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Full text of "McClure's magazine"

^ 



/66 



JOHN C. CALHOUN. 



Fronl a carbon reproduction by Sherman and McHugh of an original daguerreotype owned by Peter Gilsey, Esq., 

New York. 



r- 



McCLURE'S MAGAZINE 



ILLUSTRATED 



PUBLISHED MONTHLY 



Volume VIII 
NOVEMBER, 1896, to APRIL, 1897 







THE S. S. McCLURE CO 

NEW YORK AND LONDON 

1897 



Copyright, 1896, by 
THE S. S. McCLURE CO. 



Copyright, 1897, by 
THE S. S. McCLURE CO. 



Contents of McClure's Magazine. 

VOLUME VIII. 
NOVEMBER, 1896, TO APRIL, 1897. 



PAGE 

ALMA-TADEMA AND HIS HOME AND PICTURES. Ethet. Mackenzie McKenna. 

Jllustraicd. 32 

APPEARANCES. A Poem. Robert Browninc, 401 

ATLANTIC CABLE, THE MAKING AND LAYING OF AN. Henry Muir. Illustrated. 255 
BATTLE, THE, OF THE SNOW-PLOWS. A True Story of Railroading in the Rocky 

Mountains. Cy Warman. Ilhistrated 92 

BELL-BUOY, THE. A Poem. Rudyard Kipling. Illustrated . 364 

BETHLEHEM. S. S. McClure. Illustrated 183 

BIBLE, THE MAKING OF THE. H. J. W. Dam. Illustrated 331 

BOWERY REGIMENT, IN A. The Story of my First Command. Capt. Musgrove Davis. 

Illustrated. • ■ 245 

"CAPTAINS COURAGEOUS." A Story of the Grand Banks. Rudyard Kipling. Il- 
lustrated 17, 165, 222, 341, 424, 521 

CAROL, A. William Canton • ■• "o 

CHRISTMASTIDE, in the FIRST. A Poem. By Harriet Prescott Spofforo. Il- 
lustrated ••■ ^21 

CLEAR MIDNIGHT, A. A Poem. Walt Whitman 556 

CLEMENS, SAMUEL L. ("MARK TWAIN"), AN UNPUBLISHED PORTRAIT OF.. 382 

DAGUERREOTYPE, THE, IN AMERICA. Mrs. D. T. Davis. Illustrated... 3 

FARTHEST NORTH, THE. An Account of Dr. Nansen'.j Adventures and Achievements. 

Cyrus C. Adams. Illustrated 99 

FICTION : Short Stories. 

ASPIRATIONS-EXPLANATIONS. Anthony Hope. Illustraiea 85 

"BREAD UPON THE WATERS." Rudyard Kipling. Illustrated T40 

DAVIDSON, DR.. HOW HE KEPT HIS LAST CHRISTMAS AT DRUMTOCHTY. Ian Mac- 

LAREN. Illustrated • "4 

DERELICT " NEPTUNE," THE. Morgan Robertson. Illustrated 278 

DIAMONDS, HERR DOLLE'S. Herbert Keen. Illustrated 57 

DOMSIE, THE RETIRING OF. Ian Maclaren. Illustrated 550 

"EMILY BRAND," THE STRANGE STORY OF THE. Andrew Hussey Allen. Illustrated 483 

ENGINEER CONNOR'S SON. Will Allen Dromgoole. Illustrated 355 

HOME-COMING, THE, OF COLONEL HUCKS. William Allen White 326 

HUERFANO BILL, THE BANDIT. Cy Warman. Illustrated 443 

KING OF BOYVILLE, THE. William Allen White. Illustrated 321 

LADY, THE, IN THE BOX. Clinton Ross. Illustrated 43i 

MY UNWILLING NEIGHBOR. Frank R. Stockton. Illustrated i54 

OF THIS GENERATION. Henry Seton Merriman. Illustrated ' i75 

PITY, THE, OF IT. Mrs. J. H. Riddell. Illustrated 2" 

SPELLBINDER, THE. Octave Th.a.net 529 

TWO MODERN PRODIGALS. James F. McKay. Illustrated 69 

FRANKLIN, AN UNPUBLISHED LIFE PORTRAIT OF. Charles Henry Hart. Il- 
lustrated 459 

FRANKLIN, BENJAMIN. W. P. Trent 273 

FRANKLIN, BENJAMIN, FIFTEEN LIFE PORTRAITS OF. With Notes and Intro- 
duction. Charles Henry Hart 263 

GENERAL MANAGER, THE, AND THE GHOST TRAIN. A True Railroad Story. 

Cy Warman. Ilhistrated 539 

GRANT AT WEST POINT ; THE STORY OF HIS CADET DAYS. Hamlin Garl.a.nd. 

Illustrated 195 

GRANT IN THE MEXICAN WAR. Hamlin Garland. Illustrated 366 



iv CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

GRANT'S HORSEMANSHIP. A\ Ixcidext. CArx. Alfred M. Fuller . 501 

GRANT'S LIFE IN MISSOURI. Hamlin Garland. Illustrated 514 

GRANT'S QUIET YEARS AT NORTHERN POSTS. Recollections of Grant at 
Sacket'i's Harbor, Detroit, and on the Pacific Coast. Hamlin Garland. II- 

lustrated 402 

GRANT, ULYSSES, THE EARLY LIFE OF. Hamlin Garland. Illustrated 125 

GREENLAND WHALER, LIFE ON A. A Record of Personal Adventures in the 

Arctic Seas. A. Conan Doyle. Illustrated 460 

HAMILTON, ALEXANDER. The Hon. Henry Cabot Lodge 502 

HAMILTON. ALEXANDER, AND HIS \VIFE ; LIFE PORTRAITS OF. AVith Intro- 
duction and Notes. Charles Henry Hart 507 

HOME FROM THE CITY. A Poem. Hamlin Garland 96 

INQUISITION, THE. A Poem. William Canton 181 

IRESON, SKIPPER, A NOTE ON. Capt. John Codman 45S 

KIPLING AS A POET : THE LAUREATE OF THE LARGER ENGLAND. W, D. 

Howells 453 

LINCOLN'S NOMINATION IN i860, THE STORY OF. Based on the PersOxNAL 
Reminiscences of Men who were Instrumental in Securing it. Ida M. Tarbell. 

Illustrated 43 

LINCOLN, AN UNPUBLISHED LETTER BY. Regarding his Defeat by Douglas in 

1858 • • • 313 

McKINLEY, NANCY ALLISON: A PORTRAIT 457 

McKINLEY, WILLIAM: A PORTRAIT 456 

MADONNA AND CHILD. Reproduction of a Painting by Josephine Wood Colby. 

Illustrated 1 1 1 

" MARTHA WASHINGTON " CASE, THE. Lida Rose McCabe. Illustrated 236 

MAKERS OF THE UNION, THE. 

FRANKLIN, BENJAMIN. W. P. Trent 273 

HAMILTON, ALEXANDER. The Hon. Henrv Cabot Lodge 502 

WASHINGTON, GEORGE. W. P. Trent 309 

MEN, THE, IN THE RANKS. From the Note-book of an Old Soldier. ^I.\jor 

Philip Douglas 537 

NOVEL-WRITING, A NOVELIST'S VIEWS OF. Elizabeth Stuart Phelps. Illustrated. 77 
PAINTING, A CENTURY OF : RECENT DECORATIVE ART. Will H. Low. Il- 
lustrated 472 

PSALMS, A NEW RHYTHMIC VERSION OF. Clifton Harby Levy. Illustrated..... 362 

RAILROAD DOG, A. A True Railroad Story. Cy Warman. Illustrated 542 

RAPPAHANNOCK, THE SONG OF THE. The Real Experience in Battle of a Young 

Soldier of the Army of the Potomac. Ira Seymour. Illustrated 314 

ROBIN ADAIR: THE STORY OF A FAMOUS SONG. S. J. Adair Fitz-Gerald 361 

ST. IVES. The Adventures of a French Prisoner in England. A Novel. Robert 

Louis Stevenson. Chaps. I. -IV 393, 493 

SHERMAN, GENERAL : A SERIES OF UNPUBLISHED LETTERS 546 

SNOW-PLOWS, THE BATTLE OF THE. A True Story of Railroading in the Rocky 

Mountains. Cy Warman. Illustrated 92 

STANTON, A NIGHT WITH, IN THE WAR OFFICE. General John M. Thayer. 

Illustrated 438 

"SON, THOU MUST LOVE ME." A Poem. Paul Verl.aine. Illustrated. 471 

TELEGRAPHING WITHOUT WIRES. A Possibility of Electrical Science. H. J. W. 

Dam. Illustrated 3S3 

VIERGE, DANIEL, THE MASTER ILLUSTRATOR. Personal Impressions of the 

Man and His Art. August F., Jaccaci. Illustrated 413 

WASHINGTON, AN UNPUBLISHED PORTRAIT OF. Charles Henry Hart. Il- 
lustrated "2 

WASHINGTON, GEORGE. W. P. Trent 309 

WASHINGTON, THIRTY LIFE PORTRAITS OF. With Introduction and Notes. 

Charles Henry Hart 291 

WHAT WILL TIME GIVE ? A Poem. Gertrude Hall 442 

WILD NIGHT, A, AT WOODRIVER. A True Railroad Story. Cy Warman. Illustrated. 543 




ST, IVES. 



THE ADVENTURES OF A FRENCH PRISONER IN ENGLAND. 

By Robert Louis Stevexson, 
Author of ''Treasure Island," "Kidnapped," etc. 



CHAPTER I. 

A TALE OF A LION RAMPANT. 

T was in the month of May, 1813, that 
I was so unlucky as to fall at last into 



times so obliging as to have me join him 
at the meal. Chevenix was his name. He 
was stiff as a drum-major and selfish as 
an Englishman, but a fairly conscientious 
pupil and a fairly upright man. Little 
did I suppose that his ramrod body and 
the hands of the enemy. My knowledge frozen face would, in the end, step in be- 
ef the English language had marked me tween me and all my dearest wishes; that 
out for a certain employment. Though I upon this precise, regular, icy soldier-man 
cannot conceive a soldier refusing to incur my fortunes should so nearly shipwreck! 
the risk, yet to be hanged for a spy is a dis- I never liked, but yet I trusted him; and 
gusting business; and I was relieved to be though it may seem but a trifle, I found 
held a prisoner of war. Into the Castle of his snuff-box with the bean in it come very 
Edinburgh, standing in the midst of that welcome. 

city on the summit of an extraordinary For it is strange how grown men and 
rock, I was cast with several hundred seasoned soldiers can go back in life. So 
fellow-sufferers, all privates like myself, that after but a little while in prison, 
and the more part of them,, by an acci- which is after all the next thing to being 
dent, very ignorant, plain fellows. My in the nursery, they grow absorbed in the 
English, which had brought me into that most pitiful, childish interests, and a sugar 
scrape, now helped me very materially to biscuit or a pinch of snuff become things 
bear it. I had a thousand advantages. I to follow after and scheme for! 
was often called to play the part of an in- We made but a poor show of prisoners. 

The officers had been all offered their pa- 
role, and had taken it. They lived mostly 
in suburbs of the city, lodging with mod- 
est families, and enjoyed their freedom 



terpreter, whether of orders or complaints, 
and thus brought in relations, sometimes 
of mirth, sometimes almost of friendship, 
with the officers in charge. A young lieu- 
tenant singled me out to be his adversary and supported the almost continual evil 
at chess, a game in which I was extremely tidings of the Emperor as best they might, 
proficient, and would reward me for my It chanced I was the only gentleman 
gambits with excellent cigars. The major among the privates who remained. A 
of the battalion took lessons of French great part were ignorant Italians, of a regi- 
from me while at breakfast, and was some- ment that had suffered heavily in Catalo- 

Coovri?ht, 1806, by the S. S. McC'.ure Co. 

393 



394 



ST. IVES. 



nia. The rest were mere diggers of the' 
soil, treaders of grapes or hewers of wood, 
who had been suddenly and violently pre- 
ferred to the glorious state of soldiers. 
We had but the one interest in common: 
each of us who had any skill with his fingers 
passed the hours of his captivity in the 
making of little toys and articles of Paris s 
and the prison was daily visited at certain 
hours by a concourse of people of the 
country, come to exult over our distress, 
or — it is more tolerant to suppose — their 
own vicarious triumph. Some moved 
among us with a decency of shame or sym- 
pathy. Others were the most offensive 
personages in the world, gaped at us as if 
we had been baboons, sought to evan- 
gelize us to their rustic, northern religion 
as though we had been savages, or tor- 
tured us with intelligence of disasters to 
the arms of France. Good, bad, and in- 
different, there was one alleviation to the 
annoyance of these visitors; for it was the 
practice of almost all to purchase some 
specimen of our rude handiwork. This 
led, amongst the prisoners, to a strong 
spirit of competition. Some were neat of 
hand, and (the genius of the French being 
always distinguished) could place upon 
sale little miracles of dexterity and taste. 
Some had a more engaging appearance; 
fine features were found to do as well as 
fine merchandise, and an air of youth in 
particular (as it appealed to the sentiment 
of pity in our visitors) to be a source of 
profit. Others again enjoyed some ac- 
quaintance with the language, and were 
able to recommend the more agreeably to 
purchasers such trifles as they had to sell. 
To the first of these advantages I could 
lay no claim, for my fingers were all 
thumbs. Some at least of the others I 
possessed; and finding much entertain- 
ment in our commerce, I did not suffer my 
advantages to rust. I have never despised 
the social arts, in which it is a national 
boast that every Frenchman should excel. 
For the approach of particular sorts of 
visitors, I had a particular manner of ad- 
dress and even of appearance, which I 
could readily assume and change on the 
occasion rising. I never lost an opportu- 
nity to flatter either the person of my 
visitor, if it should be a lady, or, if it should 
be a man, the greatness of his country 
in war. And in case my compliments 
should miss their aim, I was always ready 
to cover my retreat with some agreeable 
pleasantry, which would often earn me the 
nameof an " oddity " or a " droll fellow." 
In this way, although I was so left-handed 



a toy-maker, I made out to be rather a 
successful merchant; and found means to 
procure many little delicacies and allevia- 
tions, such as children or prisoners de- 
sire. 

I am scarce drawing the portrait of a 
very melancholy man. It is not indeed my 
character; and I had, in a comparison with 
my comrades, many reasons for content. 
In the first place, I had no family; I was an 
orphan and a bachelor; neither wife nor 
child awaited me in France. In the second, 
I had never wholly forgot the emotions 
with which I first found myself a prisoner; 
and although a military prison be not alto- 
gether a garden of delights, it is still pref- 
erable to a gallows. In the third, I am 
almost ashamed to say it, but I found cer- 
tain pleasure in our place of residence: 
being an obsolete and really mediaeval for- 
tress, high placed and commanding extra- 
ordinary prospects not only over sea, moun- 
tain, and champaign, but actually over the 
thoroughfares of a capital city, which we 
could see blackened by day with the 
moving crowd of the inhabitants, and at 
night shining with lamps. And lastly, 
although I was not insensible to the 
restraints of prison or the scantiness of 
our rations, I remember I had sometimes 
eaten quite as ill in Spain, and had to 
mount guard and march perhaps a dozen 
leagues into the bargain. The first of my 
troubles, indeed, was the costume we were 
obliged to wear. There is a horrible prac- 
tice in England to trick out in ridiculous 
uniforms, and as it were to brand in mass, 
not only convicts but military prisoners 
and even the children in charity schools. 
I think some malignant genius had found 
his masterpiece of irony in the dress which 
we were condemned to wear: jacket, 
waistcoat, and trousers of a sulphur or 
mustard yellow, and a shirt of blue and 
white striped, cotton. It was conspicuous, 
it was cheap, it pointed us out to laughter 
— we, who were old soldiers, used to arms, 
and some of us showing noble scars — like 
a set of lugubrious zanies at a fair. 

The old name of that rock on which our 
prison stood was (I have heard since then) 
the " Painted Hill." Well, now it was all 
painted a bright yellow with our costumes; 
and the dress of the soldiers who guarded 
us being, of course, the essential British 
red rag, we made up together the elements 
of a lively picture of hell. I have again 
and again looked round upon my fellow- 
prisoners, and felt my anger rise, and 
choked upon tears, to behold them thus 
parodied. The more part, as I have said, 



ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. 



395 



were peasants, somewhat bettered perhaps 
by the drill-sergeant, but for all that un- 
gainly, loutish fellows, with no more than 
a mere barrack-room smartness of address: 
indeed, you could have seen our army no- 
where more discreditably represented than 
in this Castle of Edinburgh. And I used 
to see myself in fancy, and blush. It 
seemed that my more elegant carriage 
would but point the insult of the travesty. 
And I remembered the days when I wore 
the coarse but honorable coat of a soldier; 
and remembered farther back how many of 
the noble, the fair, and the gracious had 
taken a delight to tend my childhood. . . . 
But I must not recall these tender and 
sorrowful memories twice; their place is 
farther on, and I am now upon another 
business. The perfidy of the Britannic 
government stood nowhere more openly 
confessed than in one particular of our 
discipline: that we were shaved twice in 
the week. To a man who has loved all his 
life to be fresh shaven, can a more irritat- 
ing indignity be devised ? Monday and 
Thursday were the days. Take the Thurs- 
day, and conceive the picture I must pre- 
sent by Sunday evening! And Saturday, 
which was almost as bad, was the great 
day for visitors. 

Those who came to our market were of 
all qualities, men and women, the lean and 
the stout, the plain and the fairly pretty. 
Sure, if people at all understood the 
power of beauty, there would be no prayers 
addressed except to Venus; and the mere 
privilege of beholding a comely woman is 
worth paying for. Our visitors, upon the 
wdiole, were not much to boast of; and 
yet, sitting in a corner and very much 
ashamed of myself and my absurd appear- 
ance, I have again and again tasted the 
finest, the rarest, and most ethereal pleas- 
ures in a glance of an eye that I should 
never see again — and never w^anted to. 
The flower of the hedgerow and the star 
in heaven satisfy and delight us: how much 
more the look of that exquisite being who 
was created to bear and rear, to madden 
and rejoice, mankind! 

There was one young lady in particular, 
about eighteen or nineteen, tall, of a 
gallant carriage, and with a profusion of 
hair in which the sun found threads of gold. 
As soon as she came in the courtyard (and 
she was a rather frequent visitor) it 
seemed I was aware of it. She had an air 
of angelic candor, yet of a high spirit; 
she stepped like a Diana, every movement 
was noble and free. One day there was a 
strong east wind; the banner was strain- 



ing at the flagstaff; below us the smoke of 
the city chimneys blew hither and thither 
in a thousand crazy variations; and away 
out on the Forth we could see the ships 
lying down to it and scudding. I was 
thinking what a vile day it was, when she 
appeared. Her hair blew in the wind with 
changes of color; her garments moulded 
her with the accuracy of sculpture; the 
ends of her shawl fluttered about her ear 
and were caught in again with an inimita- 
ble deftness. You have seen a pool on a 
gusty day, how it suddenly sparkles and 
flashes like a thing alive? So this lady's 
face had become animated and colored; 
and as I saw her standing, somewhat in- 
clined, her lips parted, a divine trouble in 
her eyes, I could have clapped my hands 
in applause, and was ready to acclaim her 
a genuine daughter of the winds. What 
put it in my head, I know not; perhaps 
because it was a Thursday and I was new 
from the razor; but I determined to en- 
gage her attention no later than that day. 
She was approaching that part of the 
court in which' I sat with my merchandise, 
when I observed her handkerchief to escape 
from her hands and fall to the ground; 
the next moment, the wind had taken it up 
and carried it within my reach. I was on 
foot at once: I had forgot my mustard- 
colored clothes, I had forgot the private 
soldier and his salute. Bowing deeply, I 
offered her the slip of cambric. 

"Madam," said I, "your handker- 
chief. The wind brought it me." 

I met her eyes fully. 

" I thank you, sir," said she. 

" The wind brought it me," I repeated. 
" May I not take it for an omen? You 
have an English proverb, ' It's an ill wind 
that blows nobody good.' " 

" Well," she said, with a smile, " ' One 
good turn deserves another.' I will see 
what you have." 

She followed me to where my wares 
were spread out under lee of a piece of 
cannon. 

"Alas, mademoiselle!" said I. "I am 
no very perfect craftsman. This is sup- 
posed to be a house, and you see the 
chimneys are awry. You may call this a 
box if you are very indulgent; but see 
where my tool slipped! Yes, I am afraid 
you may go from one to another, and find 
a flaw in everything. ' Failures for Sale ' 
should be on my signboard. I do not keep 
a shop; I keep a Humorous Museum." I 
cast a smiling glance about my display 
and then at her, and instantly became 
grave. "Strange, is it not," I added. 



396 



ST. IVES. 



" that a grown man and a soldier should 
be engaged upon such trash, and a sad 
heart produce anything so funny to look 
at?" 

An unpleasant voice summoned her at 
this moment by the name of Flora, and 
she made a hasty purchase and rejoined 
her party. 

A few' days after she came again. But 
I must first tell you how she came to be so 
frequent. Her aunt was one of those ter- 
rible British old maids, of which the world 
has heard much ; and having nothing 
whatever to do and a word or two of 
French, she had taken what she called an 
"interest in the French prisoners." A big, 
bustling, bold old lady, she flounced 
about our market-place with insufferable 
airs of patronage and condescension. 
She bought indeed with liberality, but her 
manner of studying us through a quizzing- 
glass, and playing cicerone to her follow- 
ers, acquitted us of any gratitude. She 
had a tail behind her of heavy obsequious 
old gentlemen or dull, giggling misses, to 
whom she appeared to be an oracle. 
"This one can really carve prettily: is 
he not a quiz with his big whiskers?" 
she would say. " And this one," indicat- 
ing myself with her gold eyeglass, " is, I 
assure you, quite an oddity." The odd- 
ity, you may be certain, ground his teeth. 
She had a way of standing in our midst, 
nodding around, and addressing us in 
what she imagined to be French: '' Bienne, 
homines! (a va bienne?" I took the free- 
dom to reply in the same lingo: ''Bienne, 
femftte! (a va couci-couci tout (Tmeme, la 
bourgeoise !'' And at that, when we had 
all laughed with a little more heartiness 
than was entirely civil, " I told you he 
was quite an oddity! " says she in triumph. 
Needless to say, these passages were be- 
fore I had remarked the niece. 

The aunt came on the day in question 
with a following rather more than usually 
large, which she manceuvred to and fro 
about the market, and lectured to at rather 
more than usual length and with rather less 
than her accustomed tact. I kept my eyes 
down, but they were ever fixed in the same 
direction, quite in vain. The aunt came 
and went, and pulled us out, and showed 
us off, like caged monkeys; but the 
niece kept herself on the outskirts of 
the crowd and on the opposite side of the 
courtyard, and departed at last as she 
had come, without a sign. Closely as I had 
watched her, I could not say her eyes had 
ever rested on me for an instant; and my 
heart was overwhelmed with bitterness and 



blackness. I tore out her detested image; 
I felt I was done with her for ever; I 
laughed at myself savagely, because I had 
thought to please; when I lay down at 
night, sleep forsook me, and I lay and 
rolled, and gloated on her charms, and 
cursed her insensibility, for half the night. 
How trivial I thought her! and how trivial 
her sex! A man might be an angel or an 
Apollo, and a mustard-colored coat would 
wholly blind them to his merits. I was a 
prisoner, a slave, a contemned and des- 
picable being, the butt of her sniggering 
countrymen. I would take the lesson; no 
proud daughter of my foes should have 
the chance to mock at me again; none in 
the future should have the chance to think 
I had looked at her with admiration. You 
cannot imagine any one of a more reso- 
lute and independent spirit, or whose 
bosom was more wholly rnailed with patri- 
otic arrogance, than I. Before I dropped 
asleep, 1 had remembered all the infamies 
of Britain and debited them in an over- 
whelming column to Flora. 

The next day, as I sat in my place, I be- 
came conscious there was some one stand- 
ing near; and behold, it was herself! I 
kept my seat, at first in the confusion of 
my mind, later on from policy; and she 
stood and leaned a little over me, as in 
pity. She was very still and timid; her 
voice was low. Did I suffer in my cap- 
tivity ? she asked me. Had I to complain 
of any hardship ? 

" Mademoiselle, I have not learned to 
complain," said I. "I am a soldier of 
Napoleon." 

She sighed. " At least you must regret 
La France,'" said she, and colored a little 
as she pronounced the words, which she 
did with pretty strangeness of accent. 

" What am I to say ? " I replied. " If 
you were carried from this country, for 
which you seem so wholly suited, where 
the very rains and winds seem to become 
you like ornaments, would you regret, do 
you think ? We must surely all regret! 
the son to his mother, the man to his 
country; these are native feelings." 

" You have a mother ? " she asked. 

" In heaven, mademoiselle," I an- 
swered. " She, and my father also, went 
by the same road to heaven as so many 
others of the fair and brave: they followed 
their queen upon the scaffold. So, you 
see, I am not so much to be pitied in my 
prison," I continued; " there are none to 
wait for me; I am alone in the world. 
'Tis a different case, for instance, with yon 
poor fellow in the cloth cap. His bed is 



ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. 



397 



next to mine, and in the night I hear him 
sobbing to himself. He has a tender char- 
acter, full of tender and pretty sentiments; 
and in the dark at night, and sometimes by 
day when he can get me apart with him, 
he laments a mother and a sweetheart. 
Do you know what made him take me for 
a confidant ? " 

She parted her lips with a look, but did 
not speak. The look burned all through 
me with a sudden vital heat. 

" Because I had once seen, in march- 
ing by, the belfry of his village! " I con- 
tinued. " The circumstance is quaint 
enough. It seems to bind up into one the 
whole bundle of those human instincts that 
make life beautiful, and people and 
places dear — and from which it would seem 
I am cut off! " 

I rested my chin on my knee and looked 
before me on the ground. I had been 
talking until then to hold her; but I was 
now not sorry she should go: an impres- 
sion is a thing so delicate to produce 
and so easy to overthrow! Presently she 
seemed to make an effort. 

" I will take this toy," she said, laid 
a five-and-sixpenny piece in my hand, and 
was gone ere I could thank her. 

I retired to a place apart, near the ram- 
parts and behind a gun. The beauty, the 
expression of her eyes, the tear that had 
trembled there, the compassion in her 
voice, and a kind of wild elegance that 
consecrated the freedom of her move- 
ments, all combined to enslave my imag- 
ination and inflame my heart. What had 
she said? Nothing to signify; but her 
eyes had met mine, and the fire they had 
kindled burned inextinguishably Jn my 
veins. I loved her; and I did not fear to 
hope. Twice I had spoken with her; and 
in both interviews I had been well in- 
spired, I had engaged her sympathies, I 
had found words that she must remember, 
that would ring in her ears at night upon 
her bed. What mattered if I were half 
shaved and my clothes a caricature ? I 
was still a man, and, as I trembled to re- 
alize, she was still a woman. Many waters 
cannot quench love; and love, which is 
the law of the world, was on my side. I 
closed my eyes, and she sprung up on the 
background of the darkness, more beauti- 
ful than in life. "Ah!" thought I, " and 
you too, my dear, you too must carry away 
with you a picture, that you are still to be- 
hold again and still to embellish. In the 
darkness of night, in the streets by day, 
still you are to have my voice and face, 
whispering, making love for me, en- 



croaching on your shy heart. Shy as your 
heart is, it is lodged there — / am lodged 
there; let the hours do their office — let 
time continue to draw me ever in more 
lively, ever in more insidious colors. " And 
then I had a vision of myself, and burst 
out laughing. 

A likely thing, indeed, that a beggar 
man, a private soldier, a prisoner in a yel- 
low travesty, was to awake the interest 
of this fair girl! I would not despair; but 
I saw the game must be played fine and 
close. It must be my policy to hold my- 
self before her, always in a pathetic or 
pleasing attitude; never to alarm or startle 
her; to keep my own secret locked in my 
bosom like a story of disgrace, and let 
hers (if she could be induced to have one) 
grow at its own rate; to move just so fast, 
and not by a hair's breadth any faster, 
than the inclination of her heart. I was 
the man, and yet I was passive, tied by the 
foot in prison. I could not go to her; I 
must cast a spell upon her at each visit, so 
that she should return to me; and this 
was a matter of nice management. I had 
done it the last time — it seemed impossi- 
ble she should not come again after our 
interview; and for the next I had speedily 
ripened a fresh plan. A prisoner, if he 
has one great disability for a lover, has yet 
one considerable advantage: there is 
nothing to distract him, and he can spend 
all his hours ripening his love and prepar- 
ing its manifestations. I had been then 
some days upon a piece of carving, no 
less than the emblem of Scotland, the 
Lion Rampart. This I proceeded to fin- 
ish with what skill I was possessed of; and 
when at last I could do no more to it 
(and, you may be sure, was already re- 
gretting I had done so much), added on 
the base the following dedication: 

A LA BELLE FLORA 

LE PRISONNIER RECONNAISSANT 

A. D. St. Y. d. K. 

I put my heart into the carving of 
these letters. What was done with so 
much ardor, it seemed scarce possible 
that any should behold it with indiffer- 
ence; and the initials would at least sug- 
gest to her my noble birth. I thought it 
bet'ter to suggest; I felt that mystery was 
my stock-in-trade; the contrast between 
my rank and manners, between my speech 
and my clothing, and the fact that she 
could only think of me by a combination 



398 



ST. IVES. 



of letters, must all tend to increase her in- 
terest and engage her heart. 

This done, there was nothing left for 
me but to wait and to hope. And there 
is nothing farther from my character: in 
love and in war, I am all for the forward 
movement; and these days of waiting 
made my purgatory. It is a fact that I 
loved her a great deal better at the end 
of them, for love comes, like bread, from 
a perpetual rehandling. And besides, I 
was fallen into a panic of fear. How, if 
she came no more, how was I to continue 
to endure my empty days ? How was I to 
fall back and find my interest in the ma- 
jor's lessons, the lieutenant's chess, in a 
twopenny sale in the market, or a half- 
penny addition to the prison fare ? 

Days went by, and weeks; I had not the 
courage to calculate, and to-day I have 
not the courage to remember; but at last 
she was there. At last I saw her approach 
me in the company of a boy about her own 
age, and whom I divined at once to be her 
brother. 

I rose and bowed in silence. 

" This is my brother, Mr. Ronald Gil- 
christ," said she. "I have told him of 
your sufferings. He is so sorry for you! " 

"It is more than I have a right to ask," 
I replied; "but among gentlefolk these 
generous sentiments are natural. If your 
brother and I were to meet in the field, we 
should meet like tigers; but when he sees 
me here disarmed and helpless, he forgets 
his animosity." (At which, as I had ven- 
tured to expect, this beardless champion 
colored to the ears for pleasure.) "Ah, 
my dear young lady," I continued, "there 
are many of your countrymen languishing 
in my country, even as I do here. I can 
but hope there is found some French lady 
to convey to each of them the priceless 
consolation of her sympathy. You have 
given me alms; and more than alms — hope; 
and while you were absent I was not for- 
getful. Suffer me to be able to tell myself 
that I have at least tried to make a return; 
and for the prisoner's sake deign to ac- 
cept this trifle." 

So saying, I offered her my lion, which 
she took, looked at in some embarrass- 
-ment, and then, catching sight of the dedi- 
cation, broke out with a cry. 

" Why, how did you know my name ? " 
she exclaimed. 

"When names are so appropriate, they 
should be easily guessed," said I, bow- 
ing. " But indeed there was no magic in 
the matter. A lady called you by name 
on the day I found your handkerchief, 



and I was quick to remark and cherish 
it." 

"It is very, very beautiful," said she, 
"and I shall be always proud of the in- 
scription. Come', Ronald, we must be 
going." She bowed to me as lady bows 
to her equal, and passed on (I could have 
sworn) with a heightened color. 

I was overjoyed; my innocent ruse had 
succeeded; she had taken my gift without 
a hint of payment, and she would scarce 
sleep in peace till she had made it up to 
me. No greenhorn in matters of the 
heart, I was besides aware that I had 
now a resident ambassador at the court 
of my lady. The lion might be ill chis- 
elled; it was mine. My hands had made 
and held it; my knife — or, to speak more 
by the mark, my rusty nail — had traced 
those letters; and simple as the words 
were, they would keep repeating to her 
that I was grateful and that I found her 
fair. The boy had looked like a gawky 
and blushed at a compliment; I could see 
besides that he regarded me with consid- 
erable suspicion; yet he made so manly a 
figure of a lad, that I could not withhold 
from him my synipathy. And as for the 
impulse that had made her bring and in- 
troduce him, I could not sufficiently admire 
it. It seemed to me finer than wit and 
m.ore tender than a caress. It said (plain 
as language), "I do not, and I cannot, 
know you. Here is my brother — you can 
know him; this is the way to me — follow 
it."' 

CHAPTER II. 

A TALE OF A PAIR OF SCISSORS. 

I WAS Still plunged in these thoughts 
when the bell was rung that discharged 
our visitors into the street. Our little 
market was no sooner closed than we were 
summoned to the distribution and received 
our rations, which we were then allowed 
to eat according to fancy in any part of 
our quarters. 

I have said the conduct of some of our 
visitors was unbearably offensive; it was 
possibly more so than they dreamed — as 
the sight-seers at a menagerie may offend in 
a thousand ways, and quite without mean- 
ing it, the noble and unfortunate animals 
behind the bars; and there is no doubt but 
some of my compatriots were susceptible 
beyond reason. Some of these old whis- 
kerandos, originally peasants, trained 
since boyhood in victorious armies, and 
accustomed to move among subject and 



ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. 



399 



trembling populations, could ill brook 
their change of circumstance. There was 
one man of the name of Goguelat, a brute 
of the first water, who had enjo3'ed no 
touch of civilization beyond the military 
discipline, and had risen by an extreme 
heroism of bravery to a grade for which he 
was otherwise unfitted, that of marechal 
des logis in the twenty-second of the line. 
In so far as a brute can be a good soldier, 
he was a good soldier ; the cross was on his 
breast, and gallantly earned; but in all 
things outside his line of duty, the man 
was no other than a brawling, bruising, ig- 
norant pillar of low pothouses. As a gen- 
tleman by birth and a scholar by taste and 
education, I was the type of all that he 
least understood and most detested; and 
the mere view of our visitors would leave 
him daily in a transport of annoyance, 
which he would make haste to wreak on 
the nearest victim, and too often on my- 
self. 

It was so now. Our rations were scarce 
served out, and I had just withdrawn into 
a corner of the yard, when I perceived him 
drawing near. He wore an air of hateful 
mirth; a set of young fools, among whom 
he passed for a wit,, followed him with 
looks of expectation; and I saw I was 
about to be the object of some of his in- 
sufferable pleasantries. He took a place 
beside me, spread out his rations, drank 
to me derisively from his measure of 
prison beer, and began. What he said it 
would be impossible to print; but his ad- 
mirers, who believed their wit to have sur- 
passed himself, actually rolled among the 
gravel. For my part, I thought at first 
I should have died. I had not dreamed 
the wretch was so observant; but hate 
sharpens the ears, and he had counted our 
interviews and actually knew Flora by her 
name. Gradually my coolness returned to 
me, accompanied by a volume of living 
anger that surp^-ised myself. 

"Are you nearly done?" I asked. 
" Because if you are, I am about to say a 
word or two myself." 

"Oh, fair play!" said he. "Turn 
about! The Alarquis of Carabas to the 
tribune." 

" Very well," said I. "I have to inform 
you that I am a gentleman. You do not 
know what that means, hey ? Well, I will 
tell you. It is a comical sort of animal; 
springs from another strange set of crea- 
tures they call ancestors; and in common 
with toads and other vermin, has a thing 
that he calls feelings. The lion is a gen- 
tleman: he will not touch carrion. I am 



a gentleman, and I cannot bear to soil my 
fingers with such a lump of dirt. Sit 
still, Philippe Goguelat! sit still and do 
not say a word, or I shall know you are a 
coward; the eyes of our guards are upon 
us. Here is your health!" said I, and 
pledged him in the prison beer. " You 
have chosen to speak in a certain way of a 
young child," I continued, "who might 
be your daughter, and who was giving 
alms to me and some others of us mendi- 
cants. If the Emperor" — saluting — "if 
my Emperor could hear you, he would 
pluck off the cross from your gross body. 
I cannot do that; I cannot takeaway what 
his Majesty has given; but one thing I 
promise you — I promise you, Goguelat, 
you shall be dead to-ni"ght." 

I had borne so much from him in the 
past, I believe he thought there was no 
end to my forbearance, and he was at first 
amazed. But Y have the pleasure to think 
that some of my expressions had pierced 
through his thick hide; and besides the 
brute was truly a hero of valor, and loved 
fighting for itself. Whatever the cause, at 
least he had soon pulled himself together, 
and took the thing (to do him justice) 
handsomely. 

"And I promise you, by the devil's 
horns, that you shall have the chance! " 
said he, and pledged me again; and again 
I did him scrupulous honor. 

The news of this defiance spread from 
prisoner to prisoner with the speed of 
wings; every face was seen to be illumi- 
nated like those of the spectators at a horse 
race; and indeed you must first have tasted 
the active life of a soldier, and then 
mouldered for a while in the tedium of a 
jail, in order to understand, perhaps even 
to excuse, the delight of our companions. 
Goguelat and I slept in the same squad, 
which greatly simplified the business; and 
a committee of honor was accordingly 
formed of our shed-mates. They chose 
for president a sergeant-major in the 
Fourth Dragoons, a graybeard of the 
army, an excellent military subject, and a 
good man. He took the most serious 
view of his functions, visited us both, and 
reported our replies to the committee. 
Mine was of a decent firmness. I told him 
the young lady of whom Goguelat had 
spoken had on several occasions given me 
alms. I reminded him that, if we were now 
reduced to hold out our bancs and sell 
pill-boxes for charity, it was something 
very new for soldiers of the Empire. We 
had all seen bandits standing at a corner of 
a wood truckling for copper halfpence, and 



400 



ST. IVES. 



after their benefactors were gone by spit- 
ting out injuries and curses. "But," 
said I, " I trust that none of us will fall so 
low. As a Frenchman and a soldier, I 
owe that young child gratitude, and am 
bound to protect her character, and to 
support that of the army. You are my 
elder and my superior, tell me if I am 
not right." 

He was a quiet-mannered old fellow, 
and patted me with three fingers on the 
back. " C'est bien, mo7i enfant," says he, 
and returned to his committee. 

Goguelat was no more accommodating 
than myself. " 1 do not like apologies 
nor those that make them," was his only 
answer. And there remained nothing but 
to arrange the details of the meeting. So 
far as regards place and time, we had no 
choice; we must settle the dispute at 
night, in the dark, after a round had 
passed by, and in the open middle of the 
shed under which we slept. The question 
of arms was more obscure. We had a 
good many tools, indeed, which we em- 
ployed in the manufacture of our toys; but 
they were none of them suited for a single 
combat between civilized men; and, being 
nondescript, it was found extremely hard 
to equalize the chances of the combatants. 
At length a pair of scissors was unscrewed ; 
and a couple of tough wands being found 
in a corner of the courtyard, one blade 
of the scissors was lashed solidly to each 
with resined twine — the twine coming T 
know not whence, but the resin from the 
green pillars of the shed, which still 
sweated from the axe. It was a strange 
thing to feel in one's han.d this weapon, 
which was no heavier than a riding-rod, 
and which it was difficult to suppose would 
prove more dangerous. A general oath 
was administered and taken that no one 
should interfere in the duel nor (suppose 
it to result seriously) betray the name of 
the survivor. And with that, all being then 
ready, we composed ourselves to await 
the moment. 

The evening fell cloudy; not a star was 
to be seen when the first round of the night 
passed through our shed and wound off 
along the ramparts; and as we took our 
places, we could still hear, over the mur- 
murs of the surrounding city, the sentries 
challenging its furthe'r passage. Leclos, 
the sergeant major, set us in our stations, 
engaged our wands, and left us. To avoid 
blood-stained clothing, my adversary and 
I had stripped to the shoes; and the chill of 
the night enveloped our bodies like a wet 
sheet. The man was better at fencing 



than myself; he was vastly taller than I, 
being of a stature almost gigantic, and 
proportionately strong. In the inky black- 
ness of the shed, it was impossible to see 
his eyes; and from the suppleness of the 
wands, I did not like to trust to a parade. 
I made up my mind, accordingly, to 
profit, if I might, by my defect; and as 
soon as the signal should be given, to 
throw myself down and lunge at the same 
moment. It was to play my life upon one 
card: should I not mortally woiind him, 
no defence would be left me. What was 
yet more appalling, I thus ran the risk of 
bringing my own face against his scissor 
with the double force of our assaults, and 
my face and eyes are not that part of me 
that I would the most readily expose. 

" Allez ! " said the sergeant-major. 

Both lunged in the same moment with 
an equal fury, and but for my manoeuvre 
both had certainly been spitted. As it 
was, he did no more than strike my shoul- 
der, while my scissor plunged below the 
girdle into a mortal part; and that great 
bulk of a man, falling from his whole 
height, knocked me immediately senseless. 

When I came to myself, I was laid in my 
own sleeping-place, and could make out in 
the darkness the outline of perhaps a 
dozen heads crowded around me. I sat 
up. " What is it ? " I exclaimed. 

"Hush!" said the sergeant-major. 
" Blessed be God, all is well." I felt him 
clasp my hand, and there were tears in his 
voice. " 'Tis but a scratch, my child; 
here is papa, who is taking good care of 
you. Your shoulder is bound up; we have 
dressed you in your clothes again, and it 
will all be well." 

At this I began to remember. " And 
Goguelat ? " I gasped. 

" He cannot bear to be moved; he has 
his bellyful; 'tis a bad business," said the 
sergeant-major. 

The idea of having killed a man with 
such an instrument as half a pair of scissors 
seemed to turn my stomach. I am sure 
I might have killed a dozen with a firelock, 
a sabre, a bayonet, or any accepted weap- 
on, and been visited by no such sickness 
of remorse. And to this feeling every 
unusual circumstance of our encounter, the 
darkness in which we had fought, our 
nakedness, even the resin on the twine, 
appeared to contribute. I ran to my fallen 
adversary, kneeled by him, and could only 
sob his name. 

He bade me compose myself. " You 
have given me the key of the fields, com- 
rade," said he. " Satis rancune ! " 



APPEARANCES. 



40 T 



At this my horror redoubled. Here 
had we two expatriated Frenchmen en- 
gaged in an ill-regulated combat like the 
battles of beasts. Here was he, who had 
been all his life so great a ruffian, dying 
in a foreign land of this ignoble injury 
and meeting death with something of the 
spirit of a Bayard. I insisted that the 
guards should be summoned and a doctor 
brought. 

" It may still be possible to save him," 
I cried. 

The sergeant-major reminded me of our 
engagement. " If you had been wounded," 
said he, " you must have lain there till the 
patrol came by and found you. It hap- 
pens to be Goguelat — and so must he! 
Come, child, time to go to by-by." And as 
I still resisted, " Champdivers! " he said, 
" this is weakness. You pain me." 

" Ay, off to your beds with you! " said 
Goguelat, and named us in a company 
with one of his jovial, gross epithets. 

Accordingly the squad lay down in the 
dark and simulated, what they certainly 
were far from experiencing, sleep. It 
was not yet late. The city, from far below 
and all around us, sent up a sound of 
wheels and feet and lively voices. Yet 
awhile and the curtain of the cloud was 
rent across, and in the space of sky between 
the eaves of the shed and the regular out- 



line of the ramparts a multitude of stars 
appeared. Meantime, in the midst of us 
lay Goguelat, and could not always with- 
hold himself from groaning. 

We heard the round far off; heard it 
draw slowly nearer. Last of all, it turned 
the corner and moved into our field of vis- 
ion: two file of men and a corporal with a 
lantern, which he swung to and fro, so as 
to cast its light in the recesses of the yards 
and sheds. 

"Hullo!" cried the corporal, pausing 
as he came by Goguelat. 

He stooped with his lantern. All our 
hearts were flying. 

" What devil's work is this ? " he cried, 
and with a startling voice summoned the 
guard. 

We were all afoot upon the instant; 
more lanterns and soldiers crowded in 
front of the shed; an officer elbowed his 
way in. In the midst was the big, naked 
body, soiled with blood. Some one had 
covered him with his blanket; but as he 
lay there in agony he had partly thrown 
it off. 

" This is murder! " cried the officer. 
" You wild beasts! you will hear of this 
to-morrow." 

As Goguelat was raised and laid upon a 
stretcher, he cried to us a cheerful and 
blasphemous farewell. 



{To be continued.') 



APPEARANCES. 



By Robert Browning. 



And so you found that poor room dull, 
Dark, hardly to your taste, my dear? 

Its features seemed unbeautiful: 

But this I know — 'twas there, not here, 

You plighted troth to me, the word 

Which — ask that poor room how it heard. 



II. 



And this rich room obtains your praise 
Unqualified — so bright, so fair. 

So all whereat perfection stays? 

Ay, but remember — here, not there. 

The other word was spoken! Ask 

This rich room how you dropped the mask 



492 



THE STRANGE STORY OF THE ''EMILY BR AND." 



November, however, she sailed from this 
port, with a miscellaneous cargo, for Lis- 
bon, taken out by Captain James Blaisdel, 
who had been in our em|3loy for many 
years, and who had commanded her on 
her two preceding voyages. 

" Among her crew was a Swede or Nor- 
wegian of the name of Peterson, a gigan- 
tic, ill-favored fellow, who had been in- 
jured in our service some time before by a 
fall from the rigging, in which he sustained 
a severe contusion of the brain. For sev- 
eral months he lay in the hospital here, in 
what was believed to be a hopeless condi- 
tion of imbecility; but finally, having re- 
covered, or apparently recovered, he 
applied for a berth on the ' Emily Brand.' 

"On the eleventh of December we re- 
ceived news by cable from Mr. Riggs, the 
mate, of the death of Captain Blaisdel and 
the man Peterson. On the twenty-sixth a 
letter came, giving the particulars, which 
were briefly as follows: About the eighth 
day out from New York Peterson devel- 
oped symptoms of a relapse of his disease 
(caused by the fall), which seemed, how- 
ever, to affect his mind only with a sort 
of intermittent stupor. He exhibited no 
signs of mania or violence, and was capable 
of performing his light duties about one 
half the time. He was accordingly not 
confined, and the master did what he could 
for him, treating him with the utmost kind- 
ness, and advising him to lay off from his 
work. This he did for several days, but 
apparently without beneficial effect. 

" On the night of December 5, Mr. 
Blaisdel turned in at eight bells (twelve 
o'clock). The weather was clear, the wind 
over the port quarter, and the moon lighted 
up the deck. The vessel was then about 
latitude 38° north, longitude 17° west, near 
the point at which you picked her up. Just 
before two bells (one o'clock) the man at 
the wheel saw Peterson, whom he recog- 
nized by his great size, cross the deck 
amidship to the starboard rail and throw 
something into the sea. On being hailed 
by this man, Peterson went aft, and said 
that he had thrown a pair of old shoes over- 
board. He was in his stocking feet. 

"In the morning the master failed to 
appear, and after waiting a reasonable 
time the steward knocked at his door. Re- 
ceiving no response, he called Mr. Riggs, 
the mate, who entered the stateroom and 
found it empty. The berth had not been 
occupied. When after a search it became 
evident that the captain could not be 
found, Miller, the man who had taken the 
wheel at midnight, told the mate of Peter- 



son's appearance and his conversation with 
him. Peterson was sent for, and found in 
his bunk, apparently sleeping. He was 
aroused; and brought on deck in a very ex- 
cited condition, and on being interrogated 
by Mr. Riggs he became incoherent and 
violent. Tiie mate thereupon ordered two 
of the men to seize him; but as they ap- 
proached to do so, he eluded them, and 
darting to the vessel's side, went over- 
board. They put her about and lowered a 
boat immediately, but he was never seen 
again. It seems clear that in a fit of in- 
sanity he murdered the captain and threw 
his body into the sea during the night. 
How this was accomplished no one knows, 
for no noise was heard, nor were any traces 
of violence found about the vessel. 

" On her present voyage Mr. Riggs, 
the former mate, went as master of the ves- 
sel. He was, I believe, thirty-six years 
of age, married, and had one child — a little 
girl of five or six years. It is our custom 
to allow our masters to purchase an inter- 
est in the vessels they command, and Mr. 
Riggs and his wife owned two-sixteenths 
of the ' Emily Brand.' • He was a man of 
the highest character and thoroughly com- 
petent to go as master. On this last voy- 
age his wife and child accompanied him. 

" I cannot form the slightest conjecture 
concerning the strange disappearance of 
poor Riggs and his family, with all on 
board, and I have but little belief that they 
will ever be heard of again." 

From this letter it became evident that 
the skeleton found up in the between- 
decks space was that of Captain James 
Blaisdel, with whose name the initials en- 
graved in the ring corresponded. 

The remains thus identified were interred 
at Gibraltar. 

Some hope of the rescue of the casta- 
ways was for a time entertained, as it was 
learned that the boat (the brigantine had 
but one) in which they were presumed to 
have left the vessel was a life-boat, new, 
light, and incapable of sinking. Moreover, 
it was known that they could not have en- 
countered any bad weather for many days 
after parting from the " Emily Brand." 
Accordingly the widest publicity was 
given to the fact of their having disap- 
peared, and for more than a year the civil- 
ized world was searched throughout with 
all the facilities at the disposal of our own 
government and that of England, upon 
the chance that they had made some land 
or been picked up by some passing vessel. 
But no trace of the life-boat or of any of 
its occupants was ever discovered. 




ST. IVES. 
THE ADVENTURES OF A FRENCH PRISONER IN ENGLAND. 

By Robert Louis Stevenson, 

Author of " Treasure Island," " Kidnapped," etc. 

[BEGUN IN THE MARCH NUMBER.] 



CHAPTER HI. 

j\IAJOR CHEVENIX COMES INTO THE STORY, 
AND GOGUELAT GOES OU I". 



T 



HERE was never any talk of a recov- 
ery, and no time was lost in getting 



Finding the wounded man so firm, you 
may be sure the authorities did not leave 
the rest of us in peace. No stone was left 
unturned. We were had in again and 
again to be examined, now singly, now in 
twos and threes. We were threatened 
with all sorts of impossible severities and 



the man's deposition. He gave but the one tempted with all manner of improbable 
account of it: that he had committed sui- rewards. 1 suppose I was five times in- 
cide because he was sick of seeing so many terrogated, and came off from each with 
Englishmen. The doctor vowed it was im- flying colors. I am like old Souvaroff — I 
possible, the nature and direction of the cannot understand a soldier being taken 
wound forbidding it. Goguelat replied aback by any question; he should answer 
he was more ingenious than the other as he marches on the fire, with an instant 
thought for, and had propped up the briskness and gaiety. I may have been 
weapon in the ground and fallen on the short of bread, gold or grace; I was never 
point — "just like Nebuchadnezzar," he yet found wanting in an answer. My 
added, winking to the assistants. The comrades, if they were not all so ready, 
doctor, who was a little, spruce, ruddy were none of them less staunch ; and I may 
man of an impatient temper, pished and say here, at once, that the inquiry came to 
pshawed and swore over his patient, nothing at the time, and the death of 
" Nothing to be made of him! " he cried. Goguelat remained a mystery of the prison. 
" A perfect heathen. If we could only Such were the veterans of France! And 
find the weapon! " But the weapon had yet I should be disingenuous if I did not 
ceased to exist. A little resined twine was own this was a case apart; in ordinary cir- 
perhaps blowing about in the castle gut- cumstances, some one might have stum- 
ters; some bits of broken stick may have bled or been intimidated into an admission ; 
trailed in corners; and behold! in the and what bound us together with a close- 
pleasant air of the morning, a dandy pris- ness beyond that of mere comrades was a 
oner trimming his yails with a pair of scis- secret to which we were all committed and a 
sors ! design in which all were equally engaged. 

Copyright, 1896, by the S. S. McCIure Co. 



494 



ST. IVES. 



No need to inquire as to its nature: there 
is only one desire, and only one Icind of 
design, tliat blooms in prisons. And the 
fact that our tunnel was near done sup- 
ported and inspired us. 

I came off in public, as I have said, with 
flying colors; the sittings of the court of 
inquiry died away like a tune that no one 
listens' to; and yet I was unmasked — I, 
whom my very adversary defended, as good 
as confessed, as good as told the nature of 
the quarrel, and by so doing prepared for 
myself in the future a most anxious, dis- 
agreeable adventure. It was the third 
ni^orning after the duel, and Goguelat was 
still in life, when the time came around 
for me to give Major Chevenix a lesson. 
I was fond of this occupation; not that he 
paid me much — no more, indeed, than 
eighteen pence a month, the customary 
figure, being a miser in the grain; but 
because I liked his breakfasts and (to some 
extent) himself. At least, he was a man of 
education; and of the others with whom I 
had any opportunity of speech, those that 
would not have held a book upside down 
would have torn the pages out for pipe- 
lights. For I must repeat again that our 
body of prisoners was exceptional ; there 
was in Edinburgh Castle none of that edu- 
cational busyness that distinguished some 
of the other prisons, so that men entered 
them unable to read and left them fit for 
high employments. Chevenix was hand- 
some, and surprisingly young to be a major : 
six feet in his stockings, well set up, with 
regular features and very clear gray eyes. 
It was impossible to pick a fault in him, and 
yet the sum-total was displeasing. Per- 
haps he was too clean; he seemed to bear 
about with him the smell of soap. Cleanli- 
ness is good, but I cannot bear a man's 
nails to seem japanned. And certainly he 
was too self-possessed and cold. There was 
none of the fire of youth, none of the swift- 
ness of the soldier, in this young officer. 
His kindness was cold, and cruel cold; 
his deliberation exasperating. And per- 
haps it was from this character, which is 
very much the opposite of my own, that 
even in these days, when he was of service 
to me, I approached him with suspicion 
and reserve. 

I looked over his exercise in the usual 
form, and marked six faults. 

" H'm. Six," says he, looking at the 
paper. " Very annoying! I can never get 
it right." 

"Oh, but you make excellent prog- 
ress! " I said. I would not discourage 
him, vou understand, but he was congeni- 



tally unable to learn French. Some fire, 
I think, is needful, and he had quenched 
his fire in soapsuds. 

He put the exercise down, leaned his 
chin upon his hand, and looked at me with 
clear, severe eyes. 

"I think we must have a little talk," 
said he. 

"I am entirely at you disposition," I 
replied; but I quaked, for I knew what 
subject to expect. 

"You have been sometime giving me 
these lessons," he went on, "and I am 
tempted to think rather well of you. I 
believe you are a gentleman." 

" I have that honor, sir," said I. 

" You have seen me for the same period. 
I do not know how I strike you; but per- 
haps you will be prepared to believe that 
I also am a man of honor," says he. 

"I require no assurances; the thing is 
manifest," and I bowed, 

"Very well, then," said he. "What 
about this Goguelat ? " 

"You heard me yesterday before the 
court," I began. "I was awakened 
only — " 

"Oh yes; I heard you yesterday be- 
fore the court, no doubt," he interrupted, 
" and I remember perfectly that you were 
'awakened only.' I could repeat the 
most of it by rote, indeed. But do you 
suppose that I believed you for a mo- 
ment ? " 

" Neither would you believe me if I were 
to repeat it here," said I. 

" I may be wrong — we shall soon see," 
says he; " but my impression is that you 
will not repeat it here. My impression 
is that you have come into this room, and 
that you will tell me something before you 
go out." 

I shrugged my shoulders. 

"Let me explain," he continued. 
"Your evidence, of course, is nonsense. 
I put it by, and the court put it by." 

" My compliments and thanks! " said I. 

"You must know — that's the short and 
the long," he proceeded. " All of you in 
Shed B are bound to know. And I want 
to ask you where is the common sense of 
keeping up this farce, and maintaining this 
cock-and-bull story between friends? 
Come, come, my good fellow, own your- 
self beaten, and laugh at it yourself." 

"Well, I hear you go ahead," said I. 
" You put your heart in it." 

He crossed his legs slowly. " I can 
very well understand," he began, "that 
precautions have had to be taken. I dare 
say an oath was administered. I can com- 



ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. 



495 



prehend that perfectly." (He was watch- 
ing me all the time with his cold, bright 
eyes.) "And I can comprehend that, 
about an affair of honor, you would be 
very particular to keep it." 

"About an affair of honor?" 1 re- 
peated, like a man quite puzzled. 

" It was not an affair of honor, then ? " 
he asked. 

"What was not? I do not follow," 
said I. 

He gave no sign of impatience; simply 
sat awhile silent, and began again in the 
same placid and good-natured voice: 
" The court and I were at one in setting 
aside your evidence. It could not de- 
ceive a child. But there was a difference 
between myself and the other officers, be- 
cause / kneiv my man^ and they did not. 
They saw in you a common soldier, and 
I knew you for a gentleman. To them 
your evidence was a leash of lies, which 
they yawned to hear you telling. Now, I 
was asking myself, how far will a gentle- 
man go ? Not surely so far as to help 
hush a murder up ? So that — when I heard 
you tell how you knew nothing of the 
matter, and were only awakened by the 
corporal, and all the rest of it — I trans- 
lated your statements into something else. 
Now, Champdivers, " he cries, springing 
up lively and coming towards me with ani- 
mation, " I am going to tell you what that 
was, and you are going to help me to see 
justice done — how I don't know, for of 
course you are under oath — but somehow. 
Mark what I'm going to say." 

At that moment he laid a heavy, hard 
grip upon my shoulder; and whether he 
said anything more or came to a full stop 
at once, I am sure I could not tell you to 
this day. For, as the devil would have 
it, the shoulder he laid hold of was the 
one Goguelat had pinked. The wound 
was but a scratch ; it was healing with the 
first intention; but in the clutch of Major 
Chevenix it gave me agony. My head 
swam; the sweat poured off my face; I 
must have grown deadly pale. 

He removed his hand as suddenly as he 
had laid it there. 

" What is wrong with you ? " said he. 

"It is nothing," said I. "A qualm. 
It has gone by." 

"Are you sure?" said he. " Yon are 
as white as a sheet." 

" Oh no, I assure you! Nothing what- 
ever. I am my own man again," I said, 
though I could scarce command my tongue. 

" Well, shall I go on again ? " says he. 
" Can von follow me ? " 



" Oh, by all means! " said I, and 
mopped my streaming face upon my 
sleeve, for you may be sure in those days 
I had no handkerchief. 

" If you are sure you can follow me. 
That was a very sudden and sharp seiz- 
ure," he said doubtfully. " But if you are 
sure, all right, and here goes. An affair 
of honor among you fellows would natu- 
rally be a little difficult to carry out; per- 
haps it would be impossible to have it 
wholly regular. And yet a duel might be 
very irregular in form, and, under the 
peculiar circumstances of the case, loyal 
enough in effect. Do you take me ? Now, 
as a gentleman and a soldier." 

His hand rose again at the words and 
hovered over me. I could bear no more, 
and winced away from him. "No," I 
cried, " not that. Do not put your hand 
upon my shoulder. I cannot bear it. It 
is rheumatism," I made haste to add. 
" My shoulder is inflamed and very pain- 
ful." He returned to his chair and delib- 
erately lighted a cigar. 

" I am sorry about your shoulder," he 
said at last. " Let me send for the doc- 
tor." 

"Not in the least," said I. "It is a 
trifle. I am quite used to it. It does not 
trouble me in the smallest. At any rate, 
I don't believe in doctors." 

"All right," said he, and sat and 
smoked a good while in a silence which 
I would have given anything to break. 
"Well," he began presently, " I believe 
there is nothing left for me to learn. I 
presume I may say that I know all." 

" About what ? " said I boldly. 

" About Goguelat," said he. 

" I beg your pardon. I cannot con- 
ceive," said I. 

"Oh," says the major, "the man fell 
in a duel, and by your hand! I am not 
an infant." 

"By no means," said I. "But you 
seem to be a good deal of a theorist." 

"Shall we test it?" he asked. "The 
doctor is close by. If there is not an open 
wound on your shoulder, I am wrong. If 
there is — " He waved his hand. "But 
I advise you to think twice. There is a 
deuce of a nasty drawback to the experi- 
ment — that what might have remained pri- 
vate between us two becomes public prop- 
erty." 

"Oh, well!" said I, with a laugh; 
" anything rather than a doctor! lean- 
not bear the breed." 

His last words had a good deal relieved 
me, but I was still far from comfortable. 



496 



ST. IVES. 



Major Chevenix smoked awhile, look- 
ing now at his cigar-ash, now at me. " I'm 
a soldier myself," he says presently, 
" and I've been out in my time and hit my 
man. I don't want to run any one into a 
corner for an affair that was at all neces- 
sary or correct. At the same time I want 
to know that much, and I'll take your 
word of honor for it. Otherwise I shall 
be very sorry, but the doctor must be 
called in." 

" I neither admit anything nor deny 
anything," I returned. " But if this form 
of words will suffice you, here is what I 
say: I give you my parole, as a gentleman 
and a soldier, there has nothing taken 
place amongst us prisoners that was not 
honorable as the day." 

"All right," says he. "That was all 
I wanted. You can go now. Champ- 
divers." 

And as I was going out he added, with 
a laugh: " By the by, I ought to apologize: 
I had no idea I was applying the torture! " 

The same afternoon the doctor came 
into the courtyard with a piece of paper in 
his hand. He seemed hot and angry, and 
had certainly no mind to be polite. 

" Here! " he cried. " Which of you fel- 
lows knows any English ? Oh! " — spying 
me — "there you are, what's your name? 
You'll do. Tell these fellows that the 
other fellow's dying. He's booked; no 
use talking; I expect he'll go by evening. 
And tell them I don't envy the feelings of 
the fellow who spiked him. Tell them 
that first." 

I did so. 

" Then you can tell 'em," he resumed, 
" that the fellow Goggle — w^iat's his 
name ? — wants to see some of them be- 
fore he gets his marching orders. If I 
got it right, he wants to kiss or embrace 
you, or some sickening stuff. Got that ? 
Then here's a list he's had written, and 
you'd better read it out to them — I can't 
make head or tail of your beastly names — 
and they can answer present, and fall in 
against that wall." 

It was with a singular movement of in- 
congruous feelings that I read the first 
name on the list. I had no wish to look 
again on my own handiwork; my flesh re- 
coiled from the idea; and how could I be 
sure what reception he designed to give 
me? The cure was in my own hand; I 
could pass that first name over — the doctor 
would not know — and I might stay away. 
But to the subsequent great gladness of my 
heart, I did not dwell for an instant on the 
thought, walked over to the designated 



wall, faced about, read out the name 
"Champdivers, " and answered myself with 
the word " Present." 

There were some half-dozen on the list, 
all told; and as soon as we were mustered, 
the doctor led the way to the hospital, 
and we followed after, like a fatigue 
party, in single file. At the door he 
paused, told us "the fellow" would see 
each of us alone, and, as soon as I had 
explained that, sent me by myself into the 
ward. It was a small room, whitewashed; 
a south window stood open on a vast depth 
of air and a spacious and distant prospect; 
and from deep below, in the Grassmarket, 
the voices of hawkers came up clear and 
far away. Hard by, on a little bed, lay 
Goguelat. The sunburn had not yet 
faded from his face, and the stamp of 
death was already there. There was some- 
thing wild and unmannish in his smile, 
that took me by the throat; only death 
and love know or have ever seen it. And 
when he spoke, it seemed to shame his 
coarse talk. 

He held out his arms as if to embrace 
me. I drew near with incredible shrink- 
ings, and surrendered myself to his arms 
with overwhelming disgust. But he only 
drew my ear down to his lips. 

"Trust me," he whispered. " Je suis 
ban bougre, ??ioi. I'll take it to hell with 
me, and tell the devil." 

Why should I go on to reproduce his 
grossness and trivialities ? All that he 
thought, at that hour, was even noble, 
though he could not clothe it otherwise 
than in the language of a brutal farce. 
Presently he bade me call the doctor; and 
when that officer had come in, raised a 
little up in his bed, pointed first to himself 
and then to me, who stood weeping by his 
side, and several times repeated the ex- 
pression, " Frinds — f rinds — dam frinds." 

To my great surprise, the doctor ap- 
peared very much affected. He noddeii 
his little bob-wigged head at us, and said 
repeatedly, " All right, Johnny — me com- 
prong." 

Then Goguelat shook hands with me, 
embraced me again, and I went out of the 
room sobbing like an infant. 

How often have I not seen it, that the 
most unpardonable fellows make the hap- 
piest exits! It is a fate that we may 
well envy them. Goguelat was detested 
in life; in the last three days, by his ad- 
mirable stanchness and consideration, he 
won every heart; and when word went 
about the prison the same evening that he 
was no more, the voice of conversation 



ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. 



497 



became hushed as in a house of mourn- 
ing. 

For myself, I was like a man distracted; 
I cannot think what ailed me. When I 
awoke the following day, nothing remained 
of it; but that night I was filled with a 
gloomy fury of the nerves. I had killed 
him; he had done his utmost to protect 
me; I had seen him with that awful smile. 
And so illogical and useless is this senti- 
ment of remorse, that I was ready,^ at a 
word or a look, to quarrel with somebody 
else. I presume the disposition of my 
mind was imprinted on my face; and 
when, a little after, I overtook, saluted, 
and addressed the doctor, he looked on me 
with commiseration and surprise. 

I had asked him if it was true. 

" Yes," he said," the fellow's gone." 

" Did he suffer much ? " I asked. 

" Not a bit; passed away like a lamb," 
said he. He looked on me a little, and 
I saw his hand go to his fob. " Here, 
take that! no sense in fretting," he said, 
and, putting a silver twopenny bit in my 
hand, he left me. 

I should have had that twopenny framed 
to hang upon the wall, for it was the 
man's one act of charity in all my knowl- 
edge of him. Instead of that, I stood 
looking at it in my hand and laughed out 
bitterly, as I realized his mistake; then 
went to the ramparts, and flung it far into 
the air like blood money. The night was 
falling; through an embrasure and across 
the gardened valley I saw the lamplighters 
hasting along Princes Street with ladder 
and lamp, and looked on moodily. As I 
was so standing a hand was laid upon my 
shoulder, and I turned about. It was 
Major Chevenix, dressed for the evening, 
and his neckcloth really admirably folded. 
I never denied the man could dress. 

" Ah! " said he, " I thought it was you, 
Champdivers. So he's gone ? " 

I nodded. 

"Come, come," said he, "you must 
cheer up. Of course it's very distressing, 
very painful, and all that. But do you 
know, it ain't such a bad thing either for 
you or me ? What with his death and 
your visit to him I am entirely reassured." 

So I was to owe my life to Goguelat at 
every point. 

" I had rather not discuss it," said I. 

" Well," said he, " one word more, and 
I'll agree to bury the subject. What did 
you fight about ? " 

" Oh, what do men ever fight about ? " 
I cried. 

" A ladv ? " said he. 



I shrugged my shoulders. 

" Deuce you did! " said he. " I should 
scarce have thought it of him." 

And at this my ill-humor broke fairly 
out into words. "He!" I cried. "He 
never dared to address her — only to look 
at her and vomit his vile insults! She may 
have given him sixpence; if she did, it 
may take him to heaven -yet! " 

At this I became aware of his eyes set 
upon me with a considermg look, and 
brought up sharply. 

"Well, well," said he. "Good night 
to you, Champdivers. Come to me at 
breakfast-time, to-morrow, and we'll talk 
of other subjects." 

I fully admit the man's conduct was not 
bad; in writing it down so long after the 
events I can even see that it was good. 



CHAPTER IV. 

ST. IVES GETS A BUNDLE OF B.\NK NOTES. 

I WAS surprised one morning, shortly 
after, to find myself the object of marked 
consideration by a civilian and a stranger. 
This was a man of the middle age ; he 
had a face of a mulberry color, round 
black eyes, comical tufted eyebrows, and 
a protuberant forehead; and was dressed 
in clothes of a Quakerish cut. In spite 
of his plainness, he had that inscrutable 
air of a man well-to-do in his affairs. I 
conceived he had been some while observ- 
ing me from a distance, for a sparrow 
sat betwixt quite unalarmed on the breech 
of a piece of cannon. So soon as our 
eyes met, he drew near and addressed me 
in the French language, which he spoke 
with a good fluency but an abominable 
accent. 

"I have the pleasure of addressing 
M. le Vicomte Anne Keroual St.-Yves?" 
said he. 

"Well," said I, "I do not call myself 
all that; but I have a right to, if I chose. 
In the meanwhile I call myself plain 
Champdivers, at your disposal. It was 
my mother's name, and good to go soldier- 
ing with." 

" I think not quite," said he; " for if I 
remember rightly, your mother also had 
the particle. Her name was Florimonde 
de Champdivers." 

"Right again!" said I, "and I am 
extremely pleased to meet a gentleman so 
well informed in my quarterings. Is mon- 
sieur <5w;/ himself ? " This I said with a 
great air of assumption, partly to conceal 



49« 



ST. IVES. 



the degree of curiosity with which my 
visitor had inspired me, and in part be- 
cause it struck me as highly incongruous 
and comical in my prison garb and on the 
lips of a private soldier. 

He seemed to think so too, for he 
laughed. 

" No, sir," he returned, speaking this 
time in English; " I am not ' born,' as you 
call it, and must content myself with dying, 
of which I am equally susceptible with the 
best of you. My name is Mr. Romaine — 
Daniel Romaine — a solicitor of London 
City, at your service; and, what will inter- 
est you more, I am here at the request of 
your great-uncle, the Count." 

" What! " I cried, " does M. de Keroual 
St. -Yves remember the existence of such a 
person as myself, and will he deign to 
count kinship with a soldier of Napo- 
leon ? " 

" You speak English well," observed my 
visitor. 

" I had a good opportunity to learn it," 
said I. "I had an English nurse; my 
father spoke English with me; and I was 
finished by a countryman of yours and a 
dear friend of mine, a Mr. Vicary." 

A strong expression of interest came into 
the lawyer's face. 

"What!" he cried, "you knew poor 
Vicary ? " 

" For more than a year," said I; " and 
shared his hiding-place for many months." 

"And I was his clerk, and have suc- 
ceeded him in business," said he. " Ex- 
cellent man! It was on the affairs of M. de 
Keroual that he went to that accursed 
country, from which he was never destined 
to return. Do you chance to know his 
end, sir ? " 

"I am sorry," said I, "I do. He 
perished miserably at the hands of a gang 
of banditti, such as we call chauffeiirs. 
In a word, he was tortured, and died of it. 
See," I added, kicking off one shoe, for I 
had no stocking; " I was no more than a 
child, and see how they had begun to treat 
myself." 

He looked at the mark of my old burn 
with a certain shrinking. " Beastly peo- 
ple! " I heard him mutter to himself. 

" The English may say so with a good 
grace," I observed politely. 

Such speeches were the coin in which I 
paid my way among this credulous race. 
Ninety per cent, of our visitors would have 
accepted the remark as natural in itself 
and creditable to my powers of judgment, 
but it appeared my lawyer was more 
acute. 



" You are not entirely a fool, I per- 
ceive," said he. 

" No," said I; " not wholly." 

"And yet it is well to beware of the 
ironical mood," he continued. "It is a 
dangerous instrument. Your great-uncle 
has, I believe, practised it very much, until 
it is now become a problem what he means." 

" And that brings me back to what you 
will admit is a most natural inquiry," said 
I. " To what do I owe the pleasure of 
this visit ? How did you recognize me ? 
And how did you know I was here ? " 

Carefully separating his coat skirts, the 
lawyer took a seat beside me on the edge 
of the flags. 

"It is rather an odd story," says he, 
"and with your leave, I'll answer the 
second question first. It was from a cer- 
tain resemblance you bear to your cousin, 
M. le Vicomte." 

" I trust, sir, that I resemble him advan- 
tageously ? " said I. 

"I hasten to reassure you," was the 
reply; "you do. To my eyes, M. Alain 
de St. -Yves has scarce a pleasing exterior. 
And yet, when I knew you were here, and 
was actually looking for you — why, the 
likeness helped. As for how I came to 
know your whereabouts: by an odd enough 
chance, it is again M. Alain we have to 
thank. I should tell you, he has for some 
time made it his business to keep M. de 
Keroual informed of your career; with 
what purpose I leave you to judge. When 
he first brought the news of your — that 
you were serving Bonaparte, it seemed 
it might be the death of the old gentle- 
man, so hot was his resentment. But from 
one thing to another, matters have a little 
changed. Or I should rather say, not a 
little. We learned you were under orders 
for the Peninsula, to fight the English; 
then that you had been commissioned for 
a piece of bravery, and were again reduced 
to the ranks. And from one thing to an- 
other (as I say), M. de Keroual became 
used to the idea that you were his kinsman 
and yet served with Bonaparte, and filled 
instead with wonder that he should have 
another kinsman who was so remarkably 
well informed of events in France. And 
it now became a very disagreeable ques- 
tion, whether the young gentleman was 
not a spy ? In short, sir, in seeking to 
disserve you, he had accumulated against 
himself a load of suspicions." 

My visitor now paused, took snuff, and 
looked at me with an air of benevolence. 

" Indeed, sir! " says I, " this is a curious 
story." 



ROBERT LOUIS STEVENSON. 



499 



" You will say so before I have done," 
said he. " For there have two events fol- 
lowed. The first of these was an encounter 
of M. de Keroual and M. de Mauseant." 

" I know the man to my cost/' said I; 
" it was through him I lost my commission." 

" Do you tell me so ? " he cried. " Why, 
here is news! " 

"Oh, I cannot complain!" said I. "I 
was in the wrong. I did it with my eyes 
open. If a man gets a prisoner to guard 
and lets him go, the least he can expect is 
to be degraded." 

"You will be paid for it," said he. 
" You did well for yourself and better for 
your king." 

" If I had thought I was injuring my 
emperor," said I, " I would have let M. 
de Mauseant burn in hell ere I had helped 
him, and be sure of that! I saw in him 
only a private person in a difficulty; I let 
him go in private charity; not even to 
profit myself will I suffer it to be mis- 
understood." 

"Well, well," said the lawyer, "no 
matter now. This is a foolish warmth — a 
very misplaced enthusiasm, believe me! 
The point of the story is that M. de Mau- 
seant spoke of you with gratitude, and 
drew your character in such a manner as 
greatly to affect your uncle's views. 
Hard upon the back of which, in came your 
humble servant, and laid before him the 
direct proof of what we had been so long 
suspecting. There was no dubiety per- 
mitted. M. Alain's expensive way of life, 
his clothes and mistresses, his dicing and 
race horses, were all explained; he was in 
the pay of Bonaparte, a hired spy, and 
a man that held the strings of what I 
can only call a convolution of extremely 
fishy enterprises. To do M. de Keroual 
justice, he took it the best way imaginable, 
destroyed the evidences of the one great- 
nephew's disgrace — and transferred his 
interest wholly to the other." 

"What am I to understand by that ? " 
said I. 

" I will tell you," says he. " There is 
a remarkable inconsistency in human na- 
ture which gentlemen of my cloth have a 
great deal of occasion to observe. Selfish 
persons can live without chick or child, 
they can live without all mankind except 
perhaps the barber and the apothecary; 
but when it comes to dying, they seem 
physically unable to die without an heir. 
You can apply this principle for yourself. 
Viscount Alain, though he scarce guesses 
it, is no longer in the field. Remains, Vis- 
count Anne." 



" I see," said I, " you give a very un- 
favorable impression of my uncle, the 
C'ount." 

" I had not meant to," said he. " He 
has led a loose life — sadly loose — but he is 
a man it is impossible to know and not to 
admire; his courtesy is exquisite." 

" And so you think there is actually a 
chance for me ? " I asked. 

"Understand," said he, "in saying as 
much as I have done, I travel quite be- 
yond my brief. I have been clothed with 
no capacity to talk of wills, or heritages, 
or your cousin. I was sent here to make 
but the one communication: that M. de 
Keroual desires to meet his great- 
nephew." 

"Well," said I, looking about me on 
the battlements by which we sat sur- 
rounded, " this is a case in which Mahomet 
must certainly come to the mountain." 

" Pardon me," said Mr. Romaine, " you 
know already your uncle is an aged man; 
but I have not yet told you that he is quite 
broken up and his death shortly looked 
for. No, no, there is no doubt about it — 
it is the mountain that must come to Ma- 
homet." 

" From an Englishman, the remark is 
certainly significant," said I; "but you 
are of course, and by trade, a keeper of 
men's secrets, and I see you keep that of 
cousin Alain, which is not the mark of a 
truculent patriotism, to say the least." 

" I am first of all the lawyer of your 
family! " says he. 

"That being so," said I, "I can, per- 
haps, stretch a point myself. This rock is 
very high, and it is very steep; a man 
might come by much of a fall from al- 
most any part of it, and yet I believe I 
have a pair of wings that might carry me 
just so far as to the bottom. Once at the 
bottom I am helpless." 

"And perhaps it is just then that I could 
step in," returned the lawyer. " Suppose 
by some contingency, at which I make no 
guess, and on which I offer no opinion — " 

But here I interrupted him. " One word 
ere you go farther. I am under no pa- 
role," said I. 

"I understand so much," he replied, 
" although some of you French gentry find 
their word sit lightly on them." 

" Sir, I am not one of those," said I. 

" To do you plain justice, I do not think 
you one," said he. "Suppose yourself, 
then, set free and at the bottom of the 
rock," he continued, "although I may not 
be able to do much, I believe I can do 
something to help you on your road. In 



500 



sr. IVES. 



the first place I would carry this, whether 
in an inside pocket or my shoe." And he 
passed me a bundle of bank notes. 

" No harm in that," said I, at once con- 
cealing them. 

" In the second place," he resumed, " it 
is a great way from here to where your 
uncle lives — Amersham Place, not far from 
Dunstable; you have a great part of 
Britain to get through; and for the first 
stages, I must leave you to your own luck 
and ingenuity. I have no acquaintance 
here in Scotland, or at least" (with a 
grimace) " no dishonest ones. But farther 
to the south, about Wakefield, I am told 
there is a gentleman called Burchell Fenn, 
who is not so particular as some others, 
and might be willing to give you a cast 
forward. In fact, sir, I believe it's the 
man's trade: a piece of knowledge that 
burns my mouth. But that is what you 
get by meddling with rogues; and perhaps 
the biggest rogue now extant, M. de St.- 
Yves, is your cousin, M. Alain." 

"If this be a man of my cousin's," I 
observed, " I am perhaps better to keep 
clear of him ? " 

" It was through some papers of your 
cousin's that we came across this trail," 
replied the lawyer. " But I am inclined to 
think, so far as anything is safe in such a 
nasty business, you may apply to the man 
Fenn. You might even, I think, use the 
Viscount's name; and the little trick of 
family resemblance might come in. How, 
for instance, if you were to call yourself 
his brother ? " 

" It might be done," said I. " But look 
here a moment! You propose to me a 
very difficult game: I have apparently a 
cunning opponent in my cousin; and being 
a prisoner of war, I can scarce be said 
to hold good cards. For what stakes, 
then, am I playing ? " 

" They are very large, " said he. "Your 
great-uncle is immensely rich — immensely 
rich. He was wise in time; he smelt the 
revolution long before; sold all that he 
could, and had all that was movable trans- 



ported to England through my firm. There 
are considerable estates in England; 
Amersham Place itself is very fine; and he 
has much money, wisely invested. He 
lives, indeed, like a prince. And of what 
use is it to him ? He has lost all that was 
worth living for — his family, his country; 
he has seen his king and queen murdered; 
he has seen all these miseries and infa- 
mies," pursued the lawyer, with a rising in- 
flection and a heightening color; and then 
broke suddenly off — " in short, sir, he has 
seen all the advantages of that govern- 
ment for which his nephew carries arms, 
and he has the misfortune not to like 
them." 

" You speak with a bitterness that I sup- 
pose I must excuse," said I; " yet which 
of us has the more reason to be bitter ? 
This man, my uncle, M. de Keroual, fled. 
My parents, who were less wise, perhaps, 
remained. In the beginning, they were 
even republicans; to the end, they could 
not be persuaded to despair of the people. 
It was a glorious folly, for which, as a son, 
I reverence them. First one and then the 
other perished. If I have any mark of a 
gentleman, all who taught me died upon 
the scaffold, and my last school of man- 
ners was the prison of the Abbaye. Do 
you think you can teach bitterness to a 
man with a history like mine ? " 

" I have no wish to try," said he. " And 
yet there is one point I cannot understand: 
I cannot understand that one of your blood 
and experience should serve the Corsican. 
I cannot understand it: it seems as though 
everything generous in you must rise 
against that — domination." 

" And perhaps," I retorted, " had your 
childhood passed among wolves, you 
would have been overjoyed yourself to 
see the Corsican Shepherd." 

" Well, well," replied Mr. Romaine, " it 
may be. There are things that do not 
bear discussion." 

And with a wave of his hands he disap- 
peared abruptly down a flight of steps and 
under the shadow of a ponderous arch. 



{To be CO n tin u ed. ) 



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