on -to describe some of the tortures inflicted on recaptured -slaves—such as having limbs rotted off -in quick-lime, being hung on hooks and sawn in half—and -counseled Ortho most strongly, should any -plan of escape present itself, not to divulge it to a -soul. Nobody could be trusted. The slave gangs -were sown thick with spies, and even those who -were not employed as such turned informer in order -to acquire merit with their masters.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Dogs!” cried Ortho, blazing at such treachery.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not so quick with your ‘dogs,’ ” said Puddicombe, -quietly. “You may find yourself doin’ it -some day—under the bastinado.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Something in the old man’s voice made the boy -wonder if he were not speaking from experience, if -he had not at some time, in the throes of torture, -given a friend away.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>On the second day they were taken to the market -and auctioned. Before the sale took place the Basha -picked out a fifth of the entire number, including all -the best men, and ordered them to be marched away -as the Sultan’s perquisites. Ortho was one of those -chosen in the first place, but a venerable Moor in -a sky-blue jellab came to the rescue, bowing before -the Governor, talking rapidly and pointing to Ortho -the while. The great man nodded, picked a Dutchman -in his place and passed on. The public auction -then began, with much preliminary shouting -and drumming. Prisoners were dragged out and -minutely inspected by prospective buyers, had their -chests thumped, muscles pinched, teeth inspected, -were trotted up and down to expose their action, -exactly like dumb beasts at a fair.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The simile does not apply to Mr. Puddicombe. -He was not dumb; he lifted up his voice and shouted -some rigmarole in Arabic. Ortho asked him what -he was saying.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Tellin’ ’em what I can do, bless you! Think -I want to be bought by a poor man and moil in -the fields? No, I’m going to a house where they -have cous-cous every day—y’understan’? See what -I mean?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ahoy there, lords!” he bawled. “Behold me! -Nine years was I in Algiers at the house of Abd-el-Hamri, -the lawyer in Sidi Okbar Street. No -<span class='it'>Nesrani</span> dog am I, but a Moslem, a True Believer. -Moreover, I am skilled in sewing and carpentry -and many kindred arts. Question me, lords, that -ye may see I speak the truth. Ahoy there, behold -me!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His outcry brought the buyers flocking. The auctioneer, -seeing his opportunity, enlarged on Mr. -Puddicombe’s supposed merits. Positively the most -accomplished slave Algiers had ever seen, diligent, -gifted and of celebrated piety. Not as young as -he had been perhaps, but what of it? What was -age but maturity, the ripeness of wisdom, the fruit -of experience? Here was no gad-about boy to be -forever sighing after the slave wenches, loitering -beside the story-tellers and forgetting his duty, but -a man of sound sense whose sole interests would -be those of his master. What offers for this union -of all the virtues, this household treasure? Stimulated -by the dual advertisement, the bidding became -brisk, the clamor deafening, and Mr. Puddicombe -was knocked down, body and soul for seventeen -pounds, thirteen shillings and fourpence (fifty-three -ducats) to a little hunch-back with ophthalmia, but -of extreme richness of apparel.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Prisoner after prisoner was sold off and led away -by his purchaser until only Ortho remained. He -was puzzled at this and wondered what to do next, -when the venerable Moor in the blue jellab finished -some transaction with the auctioneer and twitched -at his sleeve. As the guards showed no objection, -or, indeed, any further interest in him, he followed -the blue jellab. The blue jellab led the way westwards -up a maze of crooked lanes until they reached -the summit of the town, and there, under the shadow -of the minaret, opened a door in an otherwise blank -wall, passed up a gloomy tunnel, and brought Ortho -out into a courtyard.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The court was small, stone-paved, with a single -orange tree growing in the center and arcades supported -on fretted pillars running all round.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A couple of slave negresses were sweeping the -courtyard with palmetto brooms under the oral -goadings of an immensely stout old Berber woman, -and on the north side, out of the sun, reclining on -a pile of cushions, sat Captain Benjamin MacBride, -the traditional picture of the seafarer ashore, his -pipe in his mouth, his tankard within reach, both -arms filled with girl. He had a slender, kindling -Arab lass tucked in the crook of his right arm, his -left arm encompassed two fair-skinned Moorish -beauties. They were unveiled, bejeweled and tinted -like ripe peaches; their haiks were of white silk, -their big-sleeved undergarments of colored satin; -their toes were painted with henna and so were their -fingers; they wore black ink beauty spots on their -cheeks. Not one of the brilliant little birds of paradise -could have passed her seventeenth year.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Captain MacBride’s cherry-hued countenance -wore an expression of profound content.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He hailed Ortho with a shout, “Come here, -boy!” and the three little ladies sat up, stared at -the newcomer and whispered to each other, tittering.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ve bought you, d’ y’ see?” said MacBride.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“An’ a tidy penny you cost me. If the Basha -wasn’t my very good friend you’d ha’ gone to the -quarries and had your heart broken first and your -back later, so you’re lucky. Now bestir yourself -round about and do what old Saheb (indicating the -blue jellab) tells you, or to the quarries you go—see? -What d’ y’ call yourself, heh?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho told him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ortho Penhale; that’ll never do.” He consulted -the birds of paradise, who tried the outlandish -words over, but could not shape their tongues to -them. They twittered and giggled and wrangled -and patted MacBride’s cheerful countenance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hark ’e,” said he at last. “Tama wants to name -you ‘Chitane’ because you look wicked. Ayesha -is for ‘Sejra’ because you’re tall, but Schems-ed-dah -here says you ought to be called ‘Saïd’ because you’re -lucky to be here.” He pressed the dark Arab girl -to him. “So ‘Saïd’ be it. ‘Saïd’ I baptize thee -henceforth and forever more—see?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Break-of-Dawn embraced her lord, Tama and -Ayesha pouted. He presented them with a large -knob of colored sweetmeat apiece and they were all -smiles again. Peace was restored and Ortho -stepped back under his new name, “Saïd”—the fortunate -one.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>From then began his life of servitude at the house -on the hill and it was not disagreeable. His duties -were to tend the captain’s horse and the household -donkey, fetch wood and water and run errands. -In the early morning MacBride would mount his -horse (a grossly overfed, cow-hocked chestnut), -leave the town by the Malka Gate, ride hell-for-leather, -every limb in convulsion, across the sands -to the shipyards at the southeast corner of the town. -Ortho, by cutting through the Jews’ quarter and -out of the Mrisa Gate as hard as he could run, usually -managed to arrive within a few minutes of the -captain and spent the rest of the morning walking -the horse about while his master supervised the -work in the yards. These were on the bend of -the river under shelter of a long wall, a continuation -of the town fortifications. Here the little xebecs -were drawn up on ways and made ready for sea. -Renegade craftsmen sent spars up and down, toiled -like spiders in webs of rigging, splicing and parceling; -plugged shot holes, repaired splintered upper -works, painted and gilded the flamboyant beaks and -sterns, while gangs of slaves hove on the huge shore -capstans, bobbed like mechanical dolls in the saw-pits, -scraped the slender hulls and payed them over -with boiling tallow. There were sailmakers to -watch as well, gunsmiths and carvers; plenty to see -and admire.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The heat of the day MacBride spent on the shady -side of his court in siesta among his ladies, and -Ortho released the donkey from its tether among -the olive trees outside the Chaafa Gate and fetched -wood and water, getting the former from charcoal -burners’ women from the Forest of Marmora. He -met many other European slaves similarly employed—Frenchmen, -Spaniards, Italians, Dutchmen, Portuguese, -Greeks and not a few British. They spoke -Arabic together and a lingua franca, a compound -of their several tongues, but Ortho was not attracted -by any of them; they were either too reticent or -too friendly. He remembered what Puddicombe -had said about spies and kept his mouth shut except -on the most trivial topics. Puddicombe he frequently -encountered in the streets, but never at the -wells or in the charcoal market. The menial hauling -of wood and drawing of water were not for that -astute gentleman; he had passed onto a higher plane -and was now steward with menials under him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His master (whom he designated as “Sore-Eyes”) -was very amiable when not suffering from -any of his manifold infirmities, amiable, not to say -indulgent. He had shares in every corsair in the -port, fifteen cows and a large orchard. The slaves -had cous-cous, fat mutton and chicken scrapings almost -every day, butter galore and as much fruit -as they could eat. He was teaching Sore-Eyes the -King’s Game and getting into his good graces. But, -purposely, not too deep. Did he make himself indispensable -Sore-Eyes might refuse to part with him -and he would not see Sidi Okbar Street again—a -Jew merchant had promised to get his letter through. -Between his present master and the notary there -was little to choose, but Sallee was a mere rat-hole -compared with Algiers. He enlarged on the city -of his captivity, its white terraces climbing steeply -from the blue harbor, its beauty, wealth and activity -with all the tremulous passion of an exile pining -for home.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Many free renegades were there also about the -town with whom Ortho was on terms of friendship—mutineers, -murderers, ex-convicts, wanted -criminals to a man. These gentry were almost entirely -employed either as gunners and petty officers -aboard the corsairs or as skilled laborers in the -yards. They had their own grog-shops and resorts, -and when they had money lived riotously and invited -everybody to join. Many a night did Ortho spend -in the renegado taverns when the rovers were in -after a successful raid, watching them dicing for -shares of plunder and dancing their clattering hornpipes; -listening to their melancholy and boastful -songs, to their wild tales of battle and disaster, -sudden affluence and debauch; tales of superstition -and fabulous adventure, of phantom ships, ghost -islands, white whales, sea dragons, Jonahs and mermaids; -of the pleasant pirate havens in the main, -slave barracoons on the Guinea coast, orchid-poisoned -forests in the Brazils, of Indian moguls who -rode on jeweled elephants beneath fans of peacock -feathers, and the ice barriers to the north, where -the bergs stood mountain-high and glittered like -green glass.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Sometimes there were brawls when the long -sheath knives came out and one or other of the combatants -dropped, occasionally both. They were -hauled outside by the heels and the fun went on -again. But these little unpleasantnesses were exceptional. -The “mala casta” ashore were the essence -of good fellowship and of a royal liberality; they -were especially generous to the Christian captives, -far more kindly than the slaves were to each other.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The habitual feeling of restraint, of suspicion, -vanished before the boisterous conviviality of these -rascals. When the fleets came, banging and cheering, -home over the bar into the Bou Regreg and -the “mala casta” were in town blowing their money -in, the Europeans met together, spoke openly, -drank, laughed and were friends. When they were -gone the cloud descended once more, the slaves -looked at each other slant-wise and walked apart.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But Ortho cared little for that; he was at home -in the house on the hill and passably happy. It -was only necessary for him to watch the Government -slaves being herded to work in the quarries -and salt-pans, ill-clad, half-starved, battered along -with sticks and gun butts, to make him content with -his mild lot. Not for nothing had he been named -“Saïd,” the fortunate.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He had no longer any thought of escape. One -morning returning with wood he met a rabble in -the narrow Souika. They had a mule in their midst, -and dragging head down at the mule’s tail was what -had once been a man. His hands were strapped -behind him so that he could in no way protect himself -but bumped along the ruts and cobbles, twisting -over and over. His features were gone, there -was not a particle of skin left on him, and at this -red abomination the women cursed, the beggars -spat, the children threw stones and the dogs tore.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was a Christian, Ortho learnt, a slave who had -killed his warder, escaped and been recaptured.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The rabble went on, shouting and stoning, -towards the Fez Gate, and Ortho drove his donkey -home, shivering, determined that freedom was too -dear at that risk. There was nothing in his life -at the captain’s establishment to make him anxious -to run. The ample Mahma did not regard him -with favor, but that served to enhance him in the -eyes of Saheb, the steward, between whom and the -housekeeper there was certain rivalry and no love -lost.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The two negresses were merely lazy young animals -with no thoughts beyond how much work -they could avoid and how much food they could -steal. Of the harem beauties he saw little except -when MacBride was present and then they were -fully occupied with their lord. MacBride was amiability -itself.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Captain MacBride at sea, at the first sign of indiscipline, -tricing his men to the main-jeers and -flogging them raw; Captain MacBride, yard-master -of Sallee, bellowing blasphemies at a rigger on a -top-mast truck, laying a caulker out with his own -mallet for skimped work, was a totally different -person from Ben MacBride of the house on the -hill. The moment he entered its portals he, as it -were, resigned his commission and put on childish -things. He would issue from the tunnel and stand -in the courtyard, clapping his hands and hallooing -for his dears. With a flip-flap of embroidered slippers, -a jingle of bangles and twitters of welcome -they would be on him and he would disappear in -a whirl of billowing haiks. The embraces over, -he would disgorge his pockets of the masses of pink -and white sweetmeats he purchased daily and maybe -produce a richly worked belt for Ayesha, a necklace -of scented beads for Tama, fretted gold hair ornaments -for Schems-ed-dah, and chase them round and -round the orange tree while the little things snatched -at his flying coat-tails and squealed in mock terror.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>What with overseeing the yards, where battered -corsairs were constantly refitting, and supervising -the Pilot’s School, where young Moors were taught -the rudiments of navigation, MacBride was kept -busy during the day, and his household saw little -of him, but in the evenings he returned rejoicing -to the bosom of his family, never abroad to stray, -the soul of domesticity. He would lounge on the -heaped cushions, his long pipe in his teeth, his -tankard handy, Schems-ed-dah nestling against one -shoulder, Tama and Ayesha taking turns with the -other, and call for his jester, Saïd.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hey, boy, tell us about ole Jerry and the bear.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then Ortho would squat and tell imaginary anecdotes -of Jerry, and the captain would hoot and -splutter and choke until the three little girls thumped -him normal again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Rot me, but ain’t that rich?” he would moan, -tears brightening his scarlet cheeks. “Ain’t that jist -like ole Jerry—the ole rip! He-he! Tell us another, -Saïd—that about the barber he shaved and -painted like his own pole—go on.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Saïd would tell the story. At first he had been -at pains to invent new episodes for Captain Gish, -that great hero of MacBride’s boyhood, but he soon -found it quite unnecessary; the old would do as well—nay, -better. It was like telling fairy stories to -children, always the old favorites in the old words. -His audience knew exactly what was coming, but -that in no way served to dull their delight when it -came. As Ortho (or Saïd) approached a well-worn -climax a tremor of delicious expectancy would run -through Schems-ed-dah (he was talking in Arabic -now), Tama and Ayesha would clasp hands, and -MacBride sit up, eyes fixed on the speaker, mouth -open, like a terrier ready to snap a biscuit. Then -the threadbare climax. MacBride would cast himself -backwards and beat the air with ecstatic legs; -Schems-ed-dah clap her hands and laugh like a ripple -of fairy bells; Ayesha and Tama hug each other -and swear their mirth would kill them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When they recovered, the story-teller was rewarded -with rum and tobacco from that staunch -Moslem MacBride, with sweetmeats and mint tea -from the ladies. He enjoyed his evenings. During -the winter they sat indoors before charcoal braziers -in which burned sticks of aromatic wood, but on -the hot summer nights they took to the roof to -catch the sea breeze. Star-bright, languorous nights -they were.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Below them the white town, ghostly glimmering, -sloped away to the coast and the flats. Above them -the slender minaret, while on the lazy wind came the -drone of breakers and the faint sweet scent of spice -gardens. Voluptuous, sea-murmurous nights, milk-warm, -satin-soft under a tent of star-silvered purple.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Sometimes Schems-ed-dah fingered a gounibri and -sang plaintive desert songs of the Bedouin women, -the two other girls, snuggling, half-asleep, against -MacBride’s broad chest, crooning the refrains.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Sometimes Ayesha, stirred by moonlight, would -dance, clicking her bracelets, tinkling tiny brass cymbals -between her fingers, swaying her graceful body -backwards and sideways, poising on her toes, arms -outstretched, like a sea-bird drifting, stamping her -heels and shuddering from head to toe.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Besides story-telling, Ortho occasionally lifted up -his voice in song. He had experimented with his -mother’s guitar in times gone by and found he could -make some show with the gounibri.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He sang Romany ditties he had learnt on his -travels, and these were approved of by the Moorish -girls, being in many ways akin to their own. But -mostly he sang sea songs for the benefit of MacBride, -who liked to swell the chorus with his bull -bellow. They sang “Cawsand Bay,” “Baltimore,” -“Lowlands Low” and “The Sailor’s Bride,” and -made much cheerful noise about it, on one occasion -calling down on themselves the reproof of the -muezzin, who rebuked them from the summit of -the minaret, swearing he could hardly hear himself -shout. Eleven months Ortho remained in congenial -bondage in Sallee.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then one morning MacBride sent for him. “I’m -goin’ to set you free, Saïd, my buck,” said he.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho was aghast, asked what he had done amiss.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>MacBride waved his hand. “I ain’t got nothin’ -against you as yet, but howsomdever I reckon I’d -best turn you loose. I’m goin’ to sea again—as -reis.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Reis!” Ortho exclaimed. “What of Abdullah -Benani?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Had his neck broken by the Sultan’s orders in -Mequinez three days ago for losin’ them three -xebecs off Corunna. I’m to go in his place. I’ve -settled about you with the Basha. You’re to go -to the Makhzen Horse as a free soldier. I’ll find -you a nag and gear; when you sack a rich kasba -you can pay me back. You’ll make money if you’re -clever—and don’t get shot first.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Can’t I go with you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No. We only take Christians with prices on -their heads at home. They don’t betray us then—you -might.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, can’t I stop here in Sallee?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That you cannot. It has struck me that you’ve -been castin’ too free an eye on my girls. Mind -you, I don’t blame you. You’re young and they’re -pretty; it’s only natural. But it wouldn’t be natural -for me to go to sea and leave you here with a free -run. Anyhow I’m not doin’ it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho declared with warmth that MacBride’s suspicions -were utterly unfounded, most unjust; he was -incapable of such base disloyalty.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The captain wagged his bullet head. “Maybe, -but I’m not takin’ any risks. Into the army you -go—or the quarries.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho declared hastily for the army.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A fortnight later MacBride led his fleet out over -the bar between saluting forts, and Ortho, with less -ceremony, took the road for Mequinez.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>That phase of his existence was over. He had a -sword, a long match-lock and a passable Barb pony -under him. Technically he was a free man; actually -he was condemned to a servitude vastly more exacting -than that which he had just left. A little money -might come his way, bullets certainly, wounds probably, -possibly painful death—and death was the -only discharge.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He pulled up his horse at the entrance of the -forest and looked back. His eye was caught by the -distant shimmer of the sea—the Atlantic. He was -going inland among the naked mountains and tawny -plains of this alien continent, might never see it -again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Atlantic!—the same ocean that beat in blue, -white and emerald upon the shores of home, within -the sound of whose surges he had been born. It -was like saying good-by to one’s last remaining -friend. He looked upon Sallee. There lay the -white town nestling in the bright arm of the Bou -Regreg, patched with the deep green of fig and -orange groves. There soared the minaret, its tiles -a-wink in the sunshine. Below it, slightly to the -right, he thought he could distinguish the roof of -MacBride’s house—the roof of happy memories. -He wondered if Schems-ed-dah were standing on it -looking after him. What cursed luck to be kicked -out just as he was coming to an understanding with -Schems-ed-dah!</p> - -<div><h1>CHAPTER XXI</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho sat on the bare hillside and watched -his horses coming in. They came up the -gully below him in a drove, limping from -their hobbles—grays, chestnuts, bays, duns and -blacks, blacks predominating. It was his ambition -to command a squadron of blacks, and he was chopping -and changing to that end. They would look -well on parade, he thought, a line of glossy black -Doukkala stallions with scarlet trappings, bestridden -by lancers in the uniform white burnoose—black, -white and scarlet. Such a display should catch the -Sultan’s eye and he would be made a Kaid Rahal.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He was a Kaid Mia already. Sheer luck had -given him his first step.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When he first joined the Makhzen cavalry he -found himself stablemates with an elderly Prussian -named Fleischmann, who had served with Frederick -the Great’s dragoons at Rossbach, Liegnitz and -Torgau, a surly, drunken old <span class='it'>sabreur</span> with no personal -ambition beyond the assimilation of loot, but -possessed of experience and a tongue to disclose it. -In his sober moments he held forth to Ortho on -the proper employment of horse. He did not share -the common admiration for the crack askar lances, -but poured derision upon them. They were all bluster -and bravado, he said, stage soldiers with no real -discipline to control them in a tight corner. He -admitted they were successful against rebel hordes, -but did they ever meet a resolute force he prophesied -red-hot disaster and prayed he might not be there.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His prayer was granted. Disaster came and he -was not there, having had his head severed from -his shoulders a month previously while looting when -drunk and meeting with an irritated householder -who was sober.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho was in the forefront of the disaster. The -black Janizaries, the Bou Khari, were having one -of their periodic mutinies and had been drummed -into the open by the artillery. The cavalry were -ordered to charge. Instead of stampeding when -they saw the horse sweeping on them, the negroes -lay down, opened a well-directed fire and emptied -saddles right and left.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A hundred yards from the enemy the lancers -flinched and turned tail, and the Bou Khari brought -down twice as many more. Ortho did not turn. In -the first place he did not know the others had gone -about until it was too late to follow them, and -secondly his horse, a powerful entire, was crazy -with excitement and had charge of him. He -slammed clean through the Bou Khari like a thunderbolt -with nothing worse than the fright of his -life and a slight flesh wound.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He had a confused impression of fire flashing -all about him, bullets whirring and droning round -his head, black giants springing up among the rocks, -yells—and he was through. He galloped on for a -bit, made a wide detour round the flank and got -back to what was left of his own ranks.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Returning, he had time to meditate, and the truth -of the late (and unlamented) Fleischmann’s words -came back to him. That flesh wound had been -picked up at the beginning of the charge. The -nearer he had got the wilder the fire had become. -The negroes he had encountered flung themselves -flat; he could have skewered them like pigs. If the -whole line had gone on all the blacks would have -flung themselves flat and been skewered like pigs. -A regiment of horse charges home with the impact -of a deep-sea breaker, hundreds of tons.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The late Fleischmann had been right in every particular. -The scene of the affair was littered with -dead horses and white heaps, like piles of crumpled -linen—their riders. The Bou Khari had advanced -and were busy among these, stripping the dead, stabbing -the wounded, cheering derisively from time to -time.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho had no sooner rejoined his depleted ranks -than a miralai approached and summoned him to -the presence of Sidi Mahomet himself.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The puissant grandson of the mighty Muley -Ismail was on a hillock where he could command -the whole field, sitting on a carpet under a white -umbrella, surrounded by his generals, who were -fingering their beards and looking exceedingly downcast, -which was not unnatural, seeing that at least -half of them expected to be beheaded.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Sultan’s face was an unpleasant sight. He -bit at the stem of his hookah and his fingers twitched, -but he was not ungracious to the renegade lancer -who did obeisance before him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Stand up,” he growled. “Thou of all my askars -hast no need to grovel. How comes it that you -alone went through?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sidi,” said Ortho, “the Sultan’s enemies are -mine—and it was not difficult. I know the way.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mahomet’s delicate eyebrows arched. “Thou -knowest the way—ha! Then thou art wiser than -these . . . these”—he waved his beautiful hand -towards the generals—“these sorry camel cows who -deem themselves warriors. Tell these ass-mares -thy secret. Speak up and fear not.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho spoke out. He said nothing about his -horse having bolted with him, that so far from being -heroic he was numb with fright. He spoke with -the voice of Fleischmann, deceased, expounded the -Prussian’s theory of discipline and tactics as applied -to shock cavalry, and, having heard them <span class='it'>ad -nauseam</span>, missed never a point. All the time the -Sultan sucked at his great hookah and never took -his ardent, glowering eyes from his face, and all -the time in the background the artillery thumped -and the muskets crackled.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He left the royal presence a Kaid Mia, commanding -a squadron, a bag of one hundred ducats in his -hand, and a month later the cavalry swept over the -astonished Bou Khari as a flood sweeps a mud bank, -steeled by the knowledge that a regiment of Imperial -infantry and three guns were in their rear -with orders to mow them down did they waver. -They thundered through to victory, and the Kaid -Saïd el Ingliz (which was another name for Ortho -Penhale) rode, perforce, in the van—wishing to -God he had not spoken—and took a pike thrust in -the leg and a musket ball in his ribs and was laid -out of harm’s way for months.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But that was past history, and now he was watching -his horses come in. They were not looking any -too well, he thought, tucked-up, hide-bound, scraggy—been -campaigning overlong, traveling hard, feeding -anyhow, standing out in all weathers. He was -thoroughly glad this tax-collecting tour was at a -close and he could get them back into garrison. His -men drove them up to their heel-pegs, made them -fast for the night, tossed bundles of grass before -them and sought the camp fires that twinkled cheerily -in the twilight. A couple of stallions squealed, -there was the thud of a shoe meeting cannon-bone -and another squeal, followed by the curses of the -horse-guard. A man by the fires twanged an oud -and sang an improvised ditty on a palm-tree in his -garden at Tafilet:</p> - - - <div class='poetry-container' style=''> - <div class='lgp'> <!-- rend=';' --> -<div class='stanza-outer'> -<p class='line0'>“A queen among palms,</p> -<p class='line0'>Very tall, very stately,</p> -<p class='line0'>The sun gilds her verdure</p> -<p class='line0'>With glittering kisses.</p> -<p class='line0'>And in the calm night time,</p> -<p class='line0'>Among her green tresses,</p> -<p class='line0'>The little stars tremble.”</p> -</div> -</div></div> <!-- end poetry block --><!-- end rend --> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho drew the folds of his jellab closer about -him—it was getting mighty cold—stopped to speak -to a farrier on the subject of the shoe shortage and -sought the miserable tent which he shared with his -lieutenant, Osman Bâki, a Turkish adventurer from -Rumeli Hissar.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Osman was just in from headquarters and had -news. The engineers reported their mines laid and -the Sari was going to blow the town walls at moonrise—in -an hour’s time. The infantry were already -mustering, but there were no orders for the horse. -The Sari was in a vile temper, had commanded that -all male rebels were to be killed on sight, women -optional—looting was open. Osman picked a mutton -bone, chattering and shaking; the mountain cold -had brought out his fever. He would not go storming -that night, he said, not for the plunder of -Vienna; slung the mutton bone out of doors, curled -up on the ground, using his saddle for pillow, and -pulled every available covering over himself.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho ate his subordinate’s share of the meager -repast, stripped himself to his richly laced kaftan, -stuck a knife in his sash, picked up a sword and a -torch and went out.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The general was short of cavalry, unwilling to -risk his precious bodyguard, and had therefore not -ordered them into the attack. Ortho was going -nevertheless; he was not in love with fighting, but -he wanted money—he always wanted money.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He walked along the camp fires, picked ten of the -stoutest and most rascally of his rascals, climbed -out of the gully and came in view of the beleaguered -kasba. It was quite a small place, a square fortress -of mud-plastered stone standing in a gorge of the -Major Atlas and filled with obdurate mountaineers -who combined brigandage with a refusal to pay -tribute. A five-day siege had in no wise weakened -their resolve. Ortho could hear drums beating inside, -while from the towers came defiant yells and -splutters of musketry.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If we can’t get in soon the snow will drive us -away—and they know it,” he said to the man beside -him, and the man shivered and thought of warm -Tafilet.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, lord,” said he, “and there’s naught of value -in that <span class='it'>roua</span>. Had there been, the Sari would have -not thrown the looting open. A sheep, a goat or -so—paugh! It is not worth our trouble.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“They must be taught a lesson, I suppose,” said -Ortho.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The man shrugged. “They will be dead when -they learn it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A German sapper slouched by whistling “Im -Grünewald mein Lieb, und ich,” stopped and spoke -to Ortho. They had worked right up to the walls by -means of trenches covered with fascines, he said, and -were going to blow them in two places simultaneously -and rush the breaches. The blacks were -going in first. These mountaineers fought like -devils, but he did not think there were more than -two hundred of them, and the infantry were vicious, -half-starved, half-frozen, impatient to be home. -Snow was coming, he thought; he could smell it—whew!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A pale haze blanched the east; a snow peak -gleamed with ghostly light; surrounding stars -blinked as though blinded by a brighter glory, -blinked and faded out. Moon-rise. The German -called “Besslama!” and hurried to his post. The -ghost-light strengthened. Ortho could see ragged -infantrymen creeping forward from rock to rock; -some of them dragged improvised ladders. He -heard sly chuckles, the chink of metal on stone and -the snarl of an officer commanding silence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the village the drums went on—thump, thump; -thump, thump—unconscious of impending doom.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Dogs of the Sultan,” screamed a man on the -gate-tower. “Little dogs of a big dog, may Gehenna -receive you, may your mothers be shamed and your -fathers eat filth—a-he-yah!” His chance bullet hit -the ground in front of Ortho, ricocheted and found -the man from Tafilet. He rolled over, sighed one -word, “nkhel”—palm groves—and lay still.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His companions immediately rifled the body—war -is war. A shining edge, a rim of silver coin, showed -over a saddle of the peaks. “<span class='it'>G mare!</span>” said the soldiers. -“The moon—ah, <span class='it'>now</span>!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The whispers and laughter ceased; every tattered -starveling lay tense, expectant.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the village the drums went on—thump, thump; -thump, thump. The moon climbed up, up, dragged -herself clear of the peaks, drenching the snow -fields with eerie light, drawing sparkles here, -shadows there; a dead goddess rising out of frozen -seas.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The watchers held their breath, slowly released -it, breathed again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Wah! the mines have failed,” a man muttered. -“The powder was damp. I knew it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is the ladders now, or nothing,” growled another. -“Why did the Sari not bring cannon?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The Tobjyah say the camels could not carry -them in these hills,” said a third.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The Tobjyah tell great lies,” snapped the first. -“I know for certain that . . . hey!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The north corner of the kasba was suddenly enveloped -in a fountain of flame, the ground under -Ortho gave a kick, and there came such an appalling -clap of thunder he thought his ear-drums had been -driven in. His men scrambled to their feet cheering.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hold fast! Steady!” he roared. “There is another -yet . . . ah!” The second mine went up as -the débris of the first came down—mud, splinters, -stones and shreds of human flesh.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A lump of plaster smashed across his shoulders -and an infantryman within a yard of him got his -back broken by a falling beam. When Ortho lifted -his head again it was to hear the exultant whoops -of the negro detachments as they charged for the -breaches. In the village the drums had stopped; -it was as dumb as a grave. He held his men back. -He was not out for glory.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Let the blacks and infantry meet the resistance,” -he said. “That man with a broken back had a ladder—eh? -Bring it along.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He led his party round to the eastern side, put -his ladder up and got over without dispute. The -tribesmen had recovered from their shock to a certain -extent and were concentrating at the breaches, -leaving the walls almost unguarded. A mountaineer -came charging along the parapet, shot one of -Ortho’s men through the stomach as he himself was -shot through the head, and both fell writhing into -a courtyard below.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The invaders passed from the wall to a flat roof, -and there were confronted by two more stalwarts -whom they cut down with difficulty. There was a -fearful pandemonium of firing, shrieks, curses and -war-whoops going on at the breaches, but the streets -were more or less deserted. A young and ardent -askar kaid trotted by, beating his tag-rag on with -his sword-flat. He yelped that he had come over -the wall and was going to take the defenders in -the rear; he called to Ortho for support. Ortho -promised to follow and turned the other way—plunder, -plunder!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The alleys were like dry torrent beds underfoot, -not five feet deep and dark as tunnels. Ortho lit his -torch and looked for doors in the mud walls. In -every case they were barred, but he battered them -in with axes brought for that purpose—to find nothing -worth the trouble.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Miserable hovels all, with perhaps a donkey and -some sheep in the court and a few leathery women -and children squatting in the darkness wailing their -death-song. Ornaments they wore none—buried of -course; there was the plunder of at least two rich -Tamgrout caravans hidden somewhere in that village. -His men tortured a few of the elder women -to make them disclose the treasure, but though they -screamed and moaned there was nothing to be got -out of them. One withered hag did indeed offer -to show them where her grandson hid his valuables, -led them into a small room, suddenly jerked a -koummyah from the folds of her haik and laid -about her, foaming at the mouth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The room was cramped, the men crowded and -taken unawares; the old fury whirled and shrieked -and chopped like a thing demented. She wounded -three of them before they laid her out. One man -had his arm nearly taken off at the elbow. Ortho -bound it up as best he could and ordered him back -to camp, but he never got there. He took the wrong -turning, fell helpless among some other women and -was disemboweled.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Y’ Allah, the Sultan wastes time and lives,” said -an askar. “The sons of such dams will never pay -taxes.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho agreed. He had lost two men dead and -three wounded, and had got nothing for it but a few -sheep, goats and donkeys. The racket at the -breaches had died down, the soldiery were pouring -in at every point. It would be as well to secure -what little he had. He drove his bleating captures -into a court, mounted his men on guard and went -to the door to watch.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>An infantryman staggered down the lane bent under -a brass-bound coffer. Ortho kicked out his foot; -man and box went headlong. The man sprang up -and flew snarling at Ortho, who beat him in the eyes -with his torch and followed that up with menaces of -his sword. The man fled and Ortho examined the -box which the fall had burst open. It contained a -brass tiara, some odds and ends of tarnished Fez -silk, a bride’s belt and slippers; that was all. Value -a few blanquils—faugh!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He left the stuff where it lay in the filth of the -kennel, strolled aimlessly up the street, came opposite -a splintered door and looked in.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The house was more substantial than those he had -visited, of two stories, with a travesty of a fountain -bubbling in the court. The infantry had been there -before him. Three women and an old man were -lying dead beside the fountain and in a patch of -moonlight an imperturbable baby sat playing with -a kitten.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>An open stairway led aloft. Ortho went up, impelled -by a sort of idle curiosity. There was a -room at the top of the stair. He peered in. Ransacked. -The sole furniture the room possessed—a -bed—had been stripped of its coverings and overturned. -He walked round the walls, prodding with -his sword at suspicious spots in the plaster in the -hopes of finding treasure. Nothing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At the far end of the gallery was another room. -Mechanically he strolled towards it, thinking of -other things, of his debts in Mequinez, of how to -feed his starved horses on the morrow—these people -must at least have some grain stored, in sealed -pits probably. He entered the second room. It -was the same as the first, but it had not been ransacked; -it was not worth the trouble. A palmetto -basket and an old jellab hung on one wall, a bed -was pushed against the far wall—and there was a -dead man. Ortho examined him by the flare of his -torch. A low type of chiaus foot soldier, fifty, -diseased, and dressed in an incredible assortment -of tatters. Both his hands were over his heart, -clenching fistfuls of bloody rags, and on his face -was an expression of extreme surprise. It was as -though death were the last person he had expected -to meet. Ortho thought it comical.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What else did you expect to find, jackal—at this -gay trade?” he sneered, swept his torch round the -room—and prickled.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>In the shadow between the bed end and the wall -he had seen something, somebody, move.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He stepped cautiously towards the bed end, sword -point forwards, on guard. “Who’s there?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>No answer. He lowered his torch. It was a -woman, crouched double, swathed in a soiled haik, -nothing but her eyes showing. Ortho grunted. Another -horse-faced mountain drudge, work-scarred, -weather-coarsened!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Stand up!” he ordered. She did not move. “Do -you hear?” he snapped and made a prick at her -with his sword.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She sprang up and at the same moment flung her -haik back. Ortho started, amazed. The girl before -him was no more than eighteen, dark-skinned, -slender, exquisitely formed. Her thick raven hair -was bound with an orange scarf; across her forehead -was a band of gold coins and from her ears -hung coral earrings. She wore two necklaces, one -of fretted gold with fish-shaped pieces dangling from -it, and a string of black beads such as are made -of pounded musk and amber. Her wrists and ankles -were loaded with heavy silver bangles. Intricate -henna designs were traced halfway up her slim -hands and feet, and from wrist to shoulder patterns -had been scored with a razor and left to heal. Her -face was finely chiseled, the nose narrow and curved, -the mouth arrogant, the brows straight and stormy, -and under them her great black eyes smoldered with -dangerous fires.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho sucked in his breath. This burning, lance-straight, -scornful beauty came out of no hill village. -An Arab this, daughter of whirlwind horsemen, -darling of some desert sheik, spoil of the Tamgrout -caravans.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Well, she was his spoil now. The night’s work -would pay after all. All else aside, there was at -least a hundred ducats of jewelry on her. He would -strip it now before the others came and demanded -a share.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come here,” he said, dropping his sword.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The girl slouched slowly towards him, pouting, -chin tilted, hands clasped behind her, insolently obedient; -stopped within two feet of him and stabbed -for his heart with all her might.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Had she struck less quickly and with more stealth -she might have got home. Penhale’s major asset -was that, with him, thought and action were -one. He saw an instantaneous flicker of steel and -instantaneously swerved. The knife pierced the -sleeve of his kaftan below the left shoulder. He -grabbed the girl by the wrist and wrenched it back -till she dropped the knife, and as he did this, with -her free hand she very nearly had his own knife out -of his sash and into him—very nearly. But that -the handle caught in a fold he would have been done. -He secured both her wrists and held her at arm’s -length. She ground her little sharp teeth at him, -quivered with rage, blazed murder with her eyes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Soldier,” said Ortho to the dead man behind -him, “now I know why you look astonished. -Neither you nor I expected to meet death in so -pretty a guise.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He spoke to the girl. “Be quiet, beauty, or I -will shackle you with your own bangles. Will you -be sensible?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For answer the girl began to struggle, tugged at -his grasp, wrenched this way and that with the -frantic abandon of a wild animal in a gin. She was -as supple as an eel and, for all her slimness, marvelously -strong. Despite his superior weight and -power, Ortho had all he could do to hold her. But -her struggles were too wild to last and at length -exhaustion calmed her. Ortho tied her hands with -the orange scarf and began to take her jewelry off -and cram it in his pouch. While he was thus engaged -she worked the scarf loose with her teeth and -made a dive for his eyes with her long finger nails.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He tied her hands behind her this time and -stooped to pry the anklets off. She caught him on -the point of the jaw with her knee, knocking him -momentarily dizzy. He tied her feet with a strip -of her haik. She leaned forward and bit his cheek, -bit with all her strength, bit with teeth like needles, -nor would she let go till he had well-nigh choked her. -He cursed her savagely, being in considerable pain. -She shook with laughter. He gagged her after that, -worked the last ornament off, picked up his sword -and prepared to go. His torch had spluttered out, -but moonlight poured through the open door and -he could see the girl sitting on the floor, gagged and -bound, murdering him with her splendid eyes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Msa l kheir, lalla!</span>” said he, making a mock -salaam. She snorted, defiant to the end. Ortho -strode out and along the gallery. His cheek stung -like fire, blood was trickling from the scratches, his -jaw was stiff from the jolt it had received. What -a she-devil!—but, by God, what spirit! He liked -women of spirit, they kept one guessing. She reminded -him somewhat of Schems-ed-dah back in -Sallee, the same rapier-tempering and blazing passion, -desert women both. When tame they were -wonderful, without peer—when tame. He hesitated, -stopped and fingered his throbbing cheek.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What that she-devil would like to do would be -to cut me to pieces with a knife—slowly,” he muttered. -He turned about, feeling his jaw. “Cut me -to pieces and throw ’em to the dogs.” He walked -back. “She would do it gladly, though they did the -same to her afterwards. Tame that sort! Never -in life.” He stepped back into the room and picked -the girl up in his arms. “Wild-cat, I’m going to -attempt the impossible,” said he.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Even then she struggled.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The town was afire, darting tongued sheets of -flame and jets of sparks at the placid moon. Soldiers -were everywhere, shouting, smashing, pouring -through the alleys over the bodies of the defenders. -As Ortho descended the stairs a party of Sudanese -broke into the courtyard; one of them took a wild -shot at him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Makhzeni!</span>” he shouted and they stood back.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A giant negro petty officer with huge loops of -silver wire in his ears held a torch aloft. Blood -from a scalp wound smeared his face with a crimson -glaze. At his belt dangled four fowls and a severed -head.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hey—the Kaid Ingliz,” he said and tapped the -head. “The rebel Basha; I slew him myself at the -breach. The Sari should reward me handsomely. -El Hamdoulillah!” He smiled like a child expectant -of sweetmeats. “What have you there, Kaid?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“A village wench merely.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Fair?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So so.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The negro spat. “Bah! they are as ugly as their -own goats, but”—he grinned, knowing Ortho’s -weakness—“she may fetch the price of a black -horse—eh, Kaid?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She may,” said Ortho.</p> - -<div><h1>CHAPTER XXII</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>Two days later the force struck camp, leaving -the town behind them a shell of blackened -ruins, bearing on lances before them -the heads of thirty prominent citizens as a sign -that Cæsar is not lightly denied his tribute.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They streamed northeast through the defiles, a -tattered rabble, a swarm of locusts, eating up the -land as they went. The wounded were jostled along -in rough litters, at the mercy of camp barbers and -renegade quacks; the majority died on the way and -were thankful to die. The infantry straggled for -miles (half rode donkeys) and drove before them -cattle, sheep, goats and a few women prisoners. -What with stopping to requisition and pillage they -progressed at an average of twelve miles a day. -Only among the negroes and the cavalry was there -any semblance of march discipline, and then only -because the general kept them close about him as -protection against his other troops.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Beside Ortho rode the Arab girl, her feet -strapped under the mule’s belly. Twice she tried -to escape—once by a blind bolt into the foothills, -once by a surer, sharper road. She had wriggled -across the tent and pulled a knife out of its sheath -with her teeth. Osman had caught her just as she -was on the point of rolling on it. Ortho had to -tie her up at night and watch her all day long. -Never had he encountered such implacable resolve. -She was determined to foil him one way or the other -at no matter what cost to herself. He had always -had his own way with women and this failure irritated -him. He would stick it as long as she, he -swore—and longer.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Osman Bâki was entertained. He watched the -contest with twinkling china blue eyes—his mother -had been a Georgian slave and he was as fair as a -Swede.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She will leave you—somehow,” he warned.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“For whom? For what?” Ortho exclaimed. “If -she slips past me the infantry will catch her, or -some farmer who will beat her life out. Why does -she object to me? I have treated her kindly—as -kindly as she will allow.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Osman twirled his little yellow mustache. “Truly, -but these people have no reason, only a mad pride. -One cannot reason with madness, Kaid. Oh, I know -them. When I was in the service of the deys . . .”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He delivered an anecdote from his unexampled -repertoire proving the futility of arguing with a -certain class of Arab with anything more subtle than -a bullet.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sell her in Morocco,” he advised. “She is -pretty, will fetch a good sum.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, I’m going to try my hand first,” said Ortho -stubbornly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’ll get it bitten,” said the Turk, eying the -telltale marks on Ortho’s face with amusement. -“For my part I prefer a quiet life—in the home.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They straggled into Morocco City ten days later -to find the Sultan in residence for the winter, building -sanctuaries and schools with immense energy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho hoped for the governorship of an outlying -post where he would be more or less his own master, -get some pig-hunting and extort backsheesh from -the country folk under his protection; but it was -not to be. He was ordered to quarter his stalwarts -in the kasba and join the Imperial Guard. Having -been in the Guard before at Mequinez, having influence -in the household and getting a wind-fall in -the way of eight months’ back pay, he contrived to -bribe himself into possession of a small house overlooking -the Aguedal Gardens, close to the Ahmar -Gate.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There he installed the Arab girl and a huge old -negress to look after her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then he set to and gave his unfortunate men the -stiffening of their lives.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He formed his famous black horses into one -troop, graded the others by colors and drilled the -whole all day long.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Furthermore, he instituted a system of grooming -and arm-cleaning hitherto unknown in the Moroccan -forces—all on the Fleischmann recipe. Did -his men show sulks, he immediately up-ended and -bastinadoed them. This did not make him popular, -but Osman Bâki supported him with bewildered -loyalty and he kept the <span class='it'>mokadem</span> and the more desperate -rascals on his side by a judicious distribution -of favors and money. Nevertheless he did not -stroll abroad much after dark and then never unattended.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They drilled in the Aguedal, on the bare ground -opposite the powder house, and acquired added -precision from day to day. Ortho kept his eye on -the roof of the powder house.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For two months this continued and Ortho grew -anxious. What with household expenses and continued -<span class='it'>douceurs</span> to the <span class='it'>mokadem</span> his money was running -out and he was sailing too close to the wind -to try tricks with his men’s rations and pay at -present.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Just when things were beginning to look desperate -a party appeared on the roof of the powder house, -which served the parade ground as a grand-stand.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho, ever watchful, saw them the moment they -arrived, brought his command into squadron column, -black troop to the fore, and marched past -underneath.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They made a gallant show and Ortho knew it. -Thanks to the grooming, his horses were looking -fifty per cent better than any other animals in the -Shereefian Army; the uniformity added another -fifty. The men knew as well as he did who was looking -down on them, and went by, sitting stiff, every -eye fixed ahead.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The lusty sun set the polished hides aglow, the -burnished lance-heads a-glitter. The horses, fretted -by sharp stirrups, tossed their silky manes, whisked -their streaming tails. The wind got into the burnooses -and set them flapping and billowing in creamy -clouds; everything was in his favor. Ortho wheeled -the head of his column left about, formed squadron -line on the right and thundered past the Magazine, -his shop-window troop nearest the spectators, shouting -the imperial salute, “<span class='it'>Allah y barek Amer Sidi!</span>” -A good line too, he congratulated himself, as good -as any Makhzen cavalry would achieve in this world. -If that didn’t work nothing would. It worked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A slave came panting across the parade ground -summoning him to the powder house at once.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Sultan was leaning against the parapet, sucking -a pomegranate and spitting the pips at his Grand -Vizier, who pretended to enjoy it. The fringes of -the royal jellab were rusty with brick dust from the -ruins of Bel Abbas, which Mahomet was restoring. -Ortho did obeisance and got a playful kick in -the face; His Sublimity was in good humor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He recognized Ortho immediately. “Ha! The -lancer who alone defied the Bou Khari, still alive! -Young man, you must indeed be of Allah beloved!” -He looked the soldier up and down with eyes humorous -and restless. “What is your rank?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Kaid Mia, Sidi.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hum!—thou art Kaid Rahal now, then.” He -turned on the Vizier. “Tell El Mechouar to let -him take what horses he chooses; he knows how to -keep them. Go!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He flung the fruit rind at Ortho by way of dismissal.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho gave his long-suffering men a feast that -night with the last ready money in his possession. -They voted him a right good fellow—soldiers have -short memories.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He was on his feet now. As Kaid Rahal, with -nominally a thousand cut-throats at his beck and -nod, he would be a fool indeed if he couldn’t blackmail -the civilians to some order. Also there was a -handsome sum to be made by crafty manipulation -of his men’s pay and rations. El Mechouar would -expect his commission out of this, naturally, and -sundry humbler folk—“big fleas have little fleas -. . .”—but there would be plenty left. He was -clear of the financial thicket. He went prancing -home to his little house, laid aside his arms and -burnoose, took the key from the negress, ran upstairs -and unlocked the room in which the Arab girl, -Ourida, was imprisoned. It was a pleasant prison -with a window overlooking the Aguedal, its miles -of pomegranate, orange, and olive trees. It was the -best room in the house and he had furnished it as -well as his thin purse would afford, but to the desert -girl it might have been a tomb.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She sat all day staring out of the barred window, -looking beyond the wide Haouz plain to where the -snow peaks of the High Atlas rose, a sheer wall of -sun-lit silver—and beyond them even. She never -smiled, she never spoke, she hardly touched her -food. Ortho in all his experience had encountered -nothing like her. He did his utmost to win her -over, brought sweetmeats, laughed, joked, retailed -the gossip of the palace and the souks, told her -stories of romance and adventure which would have -kept any other harem toy in shivers of bliss, took -his gounibri and sang Romany songs, Moorish songs, -English ballads, flowery Ottoman <span class='it'>kasidas</span>, <span class='it'>ghazels</span> -and <span class='it'>gûlistâns</span>, learned from Osman Bâki, cursed her, -adored her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>All to no avail; he might have been dumb, she -deaf. Driven desperate, he seized her in his arms; -he had as well embraced so much ice. It was maddening. -Osman Bâki, who watched him in the lines -of a morning, raving at the men over trifles, twisted -his yellow mustache and smiled. This evening, however, -Ortho was too full of elation to be easily repulsed. -He had worked hard and intrigued steadily -for this promotion. Three years before he had -landed in Morocco a chained slave, now he was the -youngest of his rank in the first arm of the service. -Another few years at this pace and what might he -not achieve? He bounded upstairs like a lad home -with a coveted prize, told the girl of his triumph, -striding up and down the room, flushed, laughing, -smacking his hands together, boyish to a degree. -He looked his handsomest, a tall, picturesque figure -in the plum-colored breeches, soft riding boots, blue -kaftan and scarlet tarboosh tilted rakishly on his -black curls. The girl stole a glance at him from -under her long lashes, but when he looked at her -she was staring out of the window at the snow wall -of the Atlas rose-flushed with sunset, and when he -spoke to her she made no answer; he might as well -have been talking to himself. But he was too full -of his success to notice, and he rattled on and on, -pacing the little room up and down, four strides each -way. He dropped beside her, put his arm about her -shoulders, drew her cold cheek to his flushed one.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Listen, my pearl,” he rhapsodized. “I have -money now and you shall have dresses like rainbows, -a gold tiara and slave girls to wait on you, -and when we move garrison you shall ride a white -ambling mule with red trappings and lodge in a -striped tent like the royal women. I am a Kaid -Rahal now, do you hear? The youngest of any, -and in the Sultan’s favor. I will contrive and -scheme, and in a few years . . . the Standard!—<span class='it'>eschkoun-i-araf</span>? -And then, my honey-sweet, you -shall have a palace with a garden and fountains. -Hey, look!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He scooped in his voluminous breeches’ pockets, -brought out a handful of trinkets and tossed them -into her lap. The girl stared at him, then at the -treasures, and drew a sharp breath. They were her -own, the jewelry he had wrenched from her on that -wild night of carnage three months before.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You thought I had sold them—eh?” he laughed. -“No, no, my dear; it very nearly came to it, but -not quite. They are safe now and yours again—see?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He seized her wrists and worked the bangles on, -snapped the crude black necklace round her neck -and hung the elaborate gold one over it, kissed her -full on the quivering mouth. “Yours again, for always.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She ran the plump black beads through her fingers, -her breathing quickened. She glanced at him -sideways, shyly; there was an odd light in her eyes. -She swayed a little towards him, then the corners -of her mouth twitched and curved upwards in an -adorable bow; she was smiling, smiling! He held -out his arms to her and she toppled into them, burying -her face in his bosom.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My lord!” said she.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The proud lady had surrendered at last!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Osman, Osman Bâki, what now?” thought Ortho -and crushed her to him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The girl made a faint, pained exclamation and -put her hand to her throat.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Did I hurt you, my own?” said Ortho, contrite.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, my lord, but you have snapped my necklace,” -she laughed. “It is nothing.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He picked up the black beads, wondering how -he could have done it, and she put them down on -the rug beside her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is a poor thing, but a great saint has blessed -it. My king, take me in your arms again.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They sat close together while the rosy peaks -faded out and the swift winter dusk filled the room, -and he told her of the great things he would do. -Elation swept him up. Everything seemed possible -now with this slim, clinging beauty to solace and -inspire him. He would trample on and on, scattering -opposition like straw, carving his own road, -a captain of destiny. She believed in his bravest -boasts. Her lord had but to will a thing and it -was done. Who could withstand her lord? “Not -I, not I,” said she. “Hearken, tall one. I said -to my heart night and day, ‘Hate this Roumi askar, -hate him, hate him!’—but my heart would not listen, -it was wiser than I.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She nestled luxuriously in his arms, crooning endearments, -melting and passionate, sweeter than -honey in the honey-comb. It grew dark and cold. -He went to the door and called for the brazier.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And tea,” Ourida added. “I would serve you -with tea, my heart’s joy.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The negress brought both.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ourida rubbed her head against his shoulder. -“Sweetmeats?” she cooed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He jerked his last blanquils to the slave with the -order.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ourida squatted cross-legged on a pile of cushions -and poured out the sweet mint tea, handed him his -cup with a mock salaam. He did obeisance as before -a Sultana, and she rippled with delight. They -made long complimentary speeches to each other -after the manner of the court, played with each -other’s hands, were very childish and merry.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ourida pressed a second cup of tea on him. He -drank it off at a gulp and lay down at her side.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Rest here and be comfortable,” said she, drawing -his head to her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Tell me again about that battle with the Bou -Khari.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He told her in detail, omitting the salient fact -that his horse had bolted with him, though, in truth, -he had almost forgotten it himself by now.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“All alone you faced them! Small wonder Sidi -Mahomet holds thee in high honor, my hero. And -the fight in the Rif?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He told her all about the guerrilla campaign -among the rock fastnesses of the Djebel Tiziren, of -a single mountaineer with a knife crawling through -the troop-lines at night and sixty ham-strung horses -in the morning.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ourida was entranced. “Go on, my lord, go on.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho went on. He didn’t want to talk. He -was most comfortable lying out on the cushions, his -head on the girl’s soft lap. Moreover, his heavy -day in the sun and wind had made him extraordinarily -drowsy—but he went on. He told her of massacres -and burnt villages, of ambushes and escapes, -of three hundred rebels rising out of a patch of -cactus no bigger than a sheep pen and rushing in -among the astonished lancers, screaming and slashing. -The survivors of that affair had fled up the -opposite hillside flat on their horses’ necks and himself -among the foremost, but he did not put it that -way; he said he “organized the retreat.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“More,” breathed Ourida.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He began to tell her of five fanatics with several -muskets and quantities of ammunition shut up in a -saint’s shrine and defying the entire Shereefian -forces for two days, but before he had got halfway -his voice tailed off into silence.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You do not speak, light of my life?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I am sleepy—and comfortable, dearest.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ourida smoothed his cheek. “Sleep then with thy -slave for pillow.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He felt her lips touch his forehead, her slim fingers -running through his curls, through and through -. . . through . . . and . . . through . . .</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My lord sleeps?” came Ourida’s voice from -miles away, thrilling strangely.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Um . . . ah! . . . almost,” Ortho mumbled. -“Where . . . you . . . going?” She had slipped -from under him; he had an impulse to grasp her -hand, then felt it was too much trouble.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Listen, Saïd el Ingliz,” said Ourida in his ear, -enunciating with great clarity. “You are going to -sleep for<span class='it'>ever</span>, you swine!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He forced his weighted lids apart. She was bending -right over him. He could see her face by the -glow of the brazier, transformed, exultant; her teeth -were locked together and showing; her eyes glittered.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“For<span class='it'>ever</span>,” she hissed. “Do you hear me?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Drugged, by God!” thought Ortho. “Drugged, -poisoned, fooled like a fat palace eunuch!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Fury came upon him. He fought the drowse with -all the power that was in him, sat up, fell back again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The girl laughed shrilly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He tried to shout for help, for the negress, -achieved a whisper.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She has gone for sweetmeats and will loiter -hours,” mocked the girl. “Call louder; call up your -thousand fine lancers. Oh, great Kaid Rahal, Standard -Bearer to be!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Osman—they will crush you . . . between . . . -stones . . . for this,” he mumbled.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She shook her head. “No, great one, they will -not catch me. I have three more poisoned beads.” -She held up the remnant of her black necklace.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>So that was how it was done. In the tea. By -restoring her the trinkets he had compassed his own -end. His eyelids drooped, he was away, adrift again -in that old dream he had had, rocking in the smuggler’s -boat under Black Carn, floating through star-trembling -space, among somber continents of cloud, -a wraith borne onwards, downwards on streaming -air-ways into everlasting darkness.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Great Lord of lances,” came a whisper out of -nowhere. “When thou art in Gehenna thou wilt -remember me, thy slave.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He fought back to consciousness, battled with -smothering wraps of swansdown, through fogs of -choking gray and yellow, through pouring waters of -oblivion, came out sweating into the light, saw -through a haze a shadow girl bending over him, the -red glimmer of the brazier.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With an immense effort he lifted his foot into the -coals, bit hard into his under-lip. “Not yet, not -yet!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The girl displayed amusement. “Wouldst burn -before thy time? Burn on. Thou wilt take no more -women of my race against their wish, Kaid—or any -other women—though methinks thy lesson is learned -overlate.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why fight the sleep, <span class='it'>Roumi</span>? It will come, it -will come. The Rif herb never fails.” On she went -with her bitter raillery, on and on.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But Ortho was holding his own. He was his -mother’s son and had inherited all her marvelous -vitality. The pain in his burnt foot was counteracting -the drowse, sweat was pouring out of him. The -crisis was past. Could he but crawl to the door? -Not yet; in a minute or two. That negress must -be back soon. He bit into his bleeding lip again, -closed his eyes. The girl bent forward eagerly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It is death, Kaid. Thou art dying, dying!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, nor shall I,” he muttered, and instantly realized -his mistake.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She drew back, startled, and swooped at him -again.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Open your eyes!” She forced his lids up.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Failed!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Failed!” Ortho repeated.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Bah! there are other means,” she snarled, -jumped up, flitted round the room, stood transfixed -in thought in the center, both hands to her cheeks, -laughed, tore off her orange scarf and dropped on -her knees beside him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Other means, Kaid.” She slipped the silk loop -round his neck, knotted it and twisted.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was going to strangle him, the time-hallowed -practice of the East. He tried to stop her, lifted -his heavy hands, but they were powerless, like so -much dead wood. He swelled his neck muscles, but -it was useless; the silk was cutting in all round, a -red-hot wire. He had a flash picture of Osman Bâki -standing over his body, wagging his head regretfully -and saying, “I said so,” Osman Bâki with the Owls’ -House for background. It was all over; the girl had -waited and got him in the end. Even at that moment -he admired her for it. She had spirit; never -had he seen such spirit. Came a pang of intolerable -pain, his eyeballs were starting out, his head was -bursting open—and then the tension at his throat -inexplicably relaxed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho rolled over, panting and retching, and as -he did so heard footsteps on the stairs.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A fist thumped on the door, a voice cried, “Kaid! -Kaid!” and there was Osman Bâki.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He peered into the room, holding a lantern before -him. “Kaid, are you there? Where are you? -There is a riot of Draouia in the Djeema El Fna; -two troops to go out. Oh, there you are—<span class='it'>Bismillah</span>! -What is this?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He sprang across to where Ortho lay and bent -over him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What is the matter? Are you ill? What is -it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nothing,” Ortho croaked. “Trying hasheesh -. . . took too much . . . nothing at all. See to -troops yourself . . . go now.” He coughed and -coughed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hasheesh!” The Turk sniffed, stared at him -suspiciously, glanced round the room, caught sight -of the girl and held up the lantern.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ha-ha!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The two stood rigid eye to eye, the soldier with -chin stuck forward, every hair bristling, like a mastiff -about to spring, the girl unflinching, three beads -of her black necklace in her teeth.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ha-ha!” Osman put the lantern deliberately on -the ground beside him and stepped forward, -crouched double, his hands outstretched like claws. -“You snake,” he muttered. “You Arab viper, I’ll -. . . I’ll . . .”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho hoisted himself on his elbow. The girl -was superb! So slight and yet so defiant. “Osman,” -he rasped, “Osman, friend, go! The riot! -Go, it is an order!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Turk stopped, stood up, relaxed, turned -slowly about and picked up the lantern. He looked -at Ortho, walked to the door, hesitated, shot a blazing -glance at the girl, gave his mustache a vicious -tug and went out.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Silence but for the sputter of the brazier and -the squeak of a mouse in the wall.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then Ortho heard the soft plud-plud of bare feet -crossing the room and he knew the girl was standing -over him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, sweet,” he sighed, “come to complete your -work? I am still in your hands.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She tumbled on her knees beside him, clasped his -head to her breast and sobbed, sobbed, sobbed as -though she would never stop.</p> - -<div><h1>CHAPTER XXIII</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho spent that winter in Morocco City, -but in the spring was sent out with a force -against the Zoua Arabs south of the Figvig -Oasis, which had been taken by Muley Ismail and -was precariously held by his descendants. They -spent a lot of time and trouble dragging cannon -up, to find them utterly useless when they got there. -The enemy did not rely on strong places—they had -none—but on mobility. They played a game of -sting and run very exasperating to their opponents. -It was like fighting a cloud of deadly mosquitoes. -The wastage among the Crown forces was alarming; -two generals were recalled and strangled, and -when Ortho again saw the Koutoubia minaret rising -like a spear-shaft from the green palms of Morocco -it was after an absence of ten months.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ourida met him in transports of joy, a two-month -baby in her arms. It was a son, the exact spit and -image of him, she declared, a person of already -incredible sagacity and ferocious strength. A few -years and he too would be riding at the head of -massed squadrons, bearing the green banner of the -Prophet.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho, burned black with Saharan suns, weak with -privation, sick of the reek of festering battlefields, -contemplated the tiny pink creature he had brought -into the world and swore in his heart that this boy -of his should follow peaceful ways.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Fighting men were, as a class, the salt of the -earth, simple-hearted, courageous, dog-loyal, dupes -of the cunning and the cowardly. But apart from -the companionship he had no illusions concerning -the profession of arms as practiced in the Shereefian -empire; it was one big bully maintaining himself -in the name of God against a horde of lesser bullies -(also invoking the Deity) by methods that would -be deemed undignified in a pot-house brawl. He -was in it for the good reason that he could not get -out; but no son of his should be caught in the trap -if he could help it. However, he said nothing of -this to Ourida. He kissed her over and over and -said the boy was magnificent and would doubtless -make a fine soldier—but there was time to think -about that.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He saw winter and summer through in Morocco, -with the exception of a short trip on the Sultan’s -bodyguard to Mogador, which port Mahomet had -established to offset fractious Agadir and taken -under his special favor.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sand-blown white town was built on the plans -of an Avignon engineer named Cornut, with fortifications -after the style of Vauban. This gave it a -pronounced European flavor which was emphasized -by the number of foreign traders in its streets, -drawn thither by the absence of custom. Also there -was the Atlantic pounding on the Island, a tang of -brine in the air and a sea wind blowing. Ortho had -not seen the Atlantic since he left Sallee; homesickness -gnawed at him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He climbed the Skala tower, and, sitting on a -cannon cast for the third Philippe in 1595, watched -the sun westering in gold and crimson and dreamed -of the Owls’ House, the old Owls’ House lapped in -its secret valley, where a man could live his life out -in fullness and peace—and his sons after him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Walking back through the town, he met with a -Bristol trader and turned into a wine shop. The -Englishman treated him to a bottle of Jerez and -the news of the world. Black bad it was. The tight -little island had her back to the wall, fighting for -bare life against three powerful nations at once. -The American colonists were in full rebellion to -boot, India was a cock-pit, Ireland sharpening pikes. -General Burgoyne had surrendered at Saratoga. -Eliott was besieged in Gibraltar. French, American -and Spanish warships were thick as herring in the -Channel; the Bristolian had only slipped through -them by sheer luck and would only get back by a -miracle.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Taxation at home was crippling, and every -mother’s son who had one leg to go upon and one -arm to haul with was being pressed for service; they -were even emptying the jails into the navy. He -congratulated Ortho on being out of the country -and harm’s way. Ortho had had a wild idea of -getting a letter written and taken home to Eli by -this man, but as he listened he reflected that it was -no time now. Also, if he wanted to be bought out -he would have to give minute instructions as to -where the smuggling money was hidden. Letters -were not inviolate; the bearer, and not Eli, might -find that hidden money. And then there was Ourida -and Saïd II. Saïd would become acclimatized, but -England and Ourida were incompatible. He could -not picture the ardent Bedouin girl—her bangles, -silks and exotic finery—in the gray north; she would -shrivel up like a frost-bitten lotus, pine and die.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>No, he was firmly anchored now. One couldn’t -have everything; he had much. He drank up his -wine, wished the Bristolian luck with his venture and -rode back to the Diabat Palace.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A week later he was home again in Morocco.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Added means had enabled him to furnish the Bab -Ahmar house very comfortably, Moorish fashion, -with embroidered <span class='it'>haitis</span> on the walls, inlaid tables -and plenty of well-cushioned lounges. The walls -were thick; the rooms, though small, were high and -airy; the oppressive heat of a Haouz summer did -not unduly penetrate. Ourida bloomed, Saïd the -younger progressed from strength to strength, waxing -daily in fat and audacity. He was the idol of -the odd-job boy and the two slave women (the -household had increased with its master’s rank), of -Osman Bâki and Ortho’s men. The latter brought -him presents from time to time: fruit stolen from -the Aguedal, camels, lions and horses (chiefly -horses) crudely carved and highly colored, and, -when he was a year old, a small, shy monkey caught -in the Rif, and later an old eagle with clipped wings -and talons which, the donor explained, would defend -the little lord from snakes and such-like. Concerning -these living toys, Saïd II. displayed a devouring -curiosity and no fear at all. When the -monkey clicked her teeth at him he gurgled and -pulled her tail till she escaped up the wistaria. He -pursued the eagle on all fours, caught it sleeping one -afternoon, and hung doggedly on till he had pulled -a tail feather out. The bird looked dangerous, Saïd -II. bubbled delightedly and grabbed for another -feather, whereat the eagle retreated hastily to sulk -among the orange shrubs. Was the door left open -for a minute, Saïd II. was out of it on voyages of -high adventure.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Once he was arrested by the guard at the Ahmar -Gate, plodding cheerfully on all fours for open -country, and returned, kicking and raging, in the -arms of a laughing petty officer.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho himself caught the youngster emerging -through the postern onto the Royal parade ground.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He fears nothing,” Ourida exulted. “He will -be a great warrior and slay a thousand infidels—the -sword of Allah!—um-yum, my jewel.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>That battered soldier and turncoat infidel, his -father, rubbed his chin uneasily. “M’yes . . . perhaps. -Time enough yet.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But there was no gainsaying the fierce spirit of -the Arab mother, daughter of a hundred fighting -<span class='it'>sheiks</span>; her will was stronger than his. The baby’s -military education began at once. In the cool of -the morning she brought Saïd II. to the parade -ground, perched him on the parapet of the Dar-el-Heni -and taught him to clap his hands when the -Horse went by.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Once she hoisted him to his father’s saddle bow. -The fat creature twisted both hands in the black -stallion’s mane and kicked the glossy neck with his -heels, gurgling with joy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“See, see,” said Ourida, her eyes like stars for -radiance. “He grips, he rides. He will carry the -standard in his day <span class='it'>zahrit</span>.” The soldiers laughed -and lifted their lances. “Hail to the young Kaid!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho, gripping his infant son by the slack of -his miniature jellab, felt sick. Ourida and these -other simple-minded fanatics would beat him yet -with their fool ideas of glory, urge this crowing -baby of his into hardship, terror, pain, possibly agonizing -death.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Parenthood was making a thoughtful man of him. -He was no longer the restless adventurer of two -years ago, looking on any change as better than -none. He grudged every moment away from the -Bab Ahmar, dreaded the spring campaign, the separation -it would entail, the chance bullet that might -make it eternal.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His ambition dimmed. He no longer wanted -power and vast wealth, only enough to live comfortably -on with Ourida and young Saïd just as -he was. Promotion meant endless back-stair intrigues; -he had no taste left for them and had other -uses for the money and so fell out of the running.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A Spanish woman in the royal harem, taking advantage -of her temporary popularity with Mahomet, -worked her wretched little son into position -over Penhale’s head and over him went a fat Moor, -Yakoub Ben Ahmed by name, advanced by the -offices of a fair sister, also in the seraglio. Neither -of these heroes had more than a smattering of military -lore and no battle experience whatever, but -Ortho did not greatly care. Promotion might be -rapid in the Shereefian army, but degradation was -apt to be instantaneous—the matter of a sword -flash. He had risen as far as he could rise with -moderate safety and there he would stop. Security -was his aim nowadays, a continuance of things as -they were.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>For life went by very happily in the little house -by the Bab Ahmar, pivoting on Saïd II. But in the -evening, when that potential conqueror had ceased -the pursuit of the monkey and eagle and lay locked -in sleep, Ourida would veil herself, wind her haik -about her and go roaming into the city with Ortho. -She loved the latticed <span class='it'>souks</span> with their displays of -silks, jewelry and leather work; the artificers with -their long muskets, curved daggers, velvet scabbarded -swords and pear-shaped powder flasks; the -gorgeous horse-trappings at the saddlers’, but these -could be best seen in broad daylight; in the evening -there were other attractions.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was the Djeema-el-Fna that drew her, that -great, dusty, clamorous fair-ground of Morocco -where gather the story-tellers, acrobats and clowns; -where feverish drums beat the sun down, assisted -by the pipes of Aissawa snake charmers and the -jingling <span class='it'>ouds</span> and cymbals of the Berber dancing -boys; where the Sultan hung out the heads of transgressors -that they might grin sardonically upon the -revels. Ourida adored the Djeema-el-Fna. To the -girl from the tent hamlet in the Sahara it was Life. -She wept at the sad love stories, trembled at the -snake charmers, shrieked at the crude buffoons, -swayed in sympathy with the Berber dancers, besought -Ortho for coin, and more coin, to reward -the charming entertainers. She loved the varied -crowds, the movement, the excitement, the din, but -most of all she liked the heads. No evening on the -Djeema was complete unless she had inspected these -grisly trophies of imperial power.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She said no word to Ortho, but nevertheless he -knew perfectly well what was in her mind; in her -mind she saw young Saïd twenty years on, spattered -with infidel blood, riding like a tornado, serving his -enemies even as these.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ferocious—she was the ultimate expression of -ferocity—but knowing no mean she was also ferocious -in her love and loyalty; she would have given -her life for husband or son gladly, rejoicing. Such -people are difficult to deal with. Ortho sighed, but -let her have her way.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Often of an evening Osman Bâki came to the -house and they would sit in the court drinking Malaga -wine and yarning about old campaigns, while -Ourida played with the little ape and the old eagle -watched for mice, pretending to be asleep.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Osman talked well. He told of his boyhood’s -home beside the Bosporus, of Constantinople, Bagdad -and Damascus with its pearly domes bubbling -out of vivid greenery. Jerusalem, Tunis and Algiers -he had seen also and now the Moghreb, the -“Sunset land” of the first Saracen invaders. One -thing more he wanted to see and that was the -Himalayas. He had heard old soldiers talk of them—propping -the heavens. He would fill his eyes -with the Himalayas and then go home to his garden -in Rumeli Hissar and brood over his memories.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Sometimes he would take the <span class='it'>gounibri</span> and sing -the love lyrics of his namesake, or of Nêdim, or -“rose garden” songs he had picked up in Persia -which Ourida thought delicious. And sometimes -Ortho trolled his green English ballads, also favorably -received by her, simply because he sang them, -for she did not understand their rhythm in the least. -But more often they lounged, talking lazily, three -very good friends together, Osman sucking at the -hookah, punctuating the long silences with shrewd -comments on men and matters, Ortho lying at his -ease watching the brilliant African stars, drawing -breaths of blossom-scented air wafted from the -Aguedal, Ourida nestling at his side, curled up like -a sleepy kitten.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Summer passed and winter; came spring and with -it, to Ortho’s joy, no prospect of a campaign for -him. A desert marabout, all rags, filth and fervor, -preached a holy war in the Tissant country, gathering -a few malcontents about him, and Yakoub Ben -Ahmed was dispatched with a small force to put a -stop to it. There were the usual rumors of unrest -in the south, but nothing definite, merely young -bucks talking big. Ortho looked forward to another -year of peace.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He went in the Sultan’s train to Mogador for a -fortnight in May, and at the end of June was sent -to Taroudant, due east of Agadir. A trifling affair -of dispatches. He told Ourida he would be back -in no time and rode off cheerfully.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His business in Taroudant done, he was on the -point of turning home when he was joined by a -kaid mia and ten picked men from Morocco bearing -orders that he was to take them on to Tenduf, -a further two hundred miles south, and collect overdue -tribute.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho well knew what that meant. Tenduf was -on the verge of outbreak, the first signal of which -would be his, the tax collector’s head, on a charger. -Had he been single he would not have gone to -Tenduf—he would have made a dash for freedom—but -now he had a wife in Morocco, a hostage for -his fidelity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Seeking a public scribe, he dictated a letter to -Ourida and another to Osman Bâki, commending -her to his care should the worst befall, and rode -on.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Basha of Tenduf received the Sultan’s envoy -with the elaborate courtesy that is inherent in a -Moor and signifieth nothing. He was desolated -that the tribute was behindhand, enlarged on the -difficulty of collecting it in a land impoverished by -drought (which it was not), but promised to set -to work immediately. In the meantime Ortho -lodged in the kasba, ostensibly an honored guest, -actually a prisoner, aware that the Basha was the -ringleader of the offenders and that his own head -might be removed at any moment. Hawk-faced -sheiks, armed to the teeth, galloped in, conferred -with the Basha, galloped away again. If they -brought any tribute it was well concealed. Time -went by; Ortho bit his lip, fuming inwardly, but -outwardly his demeanor was of polite indifference. -Whenever he could get hold of the Basha he regaled -him with instances of Imperial wrath, of villages -burned to the ground, towns taken and put -to the sword, men, women and children; lingering -picturesquely on the tortures inflicted on unruly governors.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But why did Sidi do that?” the Basha would -exclaim, turning a shade paler at the thought of -his peer of Khenifra having all his nails drawn out -and then being slowly sawn in half.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why?” Ortho would scratch his head and look -puzzled. “Why? Bless me if I know! Oh, yes, -I believe there was some little hitch with the taxes.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“These walls make me laugh,” he remarked, -walking on the Tenduf fortifications.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Governor was annoyed. “Why so? They -are very good walls.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“As walls go,” Ortho admitted. “But what are -walls nowadays? They take so long to build, so -short a time to destroy. Why, our Turk gunners -breached the Derunat walls in five places in an hour. -The sole use for walls is to contain the defenders -in a small space, then every bomb we throw inside -does its work.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hum!” The Basha stroked his brindled beard. -“Hum—but supposing the enemy harass you in the -open?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho shrugged his shoulders. “Then we kill -them in the open, that is all. It takes longer, but -they suffer more.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It took you a long time at Figvig,” the Basha -observed maliciously.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not after we learned the way.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And what is the way?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“We take possession of the wells and they die -of thirst in the sands and save us powder. At Figvig -there were many wells; it took time. Here—” -He swept his hand over the burning champagne and -snapped his fingers. “Just that.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hum,” said the Basha and walked away deep in -thought. Day after day came and went and Ortho -was not dead yet. He had an idea that he was getting -the better of the bluffing match, that the Basha’s -nerve was shaking and he was passing it on.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There came a morning when the trails were hazy -with the dust of horsemen hastening in to Tenduf, -and the envoy on the kasba tower knew that the -crisis had arrived.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was over by evening. The tribute began to -come in next day and continued to roll in for a -week more.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Basha accompanied Ortho ten miles on his -return journey, regretting any slight misconstruction -that might have arisen and protesting his imperishable -loyalty. He trusted that his dear friend Saïd -el Inglez would speak well of him to the Sultan and -presented him with two richly caparisoned horses -and a bag of ducats as a souvenir of their charming -relations.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Slowly went the train; the horses were heavy laden -and the heat terrific. Ortho dozed in the saddle, -impatient at the pace, powerless to mend it. He -beguiled the tedious days, mentally converting the -Basha’s ducats into silks and jewelry for Ourida. -It was the end of August before he reached Taroudant. -There he got word that the court had moved -to Rabat and he was to report there. Other news -he got also, news that sent him riding alone to -Morocco City, night and day, as fast as driven -horseflesh would carry him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He went through the High Atlas passes to -Goundafa, then north across the plains by Tagadirt -and Aguergour. From Aguergour on the road was -crawling with refugees—men, women, children, -horses, donkeys, camels loaded with household -goods staggering up the mifis valley, anywhere out -of the pestilent city. They shouted warnings at the -urgent horseman: “The sickness, the sickness! -Thou art riding to thy death, lord!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho nodded; he knew. It was late afternoon -when he passed through Tameslouht and saw the -Koutoubia minaret in the distance, standing serene, -though all humanity rotted.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He was not desperately alarmed. Plagues bred -in the beggars’ kennels, not in palace gardens. It -would have reached his end of the city last of all, -giving his little family ample time to run. Osman -Bâki would see to it that Ourida had every convenience. -They were probably down at Dar el -Beida reveling in the clean sea breezes, or at Rabat -with the Court. He told himself he was not really -frightened; nevertheless he did the last six miles -at a gallop, passed straight through the Bab Ksiba -into the kasba. There were a couple of indolent -Sudanese on guard at the gate and a few more -sprawling in the shadow of the Drum Barracks, but -the big Standard Square was empty and so were the -two further courts.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He jumped off his horse at the postern and -walked on. From the houses around came not a -sound, not a move; in the street he was the only -living thing. He knocked at his own door; no answer. -Good! They had gone!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The door swung open to his push and he stepped -in, half relieved, half fearful, went from room to -room to find them stripped bare. Ourida had managed -to take all her belongings with her then. He -wondered how she had found the transport. Osman -Bâki contrived it, doubtless. A picture flashed before -him of his famous black horse squadron trekking -for the coast burdened with Ourida’s furniture—a -roll of haitis to this man, a cushion to that, a -cauldron to another—and he laughed merrily.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Where had they gone, he wondered—Safi, Dar el -Beida, Mogador, Rabat? The blacks at the barracks -might know; Osman should have left a message. -He stepped out of the kitchen into the court -and saw a man rooting the little orange trees out -of their tubs.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Hey!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The man swung about, sought to escape, saw it -was impossible and flung himself upon the ground -writhing and sobbing for mercy.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was a beggar who sat at the Ahmar Gate with -his head hidden in the hood of his haik (he was -popularly supposed to have no face), a supplicating -claw protruding from a bundle of foul rags and a -muffled voice wailing for largesse. Ortho hated the -loathly beast, but Ourida gave him money—“in the -name of God.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What are you doing here?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Great lord, have mercy in the name of Sidi Ben -Youssef the Blest, of Abd el Moumen and Muley -Idriss,” he slobbered. “I did nothing, lord, nothing. -I thought you had gone to the south and would -not return to . . . to . . . this house. Spare me, -O amiable prince.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“And why should I not return to this house?” -said Ortho.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The beggar hesitated. “Muley, I made sure -. . . I thought . . . it was not customary . . . -young men do not linger in the places of lost -love.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Dog,” said Ortho, suddenly cold about the heart, -“what do you mean?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Surely the Kaid knows?” There was a note of -surprise in the mendicant’s voice.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I know nothing; I have been away . . . the lalla -Ourida?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The beggar locked both hands over his head and -squirmed in the dust. “Kaid, Kaid . . . the will of -Allah.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The little court reeled under Ortho’s feet, a film -like a heat wave rose up before his eyes, everything -went blurred for a minute. Then he spoke quite -calmly:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why did she not go away?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She had no time, lord. The little one, thy son, -took the sickness first; she stayed to nurse him and -herself was taken. But she was buried with honor, -Kaid; the Turkish officer buried her with honor in -a gay bier with tholbas chanting. I, miserable that -I am, I followed also—afar. She was kind to the -poor, the lalla Ourida.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But why, why didn’t Osman get them both away -before the plague struck the palace?” Ortho muttered -fiercely, more to himself than otherwise, but -the writhing rag heap heard him and answered:</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“He had no time, Muley. The kasba was the -first infected.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The first! How?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yakoub Ben Ahmed brought many rebel heads -from Tissant thinking to please Sidi. They stank -and many soldiers fell sick, but Yakoub would not -throw the heads away—it was his first command. -They marched into the kasba with drums beating, -sick soldiers carrying offal.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho laughed mirthlessly. So the dead had their -revenge.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Where is the Turk officer now?” he asked presently. -“Rabat?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, Muley—he too took the sickness tending -thy lancers.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho walked away. All over, all gone—wife, -boy, faithful friend. Ourida would not see her son -go by at the proud head of a regiment, nor Osman -review his memories in his vineyard by the Bosporus. -All over, all gone, the best and truest.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Turning, he flung a coin at the beggar. “Go -. . . leave me.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Dusk was flooding the little court, powder blue -tinged with the rose-dust of sunset. A pair of gray -pigeons perched on the parapet made their love cooings -and fluttered away again. From the kasba -minaret came the boom of the muezzin. High in -the summer night drifted a white petal of a moon.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho leaned against a pillar listening. The -chink of anklets, the plud, plud of small bare feet.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Saïd, my beloved, is it you? Tired, my heart’s -dear? Rest your head here, lord; take thy ease. -Thy fierce son is asleep at last; he has four teeth -now and the strength of a lion. He will be a great -captain of lances and do us honor when we are old. -Your arm around me thus, tall one . . . äie, now -am I content beyond all women . . .”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>From twilight places came the voice of Osman -Bâki and the subdued tinkle of the gounibri. “Allah -has been good to me. I have seen many wonders—rivers, -seas, cities and plains, fair women, brave -men and stout fighting, but I would yet see the -Himalayas. After that I will go home where I was -a boy. Listen while I sing you a song of my own -country such as shepherds sing . . .”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho’s head sank in his hands. All over now, -all gone. . . . Something flapped in the shadows -by the orange trees, flapped and hopped out into -the central moonlight and posed there stretching -its crippled wings.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was the old eagle disgustingly bloated.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>That alone remained, that and the loathly beggar, -left alone in the dead city to their carrion orgy. A -shock of revulsion shook Ortho. Ugh!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He sprang up and, without looking round, strode -out of the house and down the street to where his -horse was standing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A puff of hot wind followed him, a furnace blast, -foul with the stench of half-buried corpses in the -big Mussulman cemetery outside the walls. Ugh!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He kicked sharp stirrups into his horse and rode -through the Ksiba Gate.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Fleeing from the sickness—eh?” sneered a -mokaddem of Sudanese who could not fly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No—ghosts,” said Ortho and turned his beast -onto the western road.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The sea! The sea!”</p> - -<div><h1>CHAPTER XXIV</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>“Perish me! Rot and wither my soul and -eyes if it ain’t Saïd!” exclaimed Captain -Benjamin MacBride, hopping across the -court, his square hand extended.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Saïd, my bully, where d’you hail from?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m on the bodyguard at Rabat. The Sultan’s -building there now. Skalas all round and seven -new mosques are the order, I hear—we’ll all be -carrying bricks soon. I rode over to see you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You ain’t looking too proud,” said MacBride; -“sort of wasted-like, and God ha’ mercy. Flux?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho shook his head. “No, but I’ve had my -troubles, and”—indicating the sailor’s bandaged eye -and his crutch—“so have you, it seems.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Curse me, yes! Fell in with a fat Spanisher off -Ortegal and mauled him down to a sheer hulk when -up romps a brace of American ‘thirties’ and serves -me cruel. If it hadn’t been for nightfall and a shift -of wind I should have been a holy angel by now. -Bad times, boy, bad times. Too many warships -about, and all merchantmen sailing in convoy. I -tell you I shall be glad when there’s a bit of peace -and good-will on earth again. Just now everybody’s -armed and it’s plaguy hard to pick up an honest -living.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Governor here, aren’t you?” Ortho inquired.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Aye. Soft lie-abed shore berth till my wounds -heal and we can get back to business. Fog in the -river?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Thick; couldn’t see across.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s lying on the sea like a blanket,” said MacBride. -“I’ve been watching it from my tower. -Come along and see the girls. They’re all here -save Tama; she runned away with a Gharb sheik -when I was cruising—deceitful slut!—but I’ve got -three new ones.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ayesha and Schems-ed-dah were most welcoming. -They had grown somewhat matronly, but otherwise -time seemed to have left them untouched. As ever -they were gorgeously dressed, bejeweled and painted -up with carmine, henna and kohl. Fluttering and -twittering about their ex-slave, they plied him with -questions. He had been to the wars? Wounded? -How many men had he killed? What was his rank? -A kaid rahal of cavalry. . . . Ach! chut, chut! -A great man! On the bodyguard! . . . Ay-ee! -Was it true the Sultan’s favorite Circassians ate off -pure gold? Was he married yet?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When he told them the recent plague in Morocco -had killed both his wife and son their liquid eyes -brimmed over. No whit less sympathetic were the -three new beauties; they wept in concert, though -ten minutes earlier Ortho had been an utter stranger -to them. Their hearts were very tender. A black -eunuch entered bearing the elaborate tea utensils. -As he turned to go, MacBride called “<span class='it'>aji</span>,” pointing -to the ground before him.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The slave threw up his hands in protest. “Oh, -no, lord, please.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Kneel down,” the sailor commanded. “I’ll make -you spring your ribs laughing, Saïd, my bonny. Give -me your hand, Mohar.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Lord, have mercy!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mercy be damned! Your hand, quick!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The piteous great creature extended a trembling -hand, was grasped by the wrist and twisted onto his -back.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Now, my pearls, my rosebuds,” said MacBride.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The five little birds of paradise tucked their robes -about them and surrounded the prostrate slave, tittering -and wriggling their forefingers at him. Even -before he was touched he screamed, but when the -tickling began in earnest he went mad, doubling, -screwing, clawing the air with his toes, shrieking -like a soul in torment—which indeed he was.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>With the pearls and rosebuds it was evidently a -favorite pastime; they tickled with diabolical cunning -that could only come of experience, shaking -with laughter and making sibilant noises the while—“Pish—piss-sh!” -Finally when the miserable victim -was rolling up the whites of his eyes, mouthing -foam and seemed on the point of throwing a fit, -MacBride released him and he escaped.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The captain wiped the happy tears from his remaining -eye and turned on Ortho as one recounting -an interesting scientific observation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Very thin-skinned for a Sambo. D’you know I -believe he’d sooner take a four-bag at the gangway -than a minute o’ that. I do, so help me; I believe -he’d sooner be flogged. <span class='it'>Vee-ry</span> curious. Come up -and I’ll show you my command.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Atlantic was invisible from the tower, sheeted -under fog which, beneath a windless sky, stretched -away to the horizon in woolly white billows. Ortho -had an impression of a mammoth herd of tightly -packed sheep.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“There’s a three-knot tide under that, sweeping -south, but it don’t ’pear to move it much,” MacBride -observed. “I’ll warrant that bank ain’t higher -nor a first-rate’s topgallant yard. I passed through -the western squadron once in a murk like that there. -Off Dungeness, it was. All their royals was sticking -out, but my little hooker was trucks down, out o’ -sight.” He pointed to the north. “Knitra’s over -there, bit of a kasba like this. Er-rhossi has it; a -sturdy fellow for a Greek, but my soul what a man -to drink! Stayed here for a week and ’pon my -conscience he had me baled dry in two days—<span class='it'>me</span>! -Back there’s the forest, there’s pig . . . what are -you staring at?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho spun about guiltily. “Me? Oh, nothing, -nothing, nothing. What were you saying? The -forest . . .”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He became suddenly engrossed in the view of the -forest of Marmora.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What’s the matter? You look excited, like as -if you’d seen something,” said MacBride suspiciously.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ve seen nothing,” Ortho replied. “What -should I see?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Blest if I know; only you looked startled.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I was thinking.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, was you? Well, as I was saying, there’s a -mort o’ pigs in there, wild ’uns, and lions too, by -report, but I ain’t seen none. I’ll get some sport -as soon as my leg heals. This ain’t much of a place -though. Can’t get no money out of charcoal burners, -not if you was to torture ’em for a year. As -God is my witness I’ve done my best, but the sooty -vermin ain’t got any.” He sighed. “I shall be -devilish glad when we can get back to our lawful -business again. I’ve heard married men in England -make moan about <span class='it'>their</span> ‘family responsibilities’—but -what of me? I’ve got <span class='it'>three</span> separate families already -and two more on the way! What d’you say -to that—eh?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho sympathized with the much domesticated -seaman and declared he must be going.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re in hell’s own hurry all to a sudden.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m on the bodyguard, you know.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, if you must that’s an end on’t, but I was -hoping you’d stop for days and we’d have a chaw -over old Jerry Gish—he-he! What a man! Say, -would you have the maidens plague that Sambo once -more before you go? Would you now? Give the -word!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho declined the pleasure and asked if MacBride -could sell him a boat compass.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I can sell you two or three, but what d’you want -it for?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m warned for the Guinea caravan,” Ortho explained. -“A couple of <span class='it'>akkabaah</span> have been lost -lately; the guides went astray in the sands. I want -to keep some check on them.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I thought the Guinea force went out about -Christmas.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No, this month.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, you know best, I suppose,” said the captain -and gave him a small compass, refusing payment.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come back and see us before you go,” he -shouted as Ortho went out of the gate.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Surely,” the latter replied and rode southwards -for Sallee at top speed, knowing full well that, unless -luck went hard against him, so far from seeing -Ben MacBride again he would be out of the country -before midnight.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>While Ourida lived, life in Morocco had its compensations; -with her death it had become insupportable. -He had ridden down to the sea filled with a -cold determination to seize the first opportunity of -escape and, if none occurred, to make one. Plans -had been forming in his mind of working north to -Tangier, there stealing a boat and running the -blockade into beleaguered Gibraltar, some forty -miles distant, a scheme risky to the point of foolhardiness. -But remain he would not.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Now unexpectedly, miraculously, an opportunity -had come. Despite his denials he <span class='it'>had</span> seen something -from MacBride’s tower; the upper canvas -of a ship protruding from the fog about a mile and -a half out from the coast, by the cut and the long -coach-whip pennant at the main an Englishman. -Just a glimpse as the royals rose out of a trough -of the fog billows, just the barest glimpse, but quite -enough. Not for nothing had he spent his boyhood -at the gates of the Channel watching the varied -traffic passing up and down. And a few minutes -earlier MacBride had unwittingly supplied him with -the knowledge he needed, the pace and direction -of the tide. Ortho knew no arithmetic, but common -sense told him that if he galloped he should reach -Sallee two hours ahead of that ship. She had no -wind, she would only drift. He drove his good -horse relentlessly, and as he went decided exactly -what he would do.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was dark when he reached the Bab Sebta, and -over the low-lying town the fog lay like a coverlet.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He passed through the blind town, leaving the -direction to his horse’s instinct, and came out against -the southern wall. Inquiring of an unseen pedestrian, -he learnt he was close to the Bab Djedid, put -his beast in a public stable near by, detached one -stirrup, and, feeling his way through the gate, -struck over the sand banks towards the river. He -came on it too far to the west, on the spit where -it narrows opposite the Kasba Oudaia of Rabat; -the noise of water breaking at the foot of the great -fortress across the Bon Regreg told him as much.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Turning left-handed, he followed the river back -till he brought up against the ferry boats. They -were all drawn up for the night; the owners had -gone, taking their oars with them. “Damnation!” -His idea had been to get a man to row him across -and knock him on the head in midstream; it was -for that purpose that he had brought the heavy -stirrup. There was nothing for it now but to rout -a man out—all waste of precious time!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was just a chance some careless boatman -had left his oars behind. Quickly he felt in the -skiffs. The first was empty, so was the second, the -third and the fourth, but in the fifth he found what -he sought. It was a light boat too, a private shallop -and half afloat at that. What colossal luck! He -put his shoulders to the stem and hove—and up rose -a man.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Who’s that? Is that you, master?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho sprang back. Where had he heard that -voice before? Then he remembered; it was Puddicombe’s. -Puddicombe had not returned to Algiers -after all, but was here waiting to row “Sore Eyes” -across to Rabat to a banquet possibly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Who’s that?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho blundered up against the stem, pretending -to be mildly drunk, mumbling in Arabic that he -was a sailor from a trading felucca looking for his -boat.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, this is not yours, friend,” said Puddicombe. -“Try down the beach. But if you take my -advice you’ll not go boating to-night; you might -fall overboard and get a drink of water which, by -the sound of you, is not what thou art accustomed -to.” He laughed at his own delightful wit.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho stumbled into the fog, paused and thought -matters over. To turn a ferryman out might take -half an hour. Puddicombe had the only oars on -the beach, therefore Puddicombe must give them -up.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He lurched back again, steadied himself against -the stem and asked the Devonian if he would put -him off to his felucca, getting a flat refusal. Hiccuping, -he said there was no offense meant and -asked Puddicombe if he would like a sip of fig -brandy. He said he had no unsurmountable objection, -came forward to get it, and Ortho hit him -over the head with the stirrup iron as hard as he -could lay in. Puddicombe toppled face forwards out -of the boat and lay on the sand without a sound or -a twitch.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’m sorry I had to do it,” said Ortho, “but you -yourself warned me to trust nobody, above all a -fellow renegado. I’m only following your own advice. -You’ll wake up before dawn. Good-by.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Pushing the boat off, he jumped aboard and -pulled for the grumble of the bar.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He went aground on the sand-spit, and rowing -away from that very nearly stove the boat in on -a jag of rock below the Kasba Oudaia. The corner -passed, steering was simple for a time, one had -merely to keep the boat pointed to the rollers. Over -the bar he went, slung high, swung low, tugged on to -easy water, and striking a glow on his flint and -steel examined the compass.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Thus occasionally checking his course by the -needle he pulled due west. He was well ahead of -the ship, he thought, and by getting two miles out -to sea would be lying dead in her track. Before long -the land breeze would be blowing sufficient to push -the fog back, but not enough to give the vessel -more than two or three knots; in that light shallop -he could catch her easily, if she were within reasonable -distance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Reckoning he had got his offing, he swung the -boat’s head due north and paddled gently against -the run of the tide.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Time progressed; there was no sign of the ship -or the land breeze that was to reveal her. For all -he knew he might be four miles out to sea or one-half -only. He had no landmarks, no means of -measuring how far he had come except by experience -of how long it had taken him to pull a dinghy -from point to point at home in Monks Cove; yet -somehow he felt he was about right.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Time went by. The fog pressed about him in -walls of discolored steam, clammy, dripping, heavy -on the lungs. Occasionally it split, revealing dark -corridors and halls, abysses of Stygian gloom; rolled -together again. A hundred feet overhead it was -clear night and starry. Where was that breeze?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>More time passed. Ortho began to think he had -failed and made plans to cover the failure. It -should not be difficult. He would land on the sands -opposite the Bab Malka, overturn the boat, climb -over the walls and see the rest of the night out -among the Mussulman graves. In the morning he -could claim his horse and ride into camp as if nothing -had happened. As a slave he had been over -the walls time and again; there was a crack in the -bricks by the Bordj el Kbir. He didn’t suppose -it was repaired; they never repaired anything. -Puddicombe didn’t know who had hit him; there -was no earthly reason why he should be suspected. -The boat would be found overturned, the unknown -sailor presumed drowned. Quite simple. Remained -the Tangier scheme.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>By this time, being convinced that the ship had -passed, he slewed the boat about and pulled in. -The sooner he was ashore the better.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The fog appeared to be moving. It twisted into -clumsy spirals which sagged in the middle, puffed -out cheeks of vapor, bulged and writhed, drifting -to meet the boat. The land breeze was coming at -last—an hour too late! Ortho pulled on, an ear -cocked for the growl of the bar. There was nothing -to be heard as yet; he must have gone further -than he thought, but fog gagged and distorted sound -in the oddest way. The spirals nodded above him -like gigantic wraiths. Something passed overhead -delivering an eerie screech. A sea-gull only, but it -made him jump. Glancing at the compass, he found -that he was, at the moment, pulling due south. He -got his direction again and pulled on. Goodness -knew what the tide had been doing to him. There -might be a westward stream from the river which -had pushed him miles out to sea. Or possibly he -was well south of his mark and would strike the -coast below Rabat. Oh, well, no matter as long -as he got ashore soon. Lying on his oars, he listened -again for the bar, but could hear no murmur -of it. Undoubtedly he was to the southward. That -ship was halfway to Fedala by now.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then, quite clearly, behind a curtain of fog, an -English voice chanted: “By the Deep Nine.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho stopped rowing, stood up and listened. -Silence, not a sound, not a sign. Fichus and twisted -columns of fog drifting towards him, that was all. -But somewhere close at hand a voice was calling -soundings. The ship was there. All his fine calculations -were wrong, but he had blundered aright.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mark ten.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The voice came again, seemingly from his left-hand -side this time. Again silence. The fog alleys -closed once more, muffling sound. The ship was -there, within a few yards, yet this cursed mist with -its fool tricks might make him lose her altogether. -He hailed with all his might. No answer. He -might have been flinging his shout against banks of -cotton wool. Again and again he hailed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Suddenly came the answer, from behind his back -apparently.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ahoy there . . . who are you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ’Scaped English prisoner! English prisoner escaped!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was a pause; then, “Keep off there . . . -none of your tricks.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No tricks . . . I am alone . . . <span class='it'>alone</span>,” Ortho -bawled, pulling furiously. He could hear the vessel -plainly now, the creak of her tackle as she felt the -breeze.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Keep off there, or I’ll blow you to bits.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“If you fire a gun you’ll call the whole town out,” -Ortho warned.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What town?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Sallee.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Christ!” the voice ejaculated and repeated his -words. “He says we’re off Sallee, sir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho pulled on. He could see the vessel by -this, a blurred shadow among the steamy wraiths of -mist, a big three-master close-hauled on the port -tack.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Said a second voice from aft: “Knock his bottom -out if he attempts to board . . . no chances.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Boat ahoy,” hailed the first voice. “If you come -alongside I’ll sink you, you bloody pirate. Keep -off.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho stopped rowing. They were going to leave -him. Forty yards away was an English ship—England. -He was missing England by forty yards, -England and the Owls’ House!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He jerked at his oars, tugged the shallop directly -in the track of the ship and slipped overboard. -They might be able to see his boat, but his head -was too small a mark. If he missed what he was -aiming at he was finished; he could never regain that -boat. It was neck or nothing now, the last lap, the -final round.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He struck to meet the vessel—only a few yards.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She swayed towards him, a chuckle of water at -her cut-water; tall as a cliff she seemed, towering -out of sight. The huge bow loomed over him, -poised and crushed downwards as though to ride -him under, trample him deep.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sheer toppling bulk, the hiss of riven water -snapped his last shred of courage. It was too much. -He gave up, awaited the instant stunning crash -upon his head, saw the great bowsprit rush across -a shining patch of stars, knew the end had come -at last, thumped against the bows and found himself -pinned by the weight of water, his head still -up. His hands, his unfailing hands had saved him -again; he had hold of the bob-stay!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The weight of water was not really great, the -ship had little more than steerage way. Darkness -had magnified his terrors. He got across the stay -without much difficulty, worked along it to the dolphin-striker, -thence by the martingale to the fo’csle.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The look-out were not aware of his arrival until -he was amongst them; they were watching the tiny -smudge that was his boat. He noticed that they -had round-shot ready to drop into it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good God!” the mate exclaimed. “Who are -you?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The man who hailed just now, sir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“But I thought . . . I thought you were in that -boat.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I was, sir, but I swam off.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good God!” said the mate again and hailed -the poop. “Here’s this fellow come aboard after -all, sir. He’s quite alone.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>An astonished “How the devil?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Swam, sir.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Pass him aft.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho was led aft. Boarding nettings were triced -up and men lay between the upper deck guns girded -with side arms. Shot were in the garlands and -match-tubs filled, all ready. A well-manned, well-appointed -craft. He asked the man who accompanied -him her name.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Elijah Impey.</span> East Indiaman.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Indiaman! Then where are we bound for?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Bombay.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho drew a deep breath. It was a long road -home.</p> - -<div><h1>CHAPTER XXV</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>The little Botallack man and Eli Penhale -shook hands, tucked the slack of their wrestling -jackets under their left armpits and, -crouching, approached each other, right hands extended.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The three judges, ancient wrestlers, leaned on -their ash-plants and looked extremely knowing; -they went by the title of “sticklers.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The wrestling ring was in a grass field almost -under the shadow of St. Gwithian church tower. -To the north the ridge of tors rolled along the skyline, -autumnal brown. Southward was the azure -of the English Channel; west, over the end of land, -the glint of the Atlantic with the Scilly Isles showing -on the horizon, very faint, like small irregularities -on a ruled blue line.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>All Gwithian was present, men and women, girls -and boys, with a good sprinkling of visitors from -the parishes round about. They formed a big ring -of black and pink, dark clothes and healthy countenances. -A good-natured crowd, bandying inter-parochial -chaff from side to side, rippling with -laughter when some accepted wit brought off a sally, -yelling encouragement to their district champions.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Beware of en’s feet, Jan, boy. The old toad -is brear foxy.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Scat en, Ephraim, my pretty old beauty! Grip -to an’ scandalize en!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Move round, sticklers! Think us can see -through ’e? Think you’m made of glass?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Up, Gwithian!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Up, St. Levan!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At the feet of the crowd lay the disengaged wrestlers, -chewing blades of grass and watching the play. -They were naked except for short drawers, and on -their white skins grip marks flared red, bruises and -long scratches where fingers had slipped or the -rough jacket edges cut in. Amiable young stalwarts, -smiling at each other, grunting approvingly at smart -pieces of work. One had a snapped collar-bone, -another a fractured forearm wrapped up in a handkerchief, -but they kept their pains to themselves; it -was all in the game.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Now Eli and the little Botallack man were out -for the final.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Polwhele was not five feet six and tipped the -beam at eleven stone, whereas Eli was five ten and -weighed two stone the heavier. It looked as though -he had only to fall on the miner to finish him, but -such was far from the case. The sad-faced little -tinner had already disposed of four bulky opponents -in workmanlike fashion that afternoon—the -collar bone was his doing.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Watch his eyes,” Bohenna had warned.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>That was all very well, but it was next to impossible -to see his eyes for the thick bang of hair -that dangled over them like the forelock of a Shetland -pony.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Polwhele clumsily sidled a few steps to the right. -Eli followed him. Polwhele walked a few steps to -the left. Again Eli followed. Polwhele darted -back to the right, Eli after him, stopped, slapped -his right knee loudly, and, twisting left-handed, -grabbed the farmer round the waist and hove him -into the air.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was cleverly done—the flick of speed after -the clumsy walk, the slap on the knee drawing the -opponent’s eye away—cleverly done, but not quite -quick enough. Eli got the miner’s head in chancery -as he was hoisted up and hooked his toes behind -the other’s knees.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Polwhele could launch himself and his burden -neither forwards nor backwards, as the balance lay -with Eli. The miner hugged at Eli’s stomach with -all his might, jerking cruelly. Eli wedged his free -arm down and eased the pressure somewhat. It -was painful, but bearable.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Lave en carry ’e so long as thou canst, son,” -came the voice of Bohenna. “Tire en out.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Polwhele strained for a forwards throw, tried -a backwards twist, but the pull behind the knees -embarrassed him. He began to pant. Thirteen -stone hanging like a millstone about one’s neck at -the end of the day was intolerable. He tried to -work his head out of chancery, concluded it would -only be at the price of his ears and gave that up.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Stay where ’e are,” shouted Bohenna to his -protégé. “T’eddn costin’ <span class='it'>you</span> nawthin’.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli stayed where he was. Polwhele’s breathing -became more labored, sweat bubbled from every -pore, a sinew in his left leg cracked under the strain. -Once more he tried the forwards pitch, reeled, -rocked and came down sideways. He risked a dislocated -shoulder in so doing with the farmer’s added -weight, but got nothing worse than a heavy jar. -It was no fall; the two men rolled apart and lay -panting on their backs.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After a pause the sticklers intimated to them to -go on. Once more they faced each other. The -miner was plainly tired; the bang hung over his eyes, -a sweat-soaked rag; his movements were sluggish. -In response to the exhortations of his friends he -shook his head, made gestures with his hands—finished.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Slowly he gave way before Eli, warding off grips -with sweeps of his right forearm, refusing to come -to a hold. St. Gwithian jeered at him. Botallack -implored one more flash. He shook his head; he -was incapable of flashing. Four heavy men he had -put away to come upon this great block of brawn -at the day’s end; it was too much.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli could not bring him to grips, grew impatient -and made the pace hotter, forcing the miner backwards -right round the ring. It became a boxing -match between the two right hands, the one clutching, -the other parrying. Almost he had Polwhele; -his fingers slipped on a fold of the canvas jacket. -The spectators rose to a man, roaring.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Polwhele ran backwards out of a grip and stumbled. -Eli launched out, saw the sad eyes glitter -behind the draggles of hair and went headlong, flying.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The next thing he knew he was lying full length, -the breath jarred out of him and the miner on top, -fixed like a stoat. The little man had dived under -him, tipped his thigh with a shoulder and turned -him as he fell. It was a fair “back,” two shoulders -and a hip down; he had lost the championship.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Polwhele, melancholy as ever, helped him to his -feet.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Nawthin’ broke, Squire? That’s fitly. You’ll -beat me next year—could of this, if you’d waited.” -He put a blade of grass between his teeth and staggered -off to join his vociferous friends, the least -jubilant of any.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Bohenna came up with his master’s clothes. -“ ’Nother time you’m out against a quick man go -slow—make en come to <span class='it'>you</span>. Eddn no sense in -playin’ tig with forked lightnin’. I shouted to ’e, -but you was too furious to hear. Oh, well, ’tis done -now, s’pose.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He walked away to hob-nob with the sticklers -in the “Lamb and Flag,” to drink ale and wag their -heads and lament on the decay of wrestling and -manhood since they were young.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli pulled on his clothes. One or two Monks -Covers shouted “Stout tussle, Squire,” but did not -stop to talk, nor did he expect them to; he was -respected in the parish, but had none of the graceful -qualities that make for popularity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His mother went by, immensely fat, yet sitting -her cart-horse firm as a rock.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The little dog had ’e by the nose proper that -time, my great soft bullock,” she jeered, and rode -on, laughing. She hated Eli; as master of Bosula -he kept her short of money, even going to the length -of publicly crying down her credit. Had he not -done so, they would have been ruined long since -instead of in a fair state of prosperity, but Teresa -took no count of that. She was never tired of informing -audiences—preferably in Eli’s presence—that -if her other son had been spared, her own -precious boy Ortho, things would have been very -different. <span class='it'>He</span> would not have seen her going in -rags, without a penny piece to bless herself, not -he. Time, in her memory, had washed away all -the elder’s faults, leaving only virtues exposed, and -those grossly exaggerated. She would dilate for -hours on his good looks, his wit, his courage, his -loving consideration for herself, breaking into hot -tears of rage when she related the fancied indignities -she suffered at the hands of the paragon’s unworthy -brother.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was delighted that Polwhele had bested Eli, -and rode home jingling her winnings on the event. -Eli went on dressing, unmoved by his mother’s jibes. -As a boy he had learnt to close his ears to the taunts -of Rusty Rufus, and he found the accomplishment -most useful. When Teresa became abusive he either -walked out of the house or closed up like an oyster -and her tirades beat harmlessly against his spiritual -shell. Words, words, nothing but words; his contempt -for talk had not decreased as time went on.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He pulled his belt up, hustled into his best blue -coat and was knotting his neckcloth when somebody -behind him said, “Well wrastled, Eli.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He turned and saw Mary Penaluna with old -Simeon close beside.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli shook his head. “He was smaller than I, -naught but a little man. I take shame not to have -beaten en.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But Mary would have none of it. “I see no -shame then,” she said warmly. “They miners do -nothing but wrastle, wrastle all day between shifts -and underground too, so I’ve heard tell—but you’ve -got other things to do, Eli; ’tis a wonder you stood -up to en so long. And they’re nothing but a passell -o’ tricksters, teddn what I do call fitty wrastling at -all.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Well, ’tis fair, anyhow,” said Eli; “he beat me -fair enough and there’s an end of it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“ ’Es, s’pose,” Mary admitted, “but I do think -you wrastled bravely, Eli, and so do father and -all of the parish. Oh, look how the man knots -his cloth, all twisted; you’m bad as father, I declare. -Lave me put it to rights.” She reached up -strong, capable hands, gave the neckerchief a pull -and a pat and stood back laughing. “You men are -no better than babies for all your size and cursing -and ’bacca. ’Tis proper now. Are ’e steppin’ home -along?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli was. They crossed the field and, turning their -backs on the church tower, took the road towards -the sea, old Simeon walking first, slightly bent with -toil and rheumatism, long arms dangling inert; -Mary and Eli followed side by side, speaking never -a word. It was two miles to Roswarva, over upland -country, bare of trees, but beautiful in its -wind-swept nakedness. Patches of dead bracken -glowed with the warm copper that is to be found -in some women’s hair; on gray bowlders spots of -orange lichen shone like splashes of gold paint. The -brambles were dressed like harlequins in ruby, green -and yellow, and on nearly every hawthorn sat a -pair of magpies, their black and white livery looking -very smart against the scarlet berries.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli walked on to Roswarva, although it was out -of his way. He liked the low house among the -stunted sycamores, with the sun in its face all day -and the perpetual whisper of salt sea winds about -it. He liked the bright display of flowers Mary -seemed to keep going perennially in the little garden -by the south door, the orderly kitchen with its -sanded floor, clean whitewash and burnished copper. -Bosula was his home, but it was to Roswarva that -he turned as to a haven in time of trouble, when -he wanted advice about his farming, or when Teresa -was particularly fractious. There was little said -on these occasions, a few slow, considered words -from Simeon, a welcoming smile from Mary, a cup -of tea or a mug of cider and then home again—but -he had got what he needed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He sat in the kitchen that afternoon twirling -his hat in his powerful hands, staring out of the -window and thinking that his worries were pretty -nearly over. There was always Teresa to reckon -with, but they were out of debt and Bosula was in -good farming shape at last. What next? An idea -was taking shape in his deliberate brain. He stared -out of the window, but not at the farm boar wallowing -blissfully in the mire of the lane, or at Simeon -driving his sleek cows in for milking, or at the blue -Channel beyond with a little collier brig bearing -up for the Lizard, her grimy canvas transformed -by the alchemy of sunshine. Eli Penhale was seeing -visions, homely, comfortable visions.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mary came in, rolling her sleeves back over firm, -rounded forearms dimpled at the elbows. The once -leggy girl was leggy no longer, but a ripe, upstanding, -full-breasted woman with kindly brown eyes -and an understanding smile.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ll give ’e a penny for thy dream, Eli—if ’tis -a pretty one,” she laughed. “Is it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The farmer grinned. “Prettiest I ever had.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Queen of England take you for her boy?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Prettier than that.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My lor’, it must be worth a brear bit o’ money -then! More’n I can afford.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I don’t think so.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is it going cheap, or do you think I’m made of -gold pieces?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s not money I want.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“You’re not like most of us then,” said Mary, -and started. “There’s father calling in the yard. -Must be goin’ milkin’. Sit ’e down where ’e be and -I’ll be back quick as quick and we’ll see if I can -pay the price, whatever it is. Sit ’e down and rest.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>But Eli had risen. “Must be going, I believe.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Why?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Got to see to the horses; I’ve let Bohenna and -Davy off for the day, ’count of wrastling.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mary pouted, but she was a farmer’s daughter, -a fellow bond slave of animals; she recognized the -necessity.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Anybody’d think it was your men had been -wrastlin’ and not you, you great soft-heart. Oh, -well, run along with ’e and come back when done -and take a bite of supper with us, will ’e? Father’d -be proud and I’ve fit a lovely supper.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli promised and betook himself homewards. -Five strenuous bouts on top of six hours’ work in -the morning had tired him somewhat, bruises were -stiffening and his left shoulder gave him pain, but -his heart, his heart was singing “Mary Penaluna—Mary -Penhale, Mary Penaluna—Mary Penhale” all -the way and his feet went wing-shod. Almost he -had asked her in the kitchen, almost, almost—it -had been tripping off his tongue when she mentioned -her cows and in so doing reminded him of his horses. -By blood, instinct and habit he was a farmer; the -horses must be seen to first, his helpless, faithful -servitors. His mother usually turned her mount -into the stable without troubling to feed, unsaddle -it or even ease the girths. The horses must be -seen to.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He would say the word that evening after supper -when old Simeon fell asleep in his rocker, as was -his invariable custom. That very evening.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Tregors had gone whistling down the wind long -since; the unknown hind from Burdock Water had -let it go to rack and ruin, a second mortgagee was -not forthcoming, Carveth Donnithorne foreclosed -and marched in. Tregors had gone, but Bosula -remained, clear of debt and as good a place as any -in the Hundred, enough for any one man. Eli felt -he could make his claim for even prosperous Simeon -Penaluna’s daughter with a clear conscience. He -came to the rim of the valley, hoisted himself to -the top of a bank, paused and sat down.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The valley, touched by the low rays of sunset, -foamed with gold, with the pale gold of autumnal -elms, the bright gold of ashes, the old gold of oaks.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Bosula among its enfolding woods! No Roman -emperor behind his tall Prætorians had so steadfast, -so splendid a guard as these. Shelter from the -winter gales, great spluttering logs for the hearth, -green shade in summer and in autumn this magnificence. -Holly for Christmas, apples and cider. The -apples were falling now, falling with soft thuds all -day and night and littering the orchard, sunk in the -grass like rosy-faced children playing hide and seek.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli’s eyes ran up the opposite hillside, a patchwork -quilt of trim fields, green pasture and brown -plow land, all good and all his.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>His heart went out in gratitude to the house of -his breed, to the sturdy men who had made it what -it was, to the first poor ragged tinner wandering -down the valley with his donkey, to his unknown -father, that honest giant with the shattered face -who had brought him into the world that he, in -his turn, might take up this goodly heritage.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It should go on. He saw into the future, a -brighter, better future. He saw flowers outside the -Owls’ House perennially blooming; saw a whitewashed -kitchen with burnished copper pans and a -woman in it smiling welcome at the day’s end, her -sleeves rolled up to show her dimpled elbows; saw -a pack of brown-eyed chubby little boys tumbling -noisily in to supper—Penhales of Bosula. It should -go on. He vaulted off the bank and strode whistling -down to the Owls’ House, bowed his head between -Adam and Eve and found Ortho sitting in the -kitchen.</p> - -<div><h1>CHAPTER XXVI</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>The return of Ortho Penhale, nearly seven -years after his supposed death, caused a sensation -in West Cornwall. The smuggling -affair at Monks Cove was remembered and exaggerated -out of all semblance to the truth. Millions -of gallons had been run through by Ortho and his -gang, culminating in a pitched battle with the -dragoons. Nobody could say how many were killed -in that affray, and it was affirmed that nobody ever -would know. Midnight buryings were hinted at, -hush money and so on; a dark, thrilling business -altogether. Ortho was spoken of in the same breath -as King Nick and other celebrities of the “Trade.” -His subsequent adventures lost nothing in the -mouths of the gossips. He had landed in Barbary -a slave and in the space of two years become a -general. The Sultan’s favorite queen fell in love -with him; on being discovered in her arms he had -escaped by swimming four miles out to sea and -intercepting an East Indiaman, in which vessel he -had visited India and seen the Great Mogul.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho discovered himself a personage. It was -a most agreeable sensation. Men in every walk of -life rushed to shake his hand. He found himself -sitting in Penzance taverns in the exalted company -of magistrates and other notables telling the story -of his adventures—with picturesque additions.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And the women. Even the fine ladies in Chapel -Street turned their proud heads when he limped by. -His limp was genuine to a point; but when he saw -a pretty woman ahead he improved on it to draw -sympathy and felt their softened eyes following him -on his way, heard them whisper, “Ortho Penhale, -my dear . . . general in Barbary . . . twelve times -wounded. . . . How pale he looks and how handsome!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A most agreeable sensation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>To insure that he should not pass unnoticed he -affected a slight eccentricity of attire. For him no -more the buff breeches, the raffish black and silver -coats; dressed thus he might have passed for any -squire.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He wore instead the white trousers of a sailor, -a marine’s scarlet tunic he had picked up in a junk -shop, a colored kerchief loosely knotted about his -throat, and on his bull curls the round fur cap of -the sea. There was no mistaking him. Small boys -followed him in packs, round-eyed, worshipful. . . . -“Ortho Penhale, smuggler, Barbary lancer!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>If he had been popular once he was doubly popular -now. The Monks Cove incident was forgiven -but not forgotten; it went to swell his credit, in fact. -To have arrested him on that old score would have -been more than the Collector’s life was worth. The -Collector, prudent man, publicly shook Penhale by -the hand and congratulated him on his miraculous -escape.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho found his hoard of six hundred and seventy -pounds intact in the hollow ash by Tumble Down -and spent it freely. He gave fifty pounds to Anson’s -widow (who had married a prosperous cousin -some years before, forgotten poor Anson and did -not need it) and put a further fifty in his pockets -to give to Tamsin Eva.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Bohenna told him the story as a joke, but Ortho -was smitten with what he imagined was remorse.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He remembered Tamsin—a slim, appealing little -thing in blue, skin like milk and a cascade of red -gold hair. He must make some honorable gesture—there -were certain obligations attached to the rôle -of local hero. It was undoubtedly somewhat late -in the day. The Trevaskis lout had married the -girl and accepted the paternity of the child (it was -a boy six years old now, Bohenna reported), but -that made no difference; he must make his gesture. -Fifty pounds was a lot of money to a struggling -farmer; besides he would like to see Tamsin again—that -slender neck and marvelous hair! If Trevaskis -wasn’t treating her properly he’d take her away -from him, boy and all; b’God, he would!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He went up to the Trevaskis homestead one -afternoon and saw a meager woman standing at the -back of a small house washing clothes in a tub. -Her thin forearms were red with work, her hair -was screwed up anyhow on the top of her head and -hung over her eyes in draggled rat’s-tails, her complexion -had faded through long standing over -kitchen fires, her apron was torn and her thick wool -socks were thrust into a pair of clumsy men’s boots.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was some seconds before he recognized her as -Tamsin. Tamsin after seven years as a working -man’s wife. A couple of dirty children of about -four and five were making mud pies at her feet, -and in the cottage a baby lifted its querulous voice.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She had other children then—two, three, half a -dozen perhaps—huh!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho turned about and limped softly away, unnoticed, -the fifty pounds still in his pockets.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Making amends to a pretty woman was one thing, -but to a faded drudge with a school of Trevaskis -bantlings quite another suit of clothes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He gave the fifty pounds to his mother, took her -to Penzance and bought her two flamboyant new -dresses and a massive gold brooch. She adored him. -The hard times, scratching a penny here and there -out of Eli, were gone forever. Her handsome, free-handed -son was back again, master of Bosula and -darling of the district. She rode everywhere with -him, to hurling matches, bull baitings, races and -cock-fights, big with pride, chanting his praises to -all comers.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That Eli would have seen me starve to death -in a ditch,” she would say, buttonholing some old -crony in a tavern. “But Ortho’s got respect for his -old mother; he’d give me the coat off his back or -the heart out of his breast, he would, so help me!” -(Hiccough.)</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mother and son rode together all over the Hundred, -Teresa wreathed in fat, splendid in attire, -still imposing in her virile bulk; Ortho in his scarlet -tunic, laughing, gambling, dispensing free liquor, -telling amazing stories. Eli stayed at home, working -on the farm, bewildered, dumb, the look in his -eyes of a suffering dog.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Christmas passed more merrily than ever before -at the Owls’ House that year. Half Gwithian was -present and two fiddlers. Some danced in the -kitchen, the overflow danced in the barn, profusely -decorated with evergreens for the occasion so that -it had the appearance of a candlelit glade. Few -of the men went to bed at all that night and, with -the exception of Eli, none sober. Twelfth Night -was celebrated with a similar outburst, and then -people settled down to work again and Ortho found -himself at a loose end. He could always ride into -Penzance and pass the time of day with the idlers -in the “Star,” but that was not to his taste. He -drank little himself and disliked the company. Furthermore, -he had told most of his tales and was in -danger of repeating them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho was wise enough to see that if he were -not careful he would degenerate from the local hero -into the local bore—and gave Penzance a rest. -There appeared to be nothing for it but that he -should get down to work on the farm; after his last -eight years it was an anti-climax which presented -few allurements.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Before long there would be no excuse for idleness. -The Kiddlywink in Monks Cove saw him most evenings -talking blood and thunder with Jacky’s George. -He lay abed late of a morning and limped about -the cliffs on fine afternoons.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The Luddra Head was his favorite haunt; from -its crest he could see from the Lizard Point to -the Logan Rock, some twenty miles east and west, -and keep an eye on the shipping. He would watch -the Mount’s Bay fishing fleets flocking out to their -grounds; the Welsh collier brigs racing up-channel -jib-boom and jib-boom; mail packets crowding all -sail for open sea; a big blue-water merchantman -rolling home from the world’s ends, or a smart -frigate logging nine knots on a bowline, tossing the -spray over her fo’csle in clouds. He would criticize -their handling, their rigs, make guesses as to -their destinations and business.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was comfortable up on the Head, a slab of -granite at one’s back, a springy cushion of turf to -sit upon, the winter sunshine warming the rocks, -pouring all over one.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>One afternoon he climbed the Head to find a -woman sitting in his particular spot. He cursed -her under his breath, turned away and then turned -back again. Might as well see what sort of woman -it was before he went; you never knew. He crawled -up the rocks, came out upon the granite platform -pretending he had not noticed the intruder, executed -a realistic start of surprise, and said, “Good morning -to you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good afternoon,” the girl replied.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho accepted the correction and remarked that -the weather was fine.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The girl did not contest the obvious and went on -with her work, which was knitting.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho looked her all over and was glad he had -not turned back. A good-looking wench this, tall -yet well formed, with a strong white neck, a fresh -complexion and pleasant brown eyes. He wondered -where she lived. Gwithian parish? She had not -come to his Christmas and Twelfth Night parties.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He sat down on a rock facing her. “My leg,” -he explained; “must rest it.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She made no remark, which he thought unkind; -she might have shown some interest in his leg.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Got wounded in the leg in Barbary.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The girl looked up. “What’s that?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho reeled slightly. Was it possible there was -anybody in England, in the wide world, who did -not know where Barbary was?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“North coast of Africa, of course,” he retorted.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The girl nodded. “Oh, ’es, I believe I have -heard father tell of it. Dutch colony, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No,” Ortho barked.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The girl went imperturbably on with her knitting. -Her shocking ignorance did not appear to worry -her in the least; she did not ask Ortho for enlightenment -and he did not feel like starting the subject -again. The conversation came to a full stop.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The girl was a ninny, Ortho decided; a feather-headed -country ninny—yet remarkably good looking -for all that. He admired the fine shape of her -shoulders under the blue cloak, the thick curls of -glossy brown hair that escaped from her hood, and -those fresh cheeks; one did not find complexions -like that anywhere else but here in the wet southwest. -He had an idea that a dimple would appear -in one of those cheeks if she laughed, perhaps in -both. He felt he must make the ninny dimple.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Live about here?” he inquired.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She nodded.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“So do I.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>No reply; she was not interested in where he -lived, drat her! He supplied the information. “I -live at Bosula in the valley; I’m Ortho Penhale.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The girl did not receive this enthralling intelligence -with proper emotion. She looked at him -calmly and said, “Penhale of Bosula, are ’e? Then -I s’pose you’m connected with Eli?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Once more Ortho staggered. That any one in -the Penwith Hundred should be in doubt as to who -he was, the local hero! To be known only as Eli’s -brother! It was too much! But he bit his lip and -explained his relationship to Eli in a level voice. -The ninny was even a bigger fool than he had -thought, but dimple she should. The conversation -came to a second full stop.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Two hundred feet below them waves draped the -Luddra ledges with shining foam cloths, poured -back, the crannies dribbling as with milk, and -launched themselves afresh. A subdued booming -traveled upwards, died away in a long-drawn sigh, -then the boom again. Great mile-long stripes and -ribbons of foam outlined the coast, twisted by the -tides into strange patterns and arabesques, creamy -white upon dark blue. Jackdaws darted in and -out of holes in the cliff-side and gulls swept and -hovered on invisible air currents, crying mournfully. -In a bed of campions, just above the toss of -the breakers, a red dog fox lay curled up asleep -in the sun.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Come up here often?” Ortho inquired, restarting -the one-sided conversation.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Ahem!—I do; I come up here to look at the -ships.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The girl glanced at him, a mischievous sparkle -in her brown eyes. “Then wouldn’t you see the -poor dears better if you was to turn and face ’em, -Squire Penhale?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She folded her knitting, stood up and walked -away without another word.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho arose also. She had had him there. Not -such a fool after all, and she had dimpled when she -made that sally—just a wink of a dimple, but entrancing. -He had a suspicion she had been laughing -at him, knew who he was all the time, else why had -she called him “Squire”?</p> - -<p class='pindent'>By the Lord, laughing at him, was she? That -was a new sensation for the local hero. He flushed -with anger. Blast the girl! But she was a damned -handsome piece for all that. He watched her -through a peep-hole in the rocks, watched her cross -the neck of land, pass the earth ramparts of the -Luddra’s prehistoric inhabitants and turn left-handed -along the coast path. Then, when she was -committed to her direction, he made after her as -fast as he was capable. Despite his wound he was -capable of considerable speed, but the girl set him -all the pace he needed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was no featherweight, but she skipped and -ran along the craggy path as lightly as a hind. -Ortho labored in the rear, grunting in admiration.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Catch her he could not; it was all he could do -to keep her in sight. Where a small stream went -down to the sea through a tangle of thorn and -bramble she gave him the slip.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He missed the path altogether, went up to his -knees in a bog hole and got his smart white trousers -in a mess. Ten minutes it took him to work through -that tangle, and when he came out on the far side -there was no sign of the girl. He cursed her, -damned himself for a fool, swore he was going back—and -limped on. She must live close at hand; he’d -try ahead for another mile and then give it up.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Within half a mile he came upon Roswarva standing -among its stunted sycamores.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He limped up to the door and rapped it with -his stick. Simeon Penaluna came out. Ortho -greeted him with warmth; but lately back from foreign -parts he thought he really must come and see -how his good neighbor was faring. Simeon was -surprised; it was the first time the elder Penhale -had been to the house. This sudden solicitude for -his welfare was unlooked for.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He said he was not doing as badly as he might -be and asked the visitor in.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The visitor accepted, would just sit down for a -moment or two and rest a bit . . . his wounds, you -know. . . .</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A moment or two extended to an hour. Ortho -was convinced the girl was somewhere about—there -were no other houses in the neighborhood—and, -now he came to remember, Penaluna had had a -daughter in the old days, an awkward child, all legs -like a foal; the same girl, doubtless. She would -have to show up sooner or later. He talked and -talked, and talked himself into an invitation to supper. -His persistency was rewarded; the girl he had -met on the cliffs brought the supper in and Simeon -introduced her as his daughter Mary. Not by a -flicker of an eyelash did she show that she had ever -seen Ortho before, but curtsied to him as grave as -a church image.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>It was ten o’clock before Ortho took his way -homewards. He had not done so badly, he thought. -Mary Penaluna might pretend to take no interest -in his travels, but he had managed to hold Simeon’s -ears fast enough.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The grim farmer had laughed till the tears started -at Ortho’s descriptions of the antics of the negro -soldiers after the looting at Figvig and the equatorial -mummery on board the Indiaman.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mary Penaluna might pretend not to be interested, -but he knew better. Once or twice, watching -her out of the tail of his eye, he had seen her lips -twitch and part. He could tell a good story, and -knew it. In soldier camps and on shipboard he -had always held his sophisticated audiences at his -tongue’s tip; it would be surprising if he could not -charm a simple farm girl.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>More than ever he admired her—the soft glow -on her brown hair as she sat sewing, her broad, -efficient hands, the bountiful curves of her. And -ecod! in what excellent order she kept the house! -That was the sort of wife for a farmer.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>And he was a farmer now. Why, yes, certainly. -He would start work the very next day.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>This wandering was all very well while one was -young, but he was getting on for thirty and holed -all over with wounds, five to be precise. He’d marry -that girl, settle down and prosper.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As he walked home he planned it all out. His -mother should stop at Bosula of course, but she’d -have to understand that Mary was mistress. Not -that that would disturb Teresa to any extent; she -detested housekeeping and would be glad to have it -off her hands. Then there was Eli, good old -brother, best farmer in the duchy. Eli was welcome -to stop too and share all profits. Ortho hoped that -he would stop, but he had noticed that Eli had been -very silent and strange since his home-coming and -was not sure of him—might be wanting to marry -as well and branch out for himself. Tregors had -gone, but there was over four hundred pounds of -that smuggling money remaining, and if Eli wanted -to set up for himself he should have every penny -of it to start him, every blessed penny—it was not -more than his due, dear old lad.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>As soon as Mary accepted him—and he didn’t -expect her to take more than a week in making up -her mind—he’d hand the money over to Eli with -his blessing. Before he reached home that night he -had settled everybody’s affairs to his own satisfaction -and their advantage. Ortho was in a generous -mood, being hotly in love again.</p> - -<div><h1>CHAPTER XXVII</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>Teresa rode out of Gwithian in a black -temper. Three days before, in another fit -of temper, she had packed the house-girl -from Bosula, bag and baggage, and she was finding -it difficult to get another. For two days she had -been canvassing the farms in vain, and now Gwithian -had proved a blank draw. She could not herself -cook, and the Bosula household was living on cold -odds and ends, a diet which set the men grumbling -and filled her with disgust. She pined for the good -times when Martha was alive and three smoking -meals came up daily as a matter of course.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Despite the fact that she offered the best wages -in the neighborhood, the girls would not look at -her—saucy jades! Had she inquired she would -have learnt that, as a mistress, she was reported -too free with her tongue and fists.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Gwithian fruitless, there was nothing for it but -to try Mousehole. Teresa twisted her big horse -about and set off forthwith for the fishing village -in the hopes of picking up some crabber’s wench who -could handle a basting pan—it was still early in the -morning. A cook she must get by hook or crook; -Ortho was growling a great deal at his meals—her -precious Ortho!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was uneasy about her precious Ortho; his -courtship of the Penaluna girl was not progressing -favorably. He had not mentioned the affair, but -to his doting mother all was plain as daylight. She -knew perfectly well where he spent his evenings, and -she knew as well as if he had told her that he was -making no headway. Men successful in love do not -flare like tinder at any tiny mishap, sigh and brood -apart in corners, come stumbling to bed at night -damning the door latches for not springing to meet -their hands, the stairs for tripping them up; do not -publicly, and apropos of nothing, curse all women—meaning -one particular woman. Oh, no, Ortho -was beating up against a head wind.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Teresa was furious with the Penaluna hussy for -presuming to withstand her son. She had looked -higher for Ortho than a mere farmer’s daughter; -but, since the farmer’s daughter did not instantly -succumb, Teresa was determined Ortho should have -her—the haughty baggage!</p> - -<p class='pindent'>After all Simeon owned the adjacent property -and was undeniably well to do. The girl had looks -of a sort (though the widow, being enormous herself, -did not generally admire big women) and was -reported a good housewife; that would solve the -domestic difficulty. But the main thing was that -Ortho wanted the chit, therefore he should have her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Wondering how quickest this could be contrived, -she turned a corner of the lane and came upon the -girl in question walking into Gwithian, a basket on -her arm, her blue cloak blowing in the wind.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Teresa jerked her horse up, growling, “Good -morning.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good morning,” Mary replied and walked past.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Teresa scowled after her and shouted, “Hold fast -a minute!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mary turned about. “Well?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What whimsy tricks are you serving my boy -Ortho?” said Teresa, who was nothing if not to the -point.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Mary’s eyebrows rose. “What do ’e mean, -‘whimsy tricks’? I do serve en a fitty supper nigh -every evening of his life and listen to his tales -till . . .”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Oh, you know what I mean well enough,” Teresa -roared. “Are ’e goin’ to have him? That’s what -I want to know.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Have who?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“My son.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Which son?” The two women faced each other -for a moment, the black eyes wide with surprise, -the brown sparkling with amusement; then Mary -dropped a quick curtsey and disappeared round the -corner.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Teresa sat still for some minutes glaring after -her, mouth sagging with astonishment. Then she -cursed sharply; then she laughed aloud; then, catching -her horse a vicious smack with the rein, she -rode on. The feather-headed fool preferred Eli -to Ortho! Preferred that slow-brained hunk of -brawn and solemnity to Ortho, the handsome, the -brilliant, the daring, the sum of manly virtues! It -was too funny, too utterly ridiculous! Eli, the clod, -preferred to Ortho, the diamond! The girl was -raving mad, raving! Eli had visited Roswarva a -good deal at one time, but not since Ortho’s return. -Teresa hoped the girl was aware that Ortho was -absolute owner of Bosula and that Eli had not a -penny to his name—now. If she were not, Teresa -determined she should not long go in ignorance.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>At any rate, it could only be a question of time. -Mary might still have some friendly feeling for Eli, -but once she really began to know Ortho she would -forget all about that. Half the women in the country -would give their heads to get the romantic squire -of Bosula; they went sighing after him in troops -at fairs and public occasions. Yet something in the -Penaluna girl’s firm jaw and steady brown eyes told -Teresa that she was not easily swayed hither and -thither. She wished she could get Eli out of the -way for a bit.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She rode over the hill and down the steep lane -into Mousehole, and there found an unwonted stir -afoot.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The village was full of seamen armed with -bludgeons and cutlasses, running up and down the -narrow alleys in small parties, kicking the doors in -and searching the houses.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The fisherwomen hung out of their windows and -flung jeers and slops at them.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Press gang,” Teresa was informed. They had -landed from a frigate anchored just round the -corner in Gwavas Lake and had so far caught one -sound man, one epileptic and the village idiot, who -was vastly pleased at having some one take notice -of him at last.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A boy line fishing off Tavis Vov had seen the -gang rowing in, given the alarm, and by the time -the sailors arrived all the men were a quarter of a -mile inland. Very amusing, eh? Teresa agreed -that it was indeed most humorous, and added her -shrewd taunts to those of the fishwives.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Then an idea sprang to her head. She went into -the tavern and drank a pot of ale while thinking -it over. When the smallest detail was complete she -set out to find the officer in command.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She found him without difficulty—an elderly and -dejected midshipman leaning over the slip rails, -spitting into the murky waters of the harbor, and -invited him very civilly to take a nip of brandy with -her.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The officer accepted without question. A nip of -brandy was a nip of brandy, and his stomach was -out of order, consequent on his having supped off -rancid pork the night before. Teresa led him to a -private room in the tavern, ordered the drinks and, -when they arrived, locked the door.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Look ’e, captain,” said she, “do ’e want to make -a couple of guineas?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The midshipman’s dull glance leapt to meet hers, -agleam with sudden interest, as Teresa surmised it -would. She knew the type—forty years old, without -influence or hope of promotion, disillusioned, -shabby, hanging body and soul together on thirty -shillings a month; there was little this creature -would not do for two pounds down.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What is it?” he snapped.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ll give you two pounds and a good sound man—if -you’ll fetch en.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The midshipman shook his tarred hat. “Not inland; -I won’t go inland.” Press gangs were not -safe inland in Cornwall and he was not selling his -life for forty shillings; it was a dirty life; but he -still had some small affection for it.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Who said it was inland? To a small little cove -just this side of Monks Cove; you’ll know it by -the waterfall that do come down over cliff there. -T’eddn more’n a two-mile pull from here, just round -the point.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Is the man there?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Not yet, but I’ll have en there by dusk. Do -you pull your boat up on the little beach and step -inside the old tinner’s adit—kind of little cave on -the east side—and wait there till he comes. He’s a -mighty strong man, I warn ’e, a notable wrestler in -these parts, so be careful.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ll take four of my best and sand-bag him from -behind,” said the midshipman, who was an expert -in these matters. “Stiffens ’em, but don’t kill. Two -pound ain’t enough, though.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“It’s all you’ll get,” said Teresa.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Four pound or nothing,” said the midshipman -firmly.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>They compromised at three pounds and Teresa -paid cash on the spot. Ortho, the free-handed, kept -her in plenty of money—so different from Eli.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The midshipman walked out of the front door, -Teresa slipped out of the back and rode away. She -had little fear the midshipman would fail her; he -had her money, to be sure, but he would also get -a bounty on Eli and partly save his face with his -captain. He would be there right enough.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She continued her search for a cook in Paul and -rode home slowly to gain time, turned her horse, as -usual, all standing, into the stable, and then went -to look for her younger son.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She was not long in finding him; a noise of hammering -disclosed his whereabouts.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She approached in a flutter of well-simulated excitement.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Here you, Eli, Eli!” she called.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“What is it?” he asked, never pausing in his -work.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ve just come round by the cliffs from Mousehole; -there’s a good ship’s boat washed up in Zawn-a-Bal. -Get you round there quick and take her into -Monks Cove; she’m worth five pounds if she’m -worth a penny.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli looked up. “Hey! . . . What sort of boat?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Gig, I think; she’m lying on the sand by the side -of the adit.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli whistled. “Gig—eh! All right, I’ll get -down there soon’s I’ve finished this.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Teresa stamped her foot. “Some o’ they Mousehole -or Cove men’ll find her if you don’t stir yourself.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli nodded. “All right, all right, I’m going. I’m -not for throwing away a good boat any more’n you -are. Just let me finish this gate. I shan’t be a -minute.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Teresa turned away. He would go—and there -was over an hour to spare—he would go fast -enough, go blindly to his fate. She turned up the -valley with a feeling that she would like to be as -far from the dark scene of action as possible. But -it would not do Eli any harm, she told herself; he -was not being murdered; he was going to serve in -the Navy for a little while as tens of thousands of -men were doing. Every sailor was not killed, only -a small percentage. No harm would come to him; -good, rather. He would see the world and enlarge -his mind. In reality she was doing him a service.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Nevertheless her nerves were jumping uncomfortably. -Eli was her own flesh and blood after all, -John’s son. What would John, in heaven, say to all -this? She had grasped the marvelous opportunity -of getting rid of Eli without thinking of the consequences; -she was an opportunist by blood and training, -could not help herself.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Well, it was done now; there was no going back—and -it would clear the way for Ortho.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Yet she could not rid herself of a vision of the -evil midshipman crouching in the adit with his four -manhandlers and sand-bags waiting, waiting, and -Eli striding towards them through the dusk, whistling, -all unconscious. She began to blubber softly, -but she did not go home; she waddled on up the valley, -sniffling, blundering into trees, blinking the tears -back, talking to herself, telling John, in heaven, that -it was all for the best. She would not go back to -Bosula till after dark, till it was all over.</p> - -<hr class='tbk'/> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli strapped the blankets on more firmly, kicked -the straw up round the horse’s belly, picked up the -oil bottle and stood back.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Think he’ll do now,” he said.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Bohenna nodded. “ ’Es, but ’twas a mercy I -catched you in time, gived me a fair fright when I -found en.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“I’ll get Ortho to speak to mother,” Eli said. -“ ’Tisn’t her fault the horse isn’t dead. Here, take -this bottle in with you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Bohenna departed.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli piled up some more straw and cleared the -manger out. A shadow fell across the litter.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Might mix a small mash for him,” he said without -looking round.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mash for who?” a voice inquired. Eli turned -about and saw not Bohenna but Simeon Penaluna -dressed in his best.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Been to market,” Simeon explained; “looked in -on the way back. What have you got here?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Horse down with colic. Mother turned him -loose into the stable, corn bin was open, he ate his -fill and then had a good drink at the trough. I’ve -had a proper job with him.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“All right now, eddn ’a?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Yes, I think so.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Simeon shuffled his expansive feet. “Don’t see -much of you up to Roswarva these days.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“No.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>More shufflings. “We do brearly miss ’e.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“That so?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Simeon cleared his throat. “My maid asked ’e -to supper some three months back . . . well, if you -don’t come up soon it’ll be getting cold like.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>There was an uncomfortable pause; then Eli -looked up steadily. “I want you to understand, Sim, -that things aren’t the same with me as they were -now Ortho’s come home. My father died too sudden; -he didn’t leave a thing to me. I’m nothing but -a beggar now. Ortho . . .”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The gaunt slab of hair and wrinkles that was -Simeon’s face split into a smile.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Here, for gracious sake, don’t speak upon -Ortho; he’s pretty nigh talked me deaf and dumb -night after night of how he was a king in Barbary -and what not and so forth . . . clunk, clunk, -clunk! In the Lord’s name do you come up and -let’s have a little sociable silence for a change.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Do you mean it?” Eli gasped.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Mean it,” said Simeon, laying a hairy paw on -his shoulder. “Did you ever hear me or my maid -say a word we didn’t mean—son?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Eli rushed across the yard and into the house -to fetch his best coat.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Teresa was standing in front of the fire, hands -outstretched, shivering despite the blaze.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>She reeled when her son went bounding past her, -reeled as though she had seen a ghost.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Eli! My God, Eli!” she cried. “What—how—where -you been?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“In the stable physicking your horse,” he said, -climbing the stairs. “I sent Ortho after that boat.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>He did not hear the crash his mother made as -she fell; he was in too much of a hurry.</p> - -<hr class='tbk'/> - -<p class='pindent'>Ortho climbed the forward ladder and came out -on the upper deck. The ship was thrashing along -under all plain sail, braced sharp up.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>The sky was covered with torn fleeces of cloud, -but blue patches gleamed through the rents, and -the ship leapt forward lit by a beam of sunshine, -white pinioned, a clean bone in her teeth. A rain -storm had just passed over, drenching her, and every -rope and spar was outlined with glittering beads; -the wet deck shone like a plaque of silver. Cheerily -sang the wind in the shrouds, the weather leeches -quivered, the reef points pattered impatient fingers, -and under Ortho’s feet the frigate trembled like an -eager horse reaching for its bit.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She’s snorting the water from her nostrils, all -right,” he said approvingly. “Step on, lady.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>So he was aboardship again. How he had come -there he didn’t know. He remembered nothing -after reaching Zawn-a-Bal Cove and trying to push -that boat off. His head gave an uncomfortable -throb. Ah, that was it! He had been knocked on -the head—press gang.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Well, he had lost that damned girl, he supposed. -No matter, there were plenty more, and being married -to one rather hampered you with the others. -Life on the farm would have been unutterably dull -really. He was not yet thirty; a year or two more -roving would do no harm. His head gave another -throb and he put his hand to his brow.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>A man polishing the ship’s bell noted the gesture -and laughed. “Feelin’ sick, me bold farmer? How -d’you think you’ll like the sea?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Farmer!” Ortho snarled. “Hell’s bells, I was -upper yard man of the <span class='it'>Elijah Impey</span>, pick of the -Indies fleet!”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Was you, begod?” said the polisher, a note of -respect in his voice.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Aye, that I was. Say, mate, what packet is -this?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“<span class='it'>Triton</span>, frigate, Captain Charles Mulholland.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Good bully?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“The best.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“She seems to handle pretty kind,” said Ortho, -glancing aloft.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Kind!” said the man, with enthusiasm. “She’ll -eat out of your hand, she’ll talk to you.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“Aha! . . . Know where we’re bound?”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“West Indies, I’ve heard.”</p> - -<p class='pindent'>“West Indies!” Ortho had a picture of peacock -islands basking in coral seas, of odorous green jungles, -fruit-laden, festooned with ropes of flowers; -of gaudy painted parrots preening themselves among -the tree ferns; of black girls, heroically molded, -flashing their white teeth at him. . . .</p> - -<p class='pindent'>West Indies! He drew a deep breath. Well, -at all events, that was something new.</p> - -<p class='line' style='text-align:center;margin-top:3em;'>FINIS</p> - -<div><h1>TRANSCRIBER NOTES</h1></div> - -<p class='pindent'>Mis-spelled words and printer errors have been corrected or standardised.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Inconsistency in hyphenation has been retained.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Inconsistency in accents has been corrected or standardised.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>When nested quoting was encountered, nested double quotes were -changed to single quotes.</p> - -<p class='pindent'>Space between paragraphs varied greatly. The thought-breaks which -have been inserted attempt to agree with the larger paragraph -spacing, but it is quite possible that this was simply the methodology -used by the typesetter, and that there should be no thought-breaks.</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Owls' House, by Crosbie Garstin - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE OWLS' HOUSE *** - -***** This file should be named 60528-h.htm or 60528-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/5/2/60528/ - -Produced by Al Haines, John Routh & the online Distributed -Proofreaders Canada team at https://www.pgdpcanada.net - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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